The Confederate victory at Second Manassas, August 28-30, 1862, followed victories in the Valley Campaign and the Peninsula. The casualties incurred by the Army of the Potomac included 14,000 killed or wounded of 62,000 engaged, compared to about half of that for the Army of Northern Virginia. Then, on September 1, Stonewall Jackson defeated a Union cohort retreating from the battlefield at Chantilly. General Pope was relieved of command and sent to Minnesota to deal with the Sioux, and was never again involved in the Civil War. Pope would blame Fitz-John Porter for the loss, even though that wasn’t the case; Porter would be heard from again at Antietam but would go through a devastating court martial soon after. One of Pope’s generals said of him, “Suffice to say ... that more insolence, superciliousness, ignorance, and pretentiousness were never combined in one man.”

In this multi-part series, here Lloyd W Klein looks at what happened during the Battle of Antietam itself.

Read part 1 on the background here, and part 2 on General McClellan’s Response to Finding the Lost Order here.

The Charge across the Burnside Bridge by Edwin Forbes. Source: Public domain, US Library of Congress, available here.

McClellan was now in a position to destroy Lee’s divided army. Knowing they were being pursued, Lee's army set up defensive positions behind Antietam Creek. Lee expected a battle, but the half of his army under Jackson was still in Harper’s Ferry.

The first two Union divisions arrived on the afternoon of September 15 and the bulk of the remainder of the army late that evening. McClellan's limited activity on September 15 after his victory at South Mountain gave Lee time to unite his scattered divisions at Sharpsburg.

On the morning of Tuesday, September 16, McClellan had nearly 60,000 soldiers facing Lee’s 15,000. His heavy 20-pound Parrott rifles were sending case shot across the creek, feeling out the enemy. As Longstreet ordered a vigorous response – more for bluff than effect – Lee realized his one chance for salvation lay with McClellan’s reverting to his old, timid behavior. McClellan did not disappoint him. By noon, Jackson and Brig. Gen. John Walker began to arrive, taking up the Confederate line on the left along the Hagerstown Pike near Dunker Church, north of town, then sweeping southeasterly to a worn farm lane on the Mumma property a mile away.  On the left flank, Maj. Gen. J.E.B. (‘Jeb’) Stuart placed Brig. Gen. Fitz Lee’s cavalry brigade with his three batteries of Captain John Pelham’s Horse Artillery and three additional batteries on an unpretentious hillock known locally as Nicodemus Hill. East of the Hagerstown Pike, Brig. Gen. Evander M. Law’s brigade had taken position in the East Woods. Law sent his videttes well to the north and east, keeping a close eye on the Upper Bridge.

Once again, the traditional history doesn’t do McClellan justice. What is said in the books: If he had attacked either of those days, the war might have ended in September 1862 with a definitive victory. Having arrived on the afternoon of September 15, he delayed his attack until September 17. He outnumbered Lee by as much as 2:1 all that time, and what he was waiting for is unclear. He somehow didn’t know that Jackson was still in Harpers Ferry, so he was facing just half of Lee’s divided army.

But the reality was a lot more complex than it seemed from that summation. By the afternoon of September 15, McClellan found himself confronted by two significant Confederate forces flanking Elk Ridge, a geographical feature extending north to south, located west of South Mountain. To McClellan's right, Lee and Longstreet commanded an indeterminate number of troops, while to his left, McLaws and Anderson operated under the overall leadership of Stonewall Jackson. With Jackson positioned on one side and Lee on the other, it was prudent for McClellan to take a moment to assess which of the opposing forces represented a greater threat. Franklin had indicated that he was up against an enemy force that was twice the size of his own. If McClellan accepted Franklin's assessment, it suggested that the Confederate troops in Pleasant Valley exceeded 25,000, a formidable adversary.

Map of the Battle of Antietam by Hal Jespersen. Source: Map by Hal Jespersen, www.posix.com/CW, Creative Commons license 3.0, available here.

Initially, Lee and Longstreet seemed to be retreating toward Virginia, but as the afternoon progressed, it became clear that Lee had opted to hold his position in Maryland. Concurrently, the Confederate forces in Pleasant Valley, located to McClellan's left, began their withdrawal back to Virginia. The dynamic nature of the battlefield, coupled with the challenges of maneuvering large troop contingents along generally inadequate roads, made September 15 an unfavorable day for launching an offensive.

September 16 presented a different scenario for McClellan. Aware that Lee had gathered his troops around Sharpsburg, McClellan planned to launch an attack with his largely unified forces in the morning. However, dense fog obscured his view of the Confederate positions. By 8:30 to 9:00 a.m., the fog dissipated, revealing that Lee's forces remained in their locations. Nevertheless, McClellan was still unable to identify the Confederate left flank. For three and a half hours, he scoured the area along Antietam Creek in search of the enemy's line. Ultimately, realizing that only direct engagement would reveal their position, he instructed Hooker to move his First Corps across the creek at 12:30 p.m. Federal cavalry began patrolling the western bank of the creek shortly after 1:00 p.m. It took an additional four hours for Hooker to position his troops for the attack that commenced later that evening. In summary, the variable conditions hindered McClellan's ability to launch an assault on September 15, leading to a delayed attack on September 16.

Despite the traditional narrative, the Union army was not fully prepared for combat on September 16. On the afternoon of the 15th, Richardson and Sykes, with approximately 6,700 infantry, arrived at the Portertown bridge. Hooker's 1st Corps, consisting of 8,600 infantry, reached the area in the early evening and established a position near the Pry House. Meanwhile, Sumner's two additional divisions were stationed along the Keedysville Road. The 12th Corps was positioned at Boonsboro, the 9th Corps was located around Appletown, roughly six miles away, and the 6th Corps was in Pleasant Valley. Morell and Weber remained at Frederick or Middletown.

On the morning of the 16th, Sumner successfully moved his remaining two divisions to Keedysville, allowing McClellan to muster around 25,000 effective infantry by mid-morning. However, Burnside was still lagging; his Corps did not arrive at Portertown until noon and subsequently camped about two miles from the battlefield. Burnside advanced to receive orders regarding the placement of his corps, but by dusk, only three brigades had managed to reach the bluffs overlooking the Rohrbach Bridge. The balance of the corps was a couple of miles east and didn't break camp until 0900 on the 17th. The 12th Corps marched from Boonsboro and approached Keedysville quite late in the afternoon. As they arrived, McClellan ordered them to cross the creek and support Hooker. Morell's division and Weber's brigade are behind them. Any attack on the 16th would have been fought solely by the 1st and 2nd Corps, and Sykes' division.

It may have been to his benefit to attack immediately, although McClellan would have had to advance troops in fog and against an opponent he believed outnumbered him. Had he pushed Sumner’s Second Corps across the Middle Bridge at daybreak, regardless of the fog, it probably would have forced Lee to withdraw his troops from the heights opposite the Rohrbach Bridge, where Ambrose Burnside and Jacob Cox waited with the Ninth Corps. They could then have crossed against the Confederate right. Hooker could have crossed on the Confederate left and engaged Jackson’s men there. Pursuing a strategy such as this would have likely stretched Lee’s force thin in multiple places, allowing the Federals to punch through. I doubt that in this type of scenario, Lee could have held his position for longer than 24 hours.

Lee intuited that the initial attack would be on his left. Intelligence came in all day on September 16, indicating a Federal advance on the left, but little activity on the right and in the middle. Concentrating forces against the Confederate left focused Lee there as well. All he needed to do was shift men from the right and center until a threat materialized in those sectors, and that did not occur until later in the afternoon on September 17.

Lee cornered himself on purpose, unlike what some historians suggest. He did so because his campaign objective was to fight and win a battle north of the Potomac that would fulfill the promise of protection his proclamation of Sept. 8 gave to Marylanders in favor of secession. His plan to fight north of Boonsboro had unraveled when Jackson took a day longer than Lee anticipated to capture Harpers Ferry, and because McClellan had unexpectedly attacked the South Mountain gaps. This left Lee with no choice but to move back toward Virginia to bring the army's various pieces closer together. Sharpsburg was the last place Lee could find with somewhat advantageous terrain. However, his left was vulnerable to a large-scale attack, which is exactly why McClellan struck there.

McClellan did not appear to have “the slows” in his approach to Antietam. This is yet another tenet of the history of the battle that does not hold up to scrutiny. This has been a persistent myth since Sears & Catton. Its origin was the 1864 Lincoln election propaganda campaign. McClellan's army did not fully arrive until September 17. By the end of the day on the 15th, his corps was stretched out on the road back over South Mountain. McClellan also faced the possibility that Jackson commanded the portion on his left flank, where the Sixth Corps was, and Lee the portion on the right flank at Sharpsburg. Being between these two commanders is not an enviable position.

By the morning of Sept. 16, McClellan hoped to attack, but could not see the enemy's lines. He therefore scouted along them for a better idea, but did not glean one. It is only after these scouting missions that he ordered Hooker to cross the creek and develop the Confederate left flank, something that could only be done through contact. Sure, McClellan could have ordered Hooker across earlier and had more daylight, but it is unclear what that might have accomplished. We need to remember as well that McClellan believed his army to be outnumbered. We know that is false, but no commander in his right mind would push his force into unknown territory while facing a stronger opponent. That said, McClellan did make a mistake by not sending the Twelfth Corps along with Hooker, and perhaps the Second Corps as well.

Exactly what McClellan was thinking on September 17th is anyone’s guess. McClellan, of course, has been skewered throughout history for generating a piecemeal attack. But his actual plan was to attack en echelon, Napoleon style.  But, if a commander follows such a plan to stretch enemy defenses, the key to victory is to commit the reserves in a timely fashion: “a mass of decision.”  This was the Napoleonic principle.  He utterly failed in this last and most crucial aspect of his plan. The Tactic of a Napoleon-era en echelon attack was to advance at different times to create a "pressure point" on the enemy's line and to follow up any breakthrough with reserve troops.

True to form as we saw in the Seven Days, his headquarters was over a mile away from the battlefield. That would guarantee that he had no clue what was happening on the field in real time. Communication would be delayed, and any momentary opportunity lost. And I think that is exactly what happened.

McClellan failed to commit his reserves for several reasons. 1).  Located at the Pry house, he was on the wrong side of Antietam creek and thus was removed from the battlefield.  2).  Burnside was supposed to be coming up from the south in behind Gen. D.H. Hill once Burnside's men cross the bridge and start rolling up the Confederate army from South to North.  However, Burnside failed in his mission because of extremely slow development of his attacks.  3).  Gen. Fitz Porter supposedly reminded Mac, when Mac was contemplating sending in Porter's men, that "His Corps represented the last troops of the Army of the Potomac".  It was a subtle reminder of how Napoleon sent in his only reserve of the Guard at Waterloo and was soundly defeated, which is all Mac needed to hear to become timid and afraid of failure.

McClellan had a long history of delaying attacks. Maybe he thought that he had to plan in great detail before launching them. But these delays were never beneficial and never justifiable. Perhaps:

·       McClellan didn’t really know the size of the army in his front at Antietam and therefore, he was being prudently cautious in moving slowly before starting his attack. https://www.historynet.com/mcclellans-war-winning-strategy/

·       He had an inability to create original or innovative ideas, even though he was tremendously smart and a quick study.

·       He might have been incapable of responding creatively to the real time exigencies of battle.  He could not creatively adjust his plan. Thus, at Antietam, when his plan of assault did not unfold like a predetermined Napoleonic success, Mac was unable to develop any new concepts on the spot to adapt to the changed circumstances.

·       My own opinion is that McClellan was more concerned with not losing than with winning. In his mind, as the fate of the Union rested on his shoulders, he could not allow a defeat.

·       Cpl Thomas Pressnel of Co D, 1st Minnesota said on Sept 18, the day after Antietam:  "McClellan is either a fool or a traitor." https://www.hhhistory.com/2019/05/antietam-bloodiest-day.html

 

McClellan telegraphed that he was going to start the attack on Lee’s left. His artillery opened up all afternoon September 16 in that area. Hooker was sent there. Lee saw all of this. Lee’s ranks had been thinned by casualties, sickness and large-scale desertions, but he had the advantage of position. He’d selected an excellent defensive field in which to fight. The lay of the land permitted the Rebels the opportunity to transfer troops under cover and allowed them to select the most advantageous artillery positions.

Antietam Creek is pretty shallow in most places, ranging from 60 to 100 feet in width, and was fordable in several places. It was crossed by three stone bridges each a mile apart. The bridges over Antietam Creek would be crucial. The top two for Union units to enter the battlefield, the bottom one, a stone bridge, for the final act.

At the Battle of Antietam, more Americans died in battle (September 17, 1862) than on any other day in the nation's history. The bloodiest battle in American history was Gettysburg, but its more than 46,000 casualties occurred over three days. Antietam ranks fifth in terms of total casualties in Civil War battles.

 

The Cornfield

On the morning of September 17th, a 30-acre cornfield owned by David R. Miller lay between the two armies. The cornstalks were turning from green to brown, ready to be harvested, 30 acres of corn fodder. None of it would exist by that evening. One general remarked, “Every stalk of corn in the northern and greater part of the field was cut as closely as with a knife.” Thousands of men would lie dead in that cornfield, the site of some of the most ferocious, confusing, and deadly fighting of the war.

At first light (around 5:30 a.m. on September 17, 1862), Maj. Gen. Joseph Hooker’s I Corps struck the Confederate left along the Hagerstown Turnpike, aiming for the plateau crowned by the small whitewashed Dunker Church. Hooker’s roughly 8,600 men pressed forward against Stonewall Jackson’s 7,700 defenders, deploying Abner Doubleday on the right, James Ricketts into the East Woods, and George Meade’s reserves in the center. As Union infantry emerged into the Cornfield below the church, an artillery duel erupted: Confederate horse batteries under J.E.B. Stuart to the west and four guns under Col. Stephen D. Lee to the south traded shots with nine Federal batteries behind the North Woods and distant Parrott rifles. Fierce musket­ry and close‐quarters fighting swirled around the church itself, with repeated advances and withdrawals in the fields and woods before fresh Confederate brigades under McLaws and Hood counterattacked shortly after 7 a.m., stabilizing Jackson’s line near the landmark.

At dawn, a Union corps assaulted Lee's left flank across Miller's Cornfield. The battle began when Hooker’s I Corps attacked around 5:30 a.m. As the Union moved forward, they were met by withering fire from Confederate infantry and artillery, including Stonewall Jackson’s men positioned in the West Woods and behind a fence at the southern edge of the corn. The cornfield turned rapidly into a killing field. The tall corn created a kind of fog of war—soldiers couldn’t see well and often blundered into enemy fire at close range. Units were slaughtered in rows, sometimes without even seeing who was shooting them. Men layed prone and shot at legs through the stalks; if they stood up they couldn’t see and more apt to be killed. Fighting surged back and forth repeatedly, with Union troops advancing, getting repulsed, and attacking again.

At 7AM, Mansfield’s XII Corps brought in fresh troops, hoping to support Hooker, but was mortally wounded. His men also suffered heavy casualties as they entered the killing zone.

Next, General John Bell Hood’s division, including the famed Texas Brigade, launched a devastating counterattack, pushing Union troops back out of the Cornfield temporarily. Hood’s men took over 60% casualties—he later said his division was “dead on the field.” Control of the field changed hands perhaps 6 to 8 times in three hours. Casualties mounted on both sides—some regiments lost over half their men in minutes. By 9:00 a.m., the Cornfield fight had run its course; the area was covered with bodies. As regiments and brigades entered the Cornfield, only to be demolished in waves of attacks and counterattacks, a layer of smoke covered the field so that no one could see what was happening. Soldiers later related that they lay on the ground and shot at the legs of their enemies

Perched roughly three‑quarters of a mile southwest of the North Woods, the knoll known as Nicodemus Hill (or Heights) was crowned by more than a dozen Confederate cannon placed there overnight by J.E.B. Stuart’s cavalry artillery, under the direct command of Maj. John Pelham. From this vantage the guns enfiladed the right flank of Hooker’s advancing columns as they poured out of the woods into the open terrain toward the Cornfield and Dunker Church. Pelham’s batteries swept the ground with shell and canister, inflicting severe casualties and helping to check the Union drive long enough for Jackson’s infantry to form a defensive Stonewall Jackson held the Confederate lines, and the Union suffered heavy casualties. Neither side seemed able to gain the upper hand, and one witness described the clash as "Artillery Hell."

2) While numerous countercharges held off Union advances, this Union division commander ordered yet another attack, resulting in Jackson’s left and center being in imminent danger. 3) Then this illustrious Union brigade charged parallel with Hagerstown Pike, sweeping the field. 4) His lines collapsing all around him, and out of men on the line, Stonewall Jackson turned to this general, his last reserve, being held after his men were in the center of the battle at Harpers Ferry.5) Which Confederate troops advanced in a desperate situation to save the southwest corner of the field? 6) After all of the intense action, which Confederate brigade held the line? 7) Both Hooker and Jackson each had one more brigade to throw into this killing field. Who were they led by? Which Union General led the attack? Hint: This general seemed to be everywhere Jackson’s men were during the war. 8) At the end of the fighting, who held the Cornfield? What was the staggering toll of casualties in just this one part of the field? 9) When did Jackson arrive at Sharpsburg?

Joseph Hooker was the Union corps commander that led the attack on the Cornfield. John Gibbon bravely led the first wave of that attack. The Iron Brigade struck hard at Jackson’s line and advanced deep into the Cornfield. Despite success, they met withering Confederate counterfire and were eventually pushed back. Units like the 6th Wisconsin and 2nd Wisconsin suffered casualty rates over 50%. Still, they inflicted enormous damage and helped set the stage for XII Corps’ later advance. You will notice that many of those who rose to high command later in the war courageously led in smaller roles in this battle. Arguably, that is why the tide of the war turned eventually: the cream rose to the top. 2) Abner Doubleday. 3) The Iron Brigade. 4) John Bell Hood. 5) Hays’ Louisiana Brigade. 6) The Stonewall Brigade. 7) Maj Gen Joseph KF Mansfield vs General DH Hill. Alpheus Williams led the 1st Division, XII Corps. His contributions to this campaign were enormous. He would go on to be a lawyer, judge, journalist, and later U.S. Congressman. His division had been defeated twice by Stonewall Jackson, once in the Valley and once at Second Bull Run. At Antietam, his division, which had found Special Order 191, had 25% casualties against Jackson’s Division. He would meet Jackson’s men again at Chancellorsville, where his men entrenched and stopped Jackson’s offensive, with heavy casualties. Williams finally stopped Jackson’s corps, without Jackson, of course, on Culp’s Hill. 8) It hardly mattered at that point, but the Army of the Potomac did hold part of it, however tenuously. Estimates suggest 8,000–10,000 men were killed or wounded in or near the Cornfield in just those few hours.9) It is so important to note that Longstreet was the only corps commander through South Mountain, and that Jackson wasn’t there because he was capturing Harpers Ferry, which he accomplished on September 15. Jackson then pushed his men to join the rest of the army at Sharpsburg, Maryland. Jackson arrived in time to bear the brunt of the Federal advances on the northern end of the battlefield in the morning phase. https://www.historynet.com/battle-of-antietam-carnage-in-a-cornfield/?f

 

The Sunken Road

The focus of battle swung southeast from The Cornfield to Bloody Lane. This sunken dirt farm road had been used by local farmers to bypass the town, and its level was below the fields around it due to use and rain. The Confederates fortified it, using the sunken road as a natural trench. This part of the battle occurred roughly between 9:00 a.m. and 1:00 p.m. Around 9:00 a.m., Union II Corps under Gen. Edwin Sumner attacked. Led by Gen. William H. French’s division, then Gen. Israel Richardson’s, they hit the lane from the east in wave after wave. The Confederates poured musket fire into the advancing Federals from the cover of the lane. Union troops returned fire, turning the area into a brutal stand-up firefight, lasting hours.

Casualties were enormous on both sides. Bodies piled up in the narrow lane—thus the name “Bloody Lane.”

Maj. Gen. Daniel Harvey Hill placed his division of approximately 2,600 men along the road, piled fence rails on the embankment to further strengthen the position and waited for the advance of the Union army. As Federal troops moved to reinforce the fighting in the West Woods, Union Maj. Gen. William H. French and his 5,500 men veered south, towards Hill's position along the Sunken Road. As French's men approached the Sunken Road, the Confederate troops staggered them with a powerful volley delivered at a range of less than one hundred yards.

Union and Confederate troops dug in. For nearly four hours, from 9:30 a.m. to 1 p.m., bitter fighting raged along this road as French, supported by Gen. Israel B. Richardson`s division, sought to drive the Southerners back. Outnumbered but with a well-defended position, the Confederates in the road stood their ground for most of the morning. Eventually, a gap opened in the Confederate line due to miscommunication and shifting reserves. Union troops flanked the lane, firing down its length, turning it into a death trap. Confederate resistance collapsed, and survivors fled toward Sharpsburg.

After the Union broke through the Sunken Road around 1:00 p.m., there was a real opportunity to split Lee’s army in two and possibly end the battle—and maybe the war—right there. An opportunity to crush Lee’s army was missed.

2) 3) 4) At the critical moment, as the Sunken Road collapsed, the Confederate Army was in great danger of being overrun. Why didn’t he throw in his reserves at this desperate time as Jackson did? 5) Who led the brigade that broke the defense of the Sunken Road? 6) How severe were the casualties?

The great Union heroes of this portion of the battle were immigrants from another country who came here seeking a better life and escape from a famine. The Irish Brigade (New York and Massachusetts Irish Americans) advanced upon Confederate troops who had taken up a position in No fewer than eight times were the colors of the Irish Brigade struck down, but nine times they were taken up and carried forward. Men sacrificed their lives to rush a fence and tear it down rather than have the entire brigade take fire through being slowed by the barricade. The Irish Brigade advanced under heavy fire, living up to the Gaelic phrase written upon their regimental colors: “Riamh Nar Dhruid O Spairn lann”, “Who never retreated from the clash of spears”.

Eventually, the Irish Brigade was able to flank the sunken road, and rather than facing entrenched riflemen head-on, they were then able to shoot down the Sunken Road, so effectively that The Sunken Road became The Bloody Lane. Union assaults against the Sunken Road carried the Confederate center, but the resulting advantage was squandered. The two remaining divisions of Sumner's corps that had not attacked the Hagerstown Road. They had entered the field through the North bridge then divided up.

DH Hill’s division had already intervened in the fluid battles near the East Woods, so even though it held a strong position in the sunken road, the division was somewhat weakened. The Union general who led the attack that broke the line was Francis Channing Barlow, who would go on to fame on Day 1 at Gettysburg and become one of the great heroes of the war, and a division commander under Hancock in the Overland Campaign.

Colonel John B Gordon was wounded 6 times that day, might have drowned in his kepi from his blood that collected in it, and had a facial scar forever. He promised General Lee "The men are going to stay here, General, till the sun goes down or victory is won!"

McClellan has been criticized ever since for advancing portions of his line at different times rather than at once and holding back an entire corps entirely.  At the moment when the battle was hanging in the balance, McClellan did not send in an entire corps he held in reserve, which might well have won the battle and perhaps the entire war that very day. The infamous story is that the reserve troops belonging to McClellan’s most trusted corps commander, Gen. Fitz-John Porter, were ready to take the field at the Sunken Road. For a brief moment, McClellan seemed ready to commit the V Corps reserves and looked to Porter, his most trusted subordinate. Porter is said to have slowly shaken his head with disapproval and is purported to have said to McClellan, “Remember, General! I command the last reserve of the last army of the Republic.” Modern scholarship suggests that this never happened, and that Porter was blamed after the fact, before his court-martial set up by Pope. It would take many years for Porter to get justice, and he would never command again. I have never believed that story. I think McClellan was so far away from the battlefield, the only time he left his HQ was to scout the far right near Nicodemus Heights around 2 pm, that by the time he was informed of the opportunity, Lee had already moved reinforcements to plug the hole in the center. Troops under Gen. James Longstreet and others helped stabilize the line, and the artillery was the real savior. That gave the Confederate army time to regroup and survive the day. This was his story to protect his reputation.

There were roughly 5,600 total casualties in this phase alone. The road remained choked with the dead and wounded for hours—an iconic image of Civil War carnage.

Map of Burnside Bridge by Hal Jespersen. Source: Map by Hal Jespersen, www.posix.com/CW, Creative Commons license 3.0, available here.

The Burnside Bridge

Late in the afternoon, the fiercest fighting again switched, now to the south part of the field, the Union left.  There, General Ambrose Burnside and XI Corps had been attempting for hours to cross Antietam Creek via a narrow stone arch bridge called the Rohrbach bridge at that time, and which would later bear the name Burnside Bridge. Hartwig claims that this name change was intended derisively and mockingly. This the site of one of the most dramatic and frustrating episodes of the war. Burnside is often criticized for his action, or lack thereof, to cross the creek for hours when doing so would have flanked Lee’s position. It is often said that his failure to perform a proper reconnaissance caused him to not realize there were several other places to ford his troops.

Burnside spent hours trying advance his troops through the bottleneck bridge under the accurate and deadly fire of Confederate sharpshooters. The bridge was defended by just 500 Confederate sharpshooters, who had terrific position to attack anyone trying to cross. They held the bluffs above the bridge, giving them a commanding view and position. From this high ground, they rained down musket and artillery fire on any Union troops attempting to approach.

Burnside had three divisions (thousands of men) but committed them in piecemeal assaults. Rather than flanking the bridge with a quicker ford (there were two nearby), he focused on direct frontal assaults. His troops tried repeatedly to storm the narrow bridge, each time taking heavy losses. After more than three hours, the Union finally succeeded around 1:00 p.m., with Brig. Gen. Edward Ferrero’s brigade (including the 51st Pennsylvania and 51st New York) storming the bridge. Once across, Union troops pushed back the Confederates, climbing the heights and threatening the Confederate right.

It looked like a Union victory was inevitable. Just as Burnside’s men were preparing to roll up Lee’s right flank, Gen. A.P. Hill’s division arrived from Harpers Ferry after a forced march. At this critical moment, with the Confederate line breaking, A. P. Hill's division arrived after a forced march from Harpers Ferry and launched a surprise counterattack. They slammed into Burnside’s left around 3:30 p.m., halting and driving back Burnside.

Ambrose Burnside typically receives criticism for his slow advance at Antietam (and in other battles). Sears is especially critical, opining that his delay here had a serious impact on the battle and the war, which cannot be overstated. He wrote that Burnside should have found a way to cross the creek much earlier.

The opposite bank of the bridge was held mainly Georgians under Brig. Gen. Robert Toombs, the former Confederate Secretary of State, who had warned President Davis not to fire on Fort Sumter. He then resigned and took division command. He was wounded in action that day.

Stephen Sears, in his authoritative book Landscape Turned Red, makes the case that Ambrose Burnside’s sluggish performance at Antietam was at least partly due to his frustration with the command structure, especially with how McClellan treated him. Before Antietam, McClellan had organized his army into “wings” rather than corps directly under army command. Burnside was given command of the right wing, which included IX and I Corps. But just before the battle, McClellan reassigned I Corps to Hooker, leaving Burnside with just IX Corps—effectively demoting him in all but name. Sears argues that this shift bruised Burnside’s ego and left him resentful and confused about his role. He suggests Burnside was “acting out” in response by dragging his feet, waiting for more direct orders. Rather than taking initiative, as a wing commander might have done, Burnside behaved like a corps commander waiting for instructions—possibly as a passive protest. But while this interpretation is widely cited, this is entirely Sears’ own interpretation, with no source whatsoever. Hartwig doesn’t even mention it.

There has also been some controversy whether Antietam Creek had several areas that were easily crossed on foot, rendering the bridge much less important It’s fascinating to remember that Henry Kyd Douglas first said this, the man who might have been the courier who lost the Special Order. Hartwig notes that this was disingenuous because the creek was much deeper than that, and the entire bank was covered by Confederate troops. Hartwig notes that McClellan did not criticize Burnside until a year later, when he blamed Burnside for the delay. He also notes that the IX Corps Commander mostly ran the action, and that he tried very hard to cross the creek, had called for reinforcements, which McClellan would not send, instead shoring up his right flank. McClellan’s criticisms of Burnside as he was preparing to run for president. The fact is that Burnside faced severe resistance that day.

AP Hill was in Harpers Ferry, paroling prisoners. His entrance just when he did save the day for the Confederates. Just as it looked like the battle would be lost when Burnside's men began to turn the right of the Confederate line, A.P. Hill, leading the last elements of Jackson's Corps, arrived on the field from Harpers Ferry and stopped the Federal Advance. I am guessing that the reports of Lee’s final words about how AP Hill must come up, which I don’t think really happened, relate to this moment.

 

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The 1847 Battle of Buena Vista was part of the Mexican-American War. It involved hard fighting between US forces led by General Zachary Taylor and Mexican forces General Antonio López de Santa Anna. James F. Byrne Jr explains what happened in the battle.

The Battle of Buena Vista. Source: Library of Congress/N. Currier, Public domain, available here.

Returning from an inspection of the frontlines, the staff officer reined in his lathered mount and reported to the commander.  Outnumbered, outmaneuvered, and at times outfought, the American soldiers had tenaciously resisted the seemingly inexorable advance of their Mexican foes.  However, driven from their positions and their rear area threatened by marauding horsemen, the reeling troops were, according to the staff officer, whipped.  “I know it,” responded Major General Zachary Taylor, “but the volunteers don’t know it.  Let them alone and we’ll see what they do.”  What they would do is fight the Mexican army to a standstill at Buena Vista on February 23, 1847.

Five months into the Mexican War Taylor’s forces had won three major victories and seized much of Northern Mexico.  These tactical successes did not produce commensurate strategic results, and the US government ordered an advance on Mexico City.  To support this advance, Taylor was stripped of his 9,000 Regulars and instructed to remain on the defensive with his remaining 4,000 volunteers.  To add to Taylor’s challenges, General Antonio de Santa Anna raised a new army of 20,000 to clear Northern Mexico of the Yankee invaders.

In mid-January Santa Anna’s scouts captured dispatches detailing the reduction of Taylor’s army.  Taking advantage of this intelligence, Santa Anna immediately launched his host north on a 280 mile forced march across a stark, barren landscape.

Santa Anna was marching over territory Taylor believed impassable.  In fact, Taylor ignored  warnings  from his scouts until Santa Anna was within 40 miles of his own force.  Finally, convinced that a crisis was at hand, he ordered his command to assume defensive positions at a pass through the Sierra Madre mountains.  Unfamiliar with the terrain, he ordered BG John Wool to position and fight the forces, leaving Taylor free to move around the battlefield.  Wool established the defense where the main road  passed through a narrow defile.  Terrain to the west was largely impassable.  A plateau to the east was navigable but was crisscrossed by gullies restricting movement.  Wood blocked the defile with infantry and artillery and positioned the rest of his force along the plateau to the east.

Santa Anna sent cavalry units around the American left flank to threaten their rear area, while launching massed infantry attacks against the thin line on the plateau.  However, his cavalry was unable to overcome the ad-hoc defensive forces assembled behind the American lines, and his infantry, due to the restrictive terrain, was unable to mass its firepower.  Woods did a superb job moving infantry to fill gaps and repositioning artillery to seal off Mexican penetrations.  As for Taylor, he let his subordinates fight their individual battles.  One officer discovered this when seeking guidance.  After due consideration Taylor replied, “Give ‘em hell, Bragg.”

The courage of the Mexican soldiers and their superiority in numbers had Santa Anna on the brink of victory by the close of the 2d day.  Most of the American officers believed one more push and the Mexicans would carry the day.  Instead of a final push, Santa Anna withdrew.  Concerned about his lack of supplies and heavy (18%) losses, Santa Anna lost his nerve, the battle, and quite possibly the war.  Never again would he take the offensive, and never again would the Mexican army come as close to victory as it did at Buena Vista. 

 

Lessons Learned

Terrain is a force multiplier – Wool’s masterful use of terrain negated the Mexican advantage in numbers.

Operational security is a table stake – Santa Anna’s knowledge of Taylor’s diminished strength nearly had disastrous consequences.

The enemy has their own plans – Taylor’s reluctance to believe Santa Anna would move through barren terrain put his own command at risk.

Let good leaders lead – Taylor had the right people in the right place and expected them to perform.

 

 

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History is not just found in museums or far-off exotic locations — it can be discovered close to home. After more than forty years as a resident of Milton Keynes, England, I decided to go out and explore some of the local history, and there is plenty of it still waiting to be rediscovered: forgotten, overlooked, or simply swallowed up by the new commercial and industrial estates that have sprouted across the new city. History is not always about dramatic events like decisive battles or colourful monarchs; sometimes it is quite the opposite.

Steve Prout explains.

An old print of Wolverton. Source: Public domain, Peter Lewis, available here.

The town of Wolverton, England, is famous for its claim to be the first purpose-built railway town in England, if not the world. A few railway settlements — Shildon, for example — existed as early as 1825, but they were not purpose-built specifically for the arrival of the railway industry. The distinction is subtle, but a real one. At one time Wolverton was a leading, modern, and progressive town. It lies in the north of the new City of Milton Keynes, close to the historic towns of Stony Stratford and Newport Pagnell (famous for the Aston Martin factories).

 

Wolverton and the pre-railway era

Wolverton only rose to prominence in the first half of the nineteenth century. Before this, the town was a little-known medieval village that had long since vanished, its only mention being in the Domesday Book of 1086. The remains of that settlement are barely discernible today, save for a few impressions in a meadow where it once stood. By the 1700s Wolverton had been lost to history, and it remained so until its fortunes changed in the early 1800s.

 

Acts of Parliament and modernisation

It was the passing of the London and Birmingham Railway Act in 1833 that brought the town back to life, and its fortunes changed considerably for the better. The Act required the establishment of a repair and maintenance depot for the new line, then the longest railway line in the country. The site needed to be roughly halfway along the route, so that train carriages could be managed and repaired efficiently, and Wolverton fit the requirement. The town's position on the Grand Union Canal was also an advantage, allowing raw materials for the construction of the site to be transported easily.

The London and Birmingham line was one of the first of its kind, notable for its length and its importance in connecting two major cities. It took over twenty thousand workers and five years to build. For the remainder of the nineteenth century, the arrival of the railway works transformed and modernised Wolverton.

Examples of this transformation included the creation of the Bath House in 1890, which provided washing facilities, the Reading Room, and the arrival of new industries — notably McCorquodale Printers (founded in 1841), which established itself in Wolverton printing official stationery.

The story of McCorquodale is particularly interesting: its owner, George McCorquodale, would probably never have considered Wolverton as a location for a printing works had he not been approached by his friend Sir Richard Moon, Chairman of the London & North Western Railway. Moon suggested that McCorquodale establish a works in the town, with the aim of providing employment for the daughters of the railway workers, who otherwise had no work in Wolverton. McCorquodale already ran successful stationery ventures in Glasgow, London, and Leeds, and by 1878 he had added Wolverton to the list, helping the town prosper through full employment. The company also offered its employees benefits that were rare for the time – reading, recreation and dining rooms — although staff still had to work a fifty-four-hour week.

The Reading Room was unique, being the first of its kind on the railway. It was built alongside the works buildings to give railway workers the means to further their learning and education, though it was also accessible to others of a higher social standing. In its day it was frequently visited by Queen Victoria and other passengers during stops on their travels.

The Reading Room was progressive for its time, at a period when employers rarely gave much thought to staff wellbeing. However, the industry did need to maintain and encourage an educated workforce, given the technical expertise the work required. Over time, the Reading Room had fallen out of its original use and instead served a variety of functions, including a Wesleyan chapel and a sewing room, among others. It was abandoned completely in 1964, before later being brought back into use to accommodate a number of different businesses over the years. The building can still be seen today, though only an unassuming plaque marks its past, and it is now home to a marketing agency — its history almost lost to the modern world.

 

Wolverton Works and the War

The works also served the country's war effort: existing carriages were converted into ambulance trains during the First World War, and the workers' expertise was called upon again in the Second World War — this time not to build trains, but to produce Horsa gliders for the D-Day landings, repair Whitley bombers, manufacture Hawker Typhoon wings, and convert some seven hundred vans into much-needed armoured cars.

In 1962 its fortunes began to change, and the site contracted. The workforce today is a shadow of its former self, but the works remain an important part of Wolverton and a significant local employer.

Wolverton has a claim to many “firsts.” It was the first works to maintain and manufacture the Royal Train, a role it has held since 1842 and retains today. It also became the first railway works to use electricity, in 1901, for both utility purposes and to power machinery.

 

Wolverton Works Today

The works itself has diminished in size, with only repair and refurbishment duties remaining; the site is now mostly occupied by a Tesco supermarket and new housing estates along the canal. Some derelict buildings remain, awaiting development and further modern-day change.

The Reading Room is not the only feature to have been lost or to become a casualty of modern times — the Bath House remains in name only, now serving as a community centre.

McCorquodale Printers has since closed, and the ground now houses modern flats built in 2010. The company still operates today, based in Derby and embracing the digital age.

Wolverton's growth allowed nearby towns such as Bradwell and Newport Pagnell to grow and flourish alongside it. On the back of all this, a new city was eventually designed.

History is still with us, but we need to look a little closer to make sure we do not lose it, or forget how it once transformed our lives and the places around us. It is not only battles, prime ministers and monarchs that shape our lives; small, everyday things do too. There are many more historical stories in Milton Keynes lying forgotten or simply unnoticed.

 

What lies on your doorstep? Let us know below.

Now read about how the world’s longest railway was built here.

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What caused the American Civil War, and why did the Southern states leave the Union? These are two of the most debated questions in American history. The standard view is that slavery was the sole cause. The North, led by an abolitionist president, Abraham Lincoln, sought to end the institution in the South, and the Southern states left to preserve it. Here, Jeb Smith argues that this is far from the truth.

A depiction of the Union capture of New Orleans in 1862. Source: Public domain, Illustration from Campfires and Battlefields by Rossiter, Johnson, et al. (New York, 1894), available here.

A little digging into the sources from the period shows Lincoln never desired to end slavery in the South, only to prevent its extension into the territories. The Republican platform Plank 4 stated they would not interfere with states’ rights to order their own domestic institutions, implicitly including slavery where it already existed, and condemned any idea of outside military intervention, whether in states or territories. Prominent Republicans and abolitionists, including Lincoln himself many times over, said the same. The last thing they wanted was for free blacks to be running around in their own states or in the territories. The radical abolitionist wing of the North despised slavery but, like Lincoln at the time, were far from wanting to see blacks marrying or working with whites, still less voting.

When the original Deep South states left the Union, the federal government quickly came under considerable fiscal strain and had to borrow money from various banks. The primary form of taxation at that time was through tariffs, which fell heavily on the cotton-producing Southern states, generating most of the revenue. This was why Lincoln could not allow the South to secede: his political agenda involved a massive expansion in taxation and government spending, meaning he could not countenance a massive reduction in federal revenues. So, when his primary income sources left, and his bankers and financial interest groups commanded him not to allow them to go, we were thrust into a war. Money was, in this case, the root of the war’s evils.

From the reverse perspective, tariffs were one of the major reasons the Deep South left the Union. As mentioned, they were burdened with generating more than their fair share of federal income, and the vast majority of their taxes went North, to benefit Northern industry and pay for internal improvements in Northern states and various governmental subsidies. This is clearly stated in various secession documents and speeches leading up to and during the actual breach, and is presented as a vital cause of these states deciding to leave the Union.

A half dozen or so other issues also played a role; among them was, indeed, slavery. But slavery could be split into several separate questions, only one of them centered on maintaining slavery itself (as stated, it was in no danger). But primary among the various strands of slavery as a cause was the maintenance of limited government.

 

Limited government

Southerners, as well as many Northerners, had long maintained that limited government could only be preserved by adhering to a strict constructionist view of the Constitution, as a document of delegated powers from the states to the central government. The government cannot extend its powers past those limitations, of a few defined and delegated powers, without first amending the Constitution to allow it to do so. If the federal government were to succeed in expanding beyond its delegated authorities and gained a power or authority over the states that was not clearly expressed in the Constitution, no rights would be safe: the Constitution would then be of no value. The Union that delegated certain limited powers to the federal government, reserving all else to the individual states, would be destroyed. And finally, the government would become limitless in power.

For decades, virtually all the South and many in the North opposed any such actions, but there were those who desired undefined (and therefore limitless) central powers, such as the Republicans and Lincoln in 1860. One of those issues, but by no means the only one, was over slavery’s extension into the Western Territories.

The Republicans attempted to place sovereignty with the federal government, not the states, so that they could outlaw or abolish slavery in the Territories without delegated authority. The Southern platform of 1860 said it is up to those territories to decide if they want slavery, not to the federal government, since it has no delegated authority to do so. Southern pro-slavery “fire-eaters” such as William Yancey were great “defenders” of slavery. What often goes unnoticed is that he also admitted that slavery would never extend West. The soil and climate and the resulting agriculture were not suited to it, and the people would never vote for it. Meaning that he, and many other pro-slavery advocates, admitted and knew slavery would not expand, so whyever would they have fought for the existence of something they knew would never occur?

They did so for the principle of the matter, the idea of a limited government, and because of their opposition to handing over undefined powers to central authorities, leading inevitably to the authoritarianism we endure today.

 

Upper South

Finally, what is rarely taught is that the Upper South left the Union for separate reasons from those of the Deep South. Originally, the leaders and people of the Upper South rejected secession, spoke harshly of its leaders and their reasons for leaving, and voted down secession by wide margins. An enormous wave of Union patriotism swept through these states as they held even closer to the Union. Men who would become leaders, generals, governors, and major politicians in the future Confederacy condemned the secessionists for disloyalty and worse.

But they also warned President Lincoln not to coerce those Southern states into remaining in the Union, because the foundation of all good government was the consent of the governed. And that no matter why a state chose to leave a union of consent, they had every right to do so, to coerce them would be tyrannical and turn the United States into a military despotism that would repudiate the founders and the Declaration of Independence. So when Lincoln ignored them and called on those states to send volunteers to subdue the Deep South, they were enraged. Those who were once overwhelmingly Unionist became secessionists, not because they agreed with the Deep South’s original decision, but because they could no longer maintain their honor and remain in a union of forced obedience while helping Lincoln wage war on the God-given principle of self-rule.

Lincoln’s call for volunteers was the single most fatal event in destroying self-government, the consent of the governed, and liberty in America. The Upper South found out that Lincoln was indeed the devouring dragon the Deep South had warned them about. And we still live in Lincoln’s America, where we are subservient to our government, rather than the government existing for our own benefit. The South fought to preserve liberty, but Lincoln to destroy it.

 

You can read more from Jeb on the US Civil War here.

 

About the Author

Jeb Smith is an author, speaker, and historian who has written five books and over 130 articles, and has been featured on various podcasts and on television and radio stations. His works include Defending Dixie’s Land: What Every American Should Know About The South And The Civil War, written under the pen name Isaac C. Bishop, and the soon-to-be-released I'll Take My Stand: Defending the Causes of Southern Secession. For more on Jeb Smith, you can view his work at authorjebsmith.com

This article was originally published at ManifestHistory.com.

What is it about the west? Why is country music listened to in every corner, region, city, small town, and house across the United States? Why does every child at one point dream of being a cowboy or a misunderstood outlaw? Why is it that at a turbulent point in life every man has stated at least once in his life “screw it, if it doesn’t work ill just move out to a ranch on my own and live off grid”? Why is it that still today that foreign countries still refer to an American at times as a cowboy? Wait, how did Americans even get the reputation of a bunch of cowboys and outlaws?

Jeffrey Horn explains.

A Cowboy with the description ‘A King of The Plains’ . Source: Public domain, Postcard commercialized by Raphael Tuck & Sons, available here.

The matter of the West if curious. The reality of the history of the cowboy does not originate in the United States nor were they ever figures of glory and lifestyle. Cowboys were originally hired hands on ranches known as Vaqueros. The Vaqueros were known as experts of roping and herding, being trained from a young age to perfect the skills. By the 1700s the Vaqueros had expanded across Mexico, the American West, and into South America reaching as far as Argentina. As settlers expanded west into the new frontier, collaboration efforts with the Vaqueros became more and more common leading to adaptation into American ranch and farming life in the west. Which brings us back to the point of this - how did this collaboration and eventual takeover by the American way become our stereotype across the world and longed for identity at home? It makes no sense…

The original 13 Colonies had a 100-year (or more) head start on creating solidified personalities, stereotypes, and identities for colonists and eventual Americans that stemmed from the east coast. As we know these cities and historical towns do have their own strong personalities from the people of blue collar people of Boston who think the vowel O is pronounced like A and A is pronounced like H, to the hardnosed people of New York City, the loud and passionate people of Philadelphia, all the way down to the party and glamor people of Miami. But these personalities do a hard stop at the surrounding suburban neighborhoods outside the major cities. None of them extend past, no one from the middle of Oklahoma says “If all else fails I wanna be a New Yorker”. Although, if I lived in Oklahoma I would probably say that, but as a kid from Jersey I might be slightly biased. Regardless, the fascination of the wild west still sits in every American's mind, past and present.

 

Origins

Anyway, back to the Vaqueros, or well, the end of them. As the clash of cultures continued the idea of the cowboy began to take its own independent form and solidify into American culture completely detaching from its original Mexican roots. The image of the American Cowboy kept the same big curved hat, bandana, boots with spurs, and leather coat. But what completely erased the Vaquero Mexican roots was the profession change of the American Cowboy, both in the fantasized and real West. Now that the Mexican influence was completely Americanized and taken out, the American Cowboy needed a better profession then a ranch hand and it needed to have a cooler presence then just a guy who showed up to work.

But what? What could America give this physical, yet mostly mythical, icon to make it uniquely its own? Perhaps bear arms? The American Cowboy was depicted with and given guns to add to his image, much more than just some rope. The change to a more violent image came from the American idea that the settlers were in constant danger and needed to be ready to fight off any Native Americans or any other threat at a moment's notice. But who's surprised? We moved onto ancient native territories and took all their resources and just simply claimed it American? That does however bring up an interesting debate of was it a necessary evil to allow progress and societal evolution to occur or is it so completely wrong what the colonists and settlers did and we should feel bad and revert to how it was?

But again, not the point here. Another aspect that the new American Cowboy took away from the Vaquero origins was the idea of traveling together. The new image of the Cowboy was a lone ranger, a lone wolf, or a “one-man wolf pack” like Zach Galifianakis explained the roof of a casino in Las Vegas (part of the American west). This image of a lone cowboy triggered the fantasy or idea that he was running from a past that was haunting him from afar. Whether it was a girl he loved and lost, violent things he had done to get by that he no regretted, or simply not being able to find peace by staying put the American Cowboy never stayed in one spot for very long.

 

Appeal

Now that the origins of the American Cowboy are out of the way, how does this appeal to people? To be alone in the American West, which is essentially a desert, traveling on a horse with no name that you bought from an old guy in a trailer park for $20, if you wanted to stay true to the spirit of being a cowboy of course. To then be moving from place to place with no stability, doing some odd jobs to maintain at least a minimal cash flow, no contact with friends or family, and again traveling through desolate lands and potentially volatile weather. Especially if all you've known is the complete opposite, it can't be a solution to a life plan. Although, to escape the congestion of the northeast states or the skyrocketing prices and taxes of the west coast or even the extreme humidity and heat from the south and simply travel through near untouched lands and explore the national parks. Escape from the stresses of life, social media trends, buying the right clothing brands, keeping up with the latest technology, and running into every single person you know from high school at the bar wouldn’t be such a bad way to live, would never be able to keep up as much with my beloved New York sports teams or Florida Gators but they suck most of the time anyway so I wouldn’t miss much. Something to consider.

This draw to a simpler and/or easier way of life was originally a great selling point to the colonists that were tired of being confined to the original 13 colonies. So much so that at the conclusion of the Revolutionary War, the United States saw an increase of population by almost 2 million people. And by 1840, nearly 40% of the population of the infant United States of America lived west of the Appalachian Mountains, which once served as a hard stop and great divide from the rest of the unknown “New World lands”. What about in today’s America, you may ask? Well just like that “it was never a phase” emo lifestyle, Americans are still moving into the mid-west at growing rates. According to the U.S. News, of the top 25 fastest-growing places in the United States more than 50% of the places listed are located in western states such as Texas, Arizona, Utah, and Idaho (Cabral, 2025). But why? What is it about the west that makes it such an attractive place to live in? Your “next-door neighbor” is most likely over a mile away. However, you can buy that large property for less than you can buy a one bedroom shack on the Jersey Shore. Not to mention less or zero taxes on certain things whether it be property, food, or clothing. Although there are different levels of freedom living in the wild west today than at its initial discovery, the trends stay. Quiet, solitude if you choose, and seemingly more freedom to live as you like in, The Land of the Free.

 

Country music

However, the biggest influence and draw to life outside of the modern hustle and bustle is the grip that country music has on almost every American. Country music is found in every corner of the United States and has infiltrated almost every single person's music taste to some extent, and some of it is definitely intriguing. There will be at least one song that comes on and paints the picture of a green pasture, a cold beer, a sunset in the distance, and your wife and dog on either side of you that prompts a thought of “ah, that’s nice.” or at any BBQ in the summer you will find yourself singing and/or dancing to a song that is focused on the glory days of younger years or the old glory of the younger and simpler USA. Sometimes country music just hits the perfect musical vibe you're looking for, or triggers an emotion from a memory long gone. Perhaps it is not so absurd that everyone has at least one country music song on their playlist no matter if you live in the most suburban, urban, or rural place, and perhaps it’s a connector for us all that we do not see, or maybe it really is just a stereotype of America that we cannot outrun. Country music may also be the United States’ most prominent none-materialistic export (unofficially). Thinking about it, the biggest star in the world right now is Taylor Swift who was, or is depending on how you look at it, a country music super star. Before Taylor Swift though, global icons including Dolly Parton, Johnny Cash, and Willie Nelson dominated around the world and shared the American way of life and music sound outside the borders of the fifty states.

 

Western movies

Another massive American export that goes hand and hand with country music is Western movies. For nearly fifty years American western movies dominated the emerging cinema scene. Starting out with everyone's favorite pre-WWI entertainment source, silent movies, and to be specific the widely recognized first silent film to embody the “western narrative” was Edwin S. Porter’s eleven minute silent film called The Great Train Robbery was released in 1903. It was short but captivated audiences enough to make it an iconic part of cinematic history (Gioia, 2026, 1). Fast forward now to post-WWI with a longer addition of a silent western film that was released at the height of the Roaring Twenties, which of course was famously balanced out by Prohibition which also brought balance to the force, I mean decade, anyway. The movie was released in 1923 by James Cruz and depicted life traveling the west in a wagon, the hardships of traveling into the unknown, and living off the land. The film was called, The Covered Wagon and was a major step for cinema and westerns alike in the United States (Whiteman, 2019, 1).

For the next thirty years westerns were the top movie genre in the United States, and it was not long before European countries wanted in on the action. With Europe recovering financially and physically from the fallout of WWII, film makers realized that it would be cheaper to make the movies in their own countries rather than traveling to America and working through Hollywood. With this new idea all boots, steeds, and wagons started to point east beyond the Atlantic Ocean and find their new home on the boot-shaped peninsula of the Mediterranean, Italy. Spaghetti Westerns, as they were called affectionately, or derogatory sometimes, became immensely popular during the 1960s (Abreu, 2025, 1) and featured the greatest cowboy seen on screen, Clint Eastwood. The stand out strand of the large spaghetti pot was The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly and its iconic theme music. The integration of the Spaghetti Western movies into the world puts the final nail in the coffin in why the cowboy theme and stereotype surrounds the United States today.

It is possible America will never outgrow the stereotype of a bunch of cowboys and outlaws and it seems entirely possible that Americans will never stop fantasizing about the American West and continue to yearn for a quiet life living off the land. Somethings are so ingrained in the fabric of a being that it would be impossible to strip it out completely and we will wonder forever, what is it about the west?

 

 What do you think of cowboys and the American West? Let us know below.

 

References

●      Abreu, R. (2025, Feb 4). https://www.walkerart.org/reader/covered-wagon-photos-arapaho-wind-river-whiteman/.StudioBinder. https://www.studiobinder.com/blog/what-is-a-spaghetti-western-definition/

●      Cabral, A. (2025). 25 fastest-growing places in the United States. U.S. News & World Report.https://www.usnews.com

●      Davis, D. B. (1954). Ten-Gallon Hero. American Quarterly, 6(2), 111–125. https://doi.org/10.2307/3031207

●      Gioia, T. (2026, June 6). The 50 Essential Western Films. The Honest Broker. https://www.honest-broker.com/p/the-50-essential-western-films

●      Whiteman, M. (2019, Feb 14). The (Un)Covered Wagon: An Arapaho Filmmaker Unpacks the Complexities of an Early Western. Walker Reader. https://www.walkerart.org/reader/covered-wagon-photos-arapaho-wind-river-whiteman/

 

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The largest slave rebellion in US history took place in Louisiana in 1811. Here, Husain H. Roussel looks at the background, including the slave rebellion in Haiti, and what happened in Louisiana – and its aftermath.

The slave rebellion, known as the 1811 German Coast Uprising. Source: Public domain, source here, image from here.

Introduction

The French planter population, what was left of them, had barely fled Haiti in 1804 during the Haitian Revolution. It left both French plantation owners and French civilians massacred with little mercy and no quarter given by former slaves during a widespread slave rebellion. The French Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte sent the best of his army along with Polish mercenaries to retake Haiti, but with little success and at great cost to the expedition forces, who suffered from disease and a relentless onslaught from the Haitian militia. A militia made up of men, women, the young and old, and free people of color unwilling to suffer the chains of slavery or the institution of slavery once again. The Polish mercenaries sent with the French Expeditionary force decided, after witnessing French cruelty during the conflict, to abandon their French allies and support the slaves in their fight against the French, making them some of the very few Europeans on the island to be both spared and given Haitian citizenship in the new republic.

The defeat of the French expeditionary force, the burning of most plantation homes, the extermination of whites in every town harboring the French citizens, and the religion of voodoo inspiring the slaves on every corner of Haiti with the beating of religious drums to take up arms against their oppressors, would witness the inevitable end for French control. The island of Santo Domingo would become the second republic in the western hemisphere, after the American Revolution, to obtain its independence from a European overlord. The difference was that this new republic would be solely controlled by former slaves and freemen of color who would now decide what course the future of Haiti would take.

 

News of a Slave Victory

The few French survivors who managed to escape took what they were able to carry or salvage, including Haitian slaves and newly enslaved Africans who were either loyal to their masters or forced to leave the island at gunpoint. French survivors fled to France, other French colonies in the Caribbean like Martinique and Guadeloupe, or Spanish-controlled Cuba. The French colony of Louisiana and the district of New Orleans would become another destination for many of the now recently created French refugees to settle in, and a few years later would become the next stage for the largest slave rebellion in the history of the United States of America. The news of the 1804 Haitian rebellion and their independence from France as a sovereign nation became a nightmare for all plantation owners in every country who held people of color in bondage, be they of African descent or native indigenous people.

 

Fear of the Southern Plantation Owners

The news of the Haitian victory over the French, not to mention a French professional army, was without a doubt the worst nightmare for every southern plantation owner in the slave-holding states of the newly established United States of America. The armed insurrection of slaves through none other than widespread rebellion was the fear they would awaken to each morning while looking out the window from the second floor of their lavish and genteel plantation homes. What if this happens here? A constant thought while watching their slaves working in brutal conditions on the plantation fields. This was also what every paid overseer who dared not be caught off guard worked hard to prevent by maintaining order as they ruthlessly whipped the slaves into obedience for any transgression, or used other brutal means to control the slaves in the unforgiving atmosphere of the southern plantation.

 

Slavery in French Controlled Louisiana

The French claimed the area known as Louisiana in 1682, and the territory claimed by the Kingdom of France was named in honor of the French King Louis XIV by the French explorer René-Robert Cavelier, Sieur de la Salle. The institution of slavery was initially introduced on the indigenous people of the colony around 1706. The harsh treatment of slavery, along with a lack of immunity to new diseases, led to the deaths of many indigenous people. The French would nevertheless continue to capture indigenous people for slavery throughout their control of Louisiana by military raids on native villages or enemy prisoners traded to the French who were obtained from various warring Native American tribes in the area. However, as far as the French were concerned, the use of indigenous people did not solve the problem for a wider need in slave labor, thereby witnessing the introduction of African slaves to Louisiana around 1719. While people of African descent were recorded in Louisiana census reports as living in the territory around 1712, the vast number of African slaves began to arrive in 1719.

 

African slaves in Louisiana

The first slave ships from Africa arrived in Louisiana in 1719, only a year after the founding of New Orleans. Around twenty-three ships or so brought slaves to Louisiana in the French period alone, almost all embarking prior to 1730. The need for labor on the large concessions proved so great that officials found themselves unable to satisfy the colonists’ demand for slaves. Thus, the large number of slaves brought over to supply colonists with free labor soon resulted in enslaved Africans outnumbering free whites. In 1741, four African slaves lived in the colony for every 1.2 free whites. The French period of control in Louisiana, due to commercial and agricultural needs for labor, continued to witness slaves becoming the majority of the population.

 

Spanish Controlled Louisiana

Spain obtained control of Louisiana and other French Territory as an ally of France in 1762, near the end of the Seven Years War in Europe, known as the French and Indian War in North America. The Kingdom of France agreed to the conditions of transfer under secret terms with Spain for the Louisiana territory in the Treaty of Fontainebleau. The Spanish Empire would control the territory by replacing most French authorities with some resistance by 1767, and establishing new laws and codes to govern the population of free citizens and slaves. For example, the laws on the enslavement of Native Americans had been banned by the Spanish government in Louisiana around 1769, but still allowed for the enslavement of African slaves. Spanish laws on the treatment of African slaves were less harsh than the French; however, there were still attempted slave rebellions by escaped slaves living in the swamps of New Orleans known as Maroons between the period 1780-1784. The years 1791 and 1792 witnessed two more slave uprisings, temporarily putting a halt to the slave trade in Louisiana and leading to questions about solutions for managing existing slaves in the area. The Spanish did allow enslaved people the opportunity under Spanish law to buy their freedom, regardless of whether their master was in disagreement on the purchase of their freedom. Slaves were given the opportunity to petition the court for better treatment if they were mistreated by very abusive masters. Spain would control the Louisiana territory and New Orleans until November 30, 1803, but the little fair treatment the slaves had under the Spanish administration would soon end.

 

Louisiana Purchase, 1803

Napoleon Bonaparte, witnessing the decisive defeat of his army by the Haitian General Jean-Jacque Dessalines in Santo Domingo at the Battle of Vertieres on November 18, 1803, and ongoing conflicts in Europe during the Napoleonic Wars, decided to disregard further attempts to establish a new French Empire in the western hemisphere. Napoleon had more pressing issues to deal with and made the decision to sell the Louisiana Territory to the United States to raise funds for his wars with Great Britain after Spain returned the territory to French jurisdiction. France formally turned over the colonial capital of New Orleans and the Louisiana Territory on December 20, 1803, at the Cabildo in the Plaza de Armas, currently named Jackson Square, to the United States Government. The United States immediately worked on a reverse of French and Spanish laws for slavery. Former laws allowing for slave self-purchase and rights for slaves to petition wrongs in court were replaced by 1806 with more brutal and harsh systems that identified more with the American plantation system of slavery already in practice in the southern states.

 

Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity

The spread of liberty, equality, and fraternity among the slaves on the plantations in Louisiana began with refugees, whether they were white, black, or free persons of color, who escaped Santo Domingo for New Orleans and Louisiana after the Haitian Revolution for a fresh start. The local authorities did their best to suppress the knowledge of the rebellion from reaching slaves; however, a fresh influx of slaves brought by the newly arrived French refugees began the spread of information in whispers on the successful rebellion in Haiti against brutal slave masters and the liberation of their island. The new laws against slavery formed by the United States after the Louisiana Purchase made the life of slaves more unbearable, in addition to new slave owners, especially from other southern states, who arrived in Louisiana with more strict views about punishment and justified control of slaves. This meant more radical and brutal treatment of slaves across several new plantations in Louisiana and New Orleans that finally sparked the flames for slaves to lead a rebellion, no matter the cost, in pursuit of their own liberty and equality.

 

The Slave Rebellion Begins

The leadership of the slave rebellion formulated their plans in secrecy on January 6, 1811. They decided to put their plan in action during the days when work was slow on the plantations and slaves were allowed some brief periods to relax. The primary leader for the rebellion was a mixed-race Creole who worked as a slave driver, a term used to describe a slave overseer of other slaves, named Charles Deslondes. Rasmussen, (2011), Charles and the other slaves on the German Coast were well armed with revolutionary ideology, and some with military training. They were conversant in the doctrines of the French Revolution, and aware of the powerful examples of the Haitian revolutionaries. He sent orders to spread the word up and down the area known as the German Coast to slaves on several plantations to get ready for the insurrection to begin. The slaves began the revolt at the Andry Plantation on January 08, 1811, with a group of 15 slaves attacking Colonel Manuel Andry, a militia leader and owner of Andry Plantation, and killing his son Gilbert Tomassin Andry. Charles Deslondes then gathered more slaves to join the rebellion from nearby plantations. The number of slaves from each plantation that joined numbered somewhere between 10 and 25 percent. The slaves gathered as many weapons as they could in the form of a few firearms, whips, sugarcane cutting knives, axes, hoes, pikes, and any other items that could be used as a weapon. The group also used flags and banners during their march to signify their organized revolt. They began to march upriver to New Orleans about 30 miles away to the sound of their own beating drums. The slaves continued a very organized march after they inflicted heavy damages on each plantation they passed and liberated more slaves during their march to New Orleans. The number of the slave rebellion reached between 200 and 500 slaves by the time the authorities were able to react and respond with a plan to end the rebellion.

 

Slave Owners and Officials Form a Militia

The slaves continued to search in homes for slave owners or other members of the planter class to kill during their march through the German Coast. A planter named François Trépagnier was killed with an axe by a slave named Kook as the rebellion grew in strength and more liberated slaves joined the insurrection. The rest of the white planter class in the area who were caught off guard quickly retreated across the Mississippi River as the slave army carried out more destruction on larger plantations and set others on fire. Among the planters retreating across the Mississippi River was Colonel Manuel Andry, who had survived his injuries and was heading efforts to mobilize a militia to stop the rebellion. Many of the planters were not in their plantations during the attacks due to having secondary town homes in New Orleans. A few other planters were warned by loyal slaves and managed to hide or find safety. The slaves managed to reach very close to the northwest of New Orleans after a few hours of marching. They were 15 miles away from the city before Colonel Andry had enough men in his quickly formed militia to oppose them.

 

The End of the Rebellion

On January 9, the Territorial Governor of Louisiana, William Charles Cole Claiborne, ordered a curfew as planters and their families began to panic while fleeing from the insurrection. Rasmussen, (2011), within hours, fleeing refugees in carts and carriages crowded the road into the city forming a traffic jam nine miles long. Governor Claiborne, along with Commodore John Shaw and General Wade Hampton, were able to assemble a small force of United States Army soldiers and United States Navy sailors to assist one part of the militia forces in suppressing the insurrection. The slaves managed on January 10th to avoid the regular military force who thought they were at the Jacque Fortier’s Plantation camping for the night. The slaves had instead already moved upriver about 15 miles close to the Bernard Bernoudy Plantation. The militia leaders, Manuel Andry, Charles Perret, and Judge St. Martin, quickly formed another militia force on the opposite side of the river to attack the slaves before they reached higher ground. The militia’s initial attack killed about 45 slaves, with the rest fleeing for safety in nearby swamps. The slaves fired their weapons, which were only accurate at short range. They fired until they were out of ammunition at the planter class militia. According to Rasmussen, (2011), angered white soldiers poured over the slave lines, shooting and bayoneting the slaves who put up resistance. The combined force of the militia and volunteer regular United States forces consisted of about 700 soldiers. On January 11th, the militia used Native American scouts to pursue the escaped slaves in the rough terrain of the nearby woods and swamps, along with hunting dogs. They captured the leader, Charles Deslondes, defeated more armed slave forces, and continued to suppress the remaining slaves in rebellion.

 

Trail of Decapitated Slave Heads Sends a Sadistic Message

The leaders of the militia forces identified Charles Deslondes as the ring leader of the slave rebellion. He received no trial and was immediately sentenced to death. He was tortured so other slaves hiding in the woods and swamps could hear his screams. He was shot in both legs, had his hands chopped off, shot with a nonlethal injury to his body so he could suffer more, and then set on fire before he died. The remaining leaders of the rebellion were captured and killed. Their heads were decapitated and given to Manuel Andry to put as warnings to slaves on his plantation. The rest of the slaves in the rebellion were hunted down, with 95 more slaves killed in combat or during capture. The trial consisted of more captured slaves watching their cohorts get 30 lashes from the whip, and then themselves being executed. The youngest rebel, a 13-year-old boy, received 30 lashes but was spared from execution. By the end of January, 100 decapitated heads of slaves executed from the rebel force were displayed on fence poles on the levee from the Place d'Armes in New Orleans, and throughout the River Road to the Plantation District and on the Andry's Plantation. The heads on high poles from the corpses of fallen slaves were a brutal and sadistic message to the consequences for future slaves thinking about rebellion. According to Rasmussen, (2011), in committing these atrocities the planters were using savagery to fight what they understood as savagery. They saw the imagery of heads on pikes as a language that their slaves can understand. Corpses represented a lingua franca in interactions between the colonists and the colonized, the masters and the slaves. The remaining slaves convicted of lesser crimes during the rebellion by the trial were forced back into harsh slave labor, due to the price each slave would cost in reimbursement for planters if they were executed.

 

Conclusion

How ironic that the Battle of New Orleans, only a few years later on January 18, 1815, witnessed the use of slaves, pirates, and freemen of color by General Andrew Jackson to protect the city from the British expeditionary force during the end of the War of 1812. In essence, this was to protect a nation that still saw them as little more than slaves and useful only in times of extreme desperation. Andrew Jackson made a promise of freedom for about 500 slaves enlisted under a conscription bond to fight the British in New Orleans, with the condition of obtaining their freedom after the war. This unfortunately did not occur when the white residents of New Orleans were alarmed at seeing slaves serving in military roles, armed with weapons and walking around freely in the city. The residents must have had the previous 1811 German Coast Uprising of 500 slaves still fresh on their minds. The fear of future uprisings with a combat-trained group of slaves was too much for the white residents to tolerate. The decision was made to disband them and return them back to their slave masters, thereby forfeiting the promise of freedom. The hope of freedom and rebellion from slavery would not die, and in 46 years, the American Civil War would finally end the brutal institution of slavery in the United States of America once and for all. The American Civil War would once again witness former slaves, freemen of color, and runaway slaves fighting as volunteer soldiers for the Union Army in this war, not only for themselves or loved ones, but for the freedom and equality of all enslaved people across the nation. The Emancipation Proclamation of 1863, issued by President Abraham Lincoln, was the defining moment enslaved people had prayed for that finally declared all enslaved people in the former Southern States of the Confederacy free from bondage.

 

 

Now read about the Louisiana Purchase here.

 

 

The author recommends this book: Rasmussen, Daniel, (2011). American uprising: The untold story of America's largest slave revolt. New York, NY: Harper.

The Confederate victory at Second Manassas, August 28-30, 1862, followed victories in the Valley Campaign and the Peninsula. The casualties incurred by the Army of the Potomac included 14,000 killed or wounded of 62,000 engaged, compared to about half of that for the Army of Northern Virginia. Then, on September 1, Stonewall Jackson defeated a Union cohort retreating from the battlefield at Chantilly. General Pope was relieved of command and sent to Minnesota to deal with the Sioux, and was never again involved in the Civil War. Pope would blame Fitz-John Porter for the loss, even though that wasn’t the case; Porter would be heard from again at Antietam but would go through a devastating court martial soon after. One of Pope’s generals said of him, “Suffice to say ... that more insolence, superciliousness, ignorance, and pretentiousness were never combined in one man.”

In this multi-part series, here Lloyd W Klein looks at General McClellan’s Response to Finding the Lost Order.

Read part 1 on the background here.

Major General Thomas Stonewall Jackson. Source: Public domain, unknown author, available here.

When General McClellan came into possession of Special Order No. 191, he had an accurate and timely picture of exactly where the components of the Confederate army were located and what routes they were going to be using in the next several days. He knew that the Confederate army was divided, and he knew exactly where they were. Lee had dangerously split his army into five parts, although the orders only mentioned four columns. Three columns had converged on Harpers Ferry to capture the Federal garrison there, a fourth column was near Hagerstown, and a fifth column was acting as a rear guard near Boonsboro, MD.

 

Why did it take so long for McClellan to respond?

This is one of the great fables of the battle. McClellan had the “slows” in many instances, but not in this one. In the week it took for Lee's army to march to Frederick, McClellan's army traveled an equal distance to redeploy on the north side of Washington. This was accomplished as he reshuffled commands, had his officers under charges reinstated, and prepared to fill out his army with untrained recruits. He really was a very good administrator.

Most traditional histories of the Antietam Campaign assert that McClellan was given Gen. Robert E. Lee’s plans in Frederick, Md. before noon on September 13. The traditional narrative states that he waited 18 hours before acting on the find. By waiting before taking advantage of this intelligence and repositioning his forces, he squandered the best opportunity in the war to defeat Lee definitively.

McClellan did not have possession of the order until later in the afternoon not earlier. The evidence indicates that Barton Mitchell of the 27th Indiana Volunteers discovered the order shortly before noon on September 13. Following this discovery, it took an additional one to two hours for the orders to reach McClellan. It is estimated that McClellan received the orders sometime between 1:00 and 2:30 p.m. on that day.

These criticisms stem from the belief that McClellan moved too slowly and cautiously to attack Lee. They assert that when a copy of Lee’s plans fell into McClellan’s hands, the Union general wasted 18 precious hours before advancing. Politicians from the 1860s onward and countless historians have claimed he could have easily destroyed Lee’s army during the campaign and ended the war in 1862, sparing the country another two and a half years of bloody conflict.

Some historians believe that for this reason, the loss of the Special Order #191 wasn’t as decisive as history makes it out to be. That it had in fact little impact on subsequent events. I strongly disagree, in that McClellan otherwise would have had no clue where Lee was going.

A more recent re-evaluation disputes this sequence of events entirely, citing long overlooked evidence that McClellan moved quickly and there was no 18 hour delay. Gene Thorp in a 2012 article in The Washington Post cited evidence that the vanguard of Army of the Potomac was in motion all day on the 13th due to orders McClellan issued. After the war, McClellan held to the claim that he acted immediately to put his armies on the move. It is this view that we want to explore today.

The story starts out without controversy. Early in the morning of Sept. 13, most of the Union army was on the move to Frederick, Md., including McClellan, who was relocating his headquarters there from Urbana. At the conclusion of the march, a copy of Lee's orders was found in an open field. What time this "Lost Order" was found, and when McClellan received it, has been relatively unchallenged until recently. We will address this in detail tomorrow.

In "Landscape Turned Red," Stephen Sears asserts that McClellan verified before noon that the papers were legitimate, then exhibited his usual excessive caution and failed to move his army for 18 hours. To back up this theory, Sears cites a telegram that McClellan sent to Abraham Lincoln at "12 M" — which Sears says stands for meridian or noon — in which McClellan confidently informs the president that he has the plans of the enemy and that "no time shall be lost" in attacking Lee.

In summary, the traditional view is:

1.     McClellan had the Lost Order by noon as is proven by the telegram from him to Lincoln that is dated "12M" for Meridian.

2.     McClellan waited 18 hours before moving his troops after finding the Lost Orders

 

The updated view is far different. Dr. Rossino contends that successive generations of authors harboring animosity towards McClellan have damaged the general's reputation. His research provides a detailed account of the actual sequence of events that transpired on September 13, extending into the early hours of September 14. Between 1:00 and 2:30 p.m., McClellan received the Lost Orders. By 3:30 p.m., he had sent a copy of these orders to Alfred Pleasonton, requesting confirmation of the marching instructions contained within. From 5:30 to 6:20 p.m., McClellan drafted orders for William Franklin, the commander of the Sixth Corps, outlining the planned assault on the South Mountain passes for the following day. Subsequently, from 6:30 to 11:00 p.m., orders were dispatched to mobilize troops en route to Frederick, particularly those under Joseph Hooker's command, while soldiers already in the vicinity continued their march through the city until after midnight. At 8:00 p.m., Pleasonton finally replied, affirming that he believed the marching orders in the Lost Orders were accurate, although McClellan had already initiated his attack plan for September 14. By midnight, Federal troops were still converging in the city as they moved westward. At 1:00 a.m. on September 14, the last regiments set up camp west of Frederick, and by 3:00 a.m., the sound of reveille signaled the army's renewed advance towards South Mountain.

In fact, McClellan responded immediately and efficiently. He continued marching his troops all day and into early the following morning. Even Franklin moved a brigade of the Sixth Corps over the Catoctins after dark on September 13. If McClellan hadn’t moved with energy, there would not have been battles for the gaps in South Mountain early the following day.

 

Rossino believes that the discovery of the Lost Order had several important effects:

1) It clarified for McClellan the piecemeal intelligence he had received suggesting Lee had divided his army. This prompted George the Timid to design and execute two major attacks against Confederate defenders at Crampton's and Turner's Gaps.

2) McClellan's attacks inflicted thousands of casualties on Lee's already depleted force, weakening the opponent. They also thwarted a trap Lee had laid for McClellan along the heights of Beaver Creek, 2.5 miles north of Boonsboro. Had Lee been able to fight there, McClellan would have encountered a position stronger than that taken by Lee at Sharpsburg. Largely because Lee's flanks would have been anchored against South Mountain and the heights along Lappans Road, not vulnerable as his left flank was at Sharpsburg.

3) Lee's design stymied, he fell back toward Virginia to move his portion of the army closer to that of Stonewall Jackson coming up from Harpers Ferry. This caused Lee to take position along the heights behind Antietam Creek, which looked similar in some respects to those behind Beaver Creek.

4) The reverse at South Mountain also forced Lee's army to reassemble before Lee wanted, which further reduced his effective combat strength.

5) McClellan ran for president 2 years later. This may well have been political bunko that has become American historical lore.

 

In short, the discovery of the Lost Orders and McClellan's use of them forced Lee to take up a less desirable position at Sharpsburg than Lee had planned to take at Beaver Creek. Furthermore, he did so with his army in a weakened state from forced marches and straggling. Lee himself referred to the position at Sharpsburg as a "bad one." These advantages make McClellan's mixed success on the field even more perplexing.

Major General William B. Franklin by Waud, Alfred R. (Alfred Rudolph),. Source: Public domain, Library of Congress, available here.

McClellan’s Pursuit

The controversy started with Stephen Sears. In "Landscape Turned Red," Sears asserts that McClellan verified before noon that the order was legitimate, then exhibited his usual excessive caution and failed to move his army for 18 hours. To back up this theory, Sears cites a telegram that McClellan sent to Abraham Lincoln at "12 M" — which Sears says stands for meridian or noon — in which McClellan confidently informs the president that he has the plans of the enemy and that "no time shall be lost" in attacking Lee.

In summary, the traditional view is: McClellan had the Lost Order by noon, as is proven by the telegram from him to Lincoln that is dated "12M" for Meridian. Then McClellan waited 18 hours before moving his troops after finding the Lost Orders. Why? Because he had the “slows”.

Rossino has demonstrated that the original telegram received by the War Department is distinctly marked as being sent at "12 Midnight." Following the publication of Sears' book, researcher Maurice D'Aoust uncovered the original telegram receipt within the Lincoln papers housed at the Library of Congress. This document indicates that the telegram was dispatched at midnight—spelled out in full—contradicting Sears' earlier assertion by a full 12 hours.

In the contentious telegraph, McClellan informed Lincoln that "We have possession of Catoctin [Mountain]," a significant detail since the Confederates still controlled those two passes at noon. The Braddock Pass was not secured until 1 p.m., and the Jefferson Pass, located further south, was not captured until nearly sunset. This timeline serves as evidence that no message was sent at noon. Additionally, McClellan was reportedly riding through Frederick at 11 a.m., greeted by enthusiastic crowds eager to see him, which raises questions about the feasibility of receiving and relaying orders to President Lincoln in such a short timeframe. The Lost Order was not found until after the 12th Corps, of which the 27th Indiana Regiment belonged, ended its morning march. At least five accounts show that the Corps completed its march about noon, which would make it impossible for McClellan to have written and sent a telegraph that contained information about the Lost Order at the same time it was found. The commander of the unit that found the order notes that it was found after its march ended at noon and that it was carried to army staff soon thereafter.

McClellan issued orders at 3 p.m. for his cavalry chief to verify that the Lost Order was not a trick. It seems out of character for someone who is normally considered so cautious to confidently inform Lincoln of the find three hours before he tried to confirm the accuracy of its contents. From this, we can deduce that McClellan had the orders at 3 pm or sooner but after noon.

The Signal Corps reported that "in the evening" it transmitted a message from Lincoln to McClellan, and a return message from McClellan to Lincoln. The report mentions no other transmittal of information between the two men at any other time of the day.

McClellan had the vanguard of the army, Burnside's 9th Corps, on the move at 3:30 p.m. These men filled the road west to Lee's rear guard at South Mountain well into the night. Near sundown, at 6:20 p.m., he began to issue orders for the rest of his army to move, with most units instructed to be marching at sunrise. (They were roused from sleep at 3 a.m.) In the midst of this activity, at midnight, the general telegraphed the president to tell him what was going on.

By 9 a.m. on Sept. 14, the first troops had climbed South Mountain and met the Confederate rear-guard in battle. By nightfall, McClellan's army carried the heights and forced a defeated Lee to find a new defensive position along Antietam Creek. McClellan pursued the next morning and within 48 hours initiated the Battle of Antietam, which forced Lee back across the Potomac River. This seems like a pretty expeditious sequence of events, not a delay.

Additionally:

A detachment of the 9th Corps in conjunction with cavalry marched from Frederick and took the southern Catoctin pass at Jefferson before sunset.

The 6th Corps, about 12,000 men, marched from Buckeystown to the gap in the Catoctin at Jeffersonville, from the evening until at least 10 p.m. A night march beyond that point would have been risky since it was not known precisely where the Confederates were in the valley beyond.

The 1st Corps, about 10,000 men, marched to Frederick the evening of Sept. 13. to be ready for an advance on the Confederate rear-guard the following morning.

The Sept. 13 timeline that Gene Thorp and Alex Rossino detail in The Tale Untwisted is as follows:
1) The leading elements of the XII Corps reach the outskirts of Frederick City around noon.
2) Shortly thereafter, Barton Mitchell finds the packet of 2 cigars wrapped in the 2 page orders.
3) Mitchell reads the orders. His sergeant John Bloss reads the orders. Col. Silas Colgrove reads the orders. BG George H. Gordon reads the orders. Samuel Pittman reads the orders at XII Corps HQ. MG Alpheus Williams reads the orders at XII Corps HQ. Pittman attempts to scratch out a copy of the orders, but Williams stops him. All of this takes time, perhaps as long as an hour.
4) Williams' courier starts out for McClellan with the orders in hand. The streets of Frederick are crammed with marching troops and spectators.
5) The orders probably reach McClellan between 1:30 and 2:30 p.m.
6) McClellan orders a copy made and sent to Pleasonton at 3:00 p.m. with instructions to verify the order of march as best Pleasonton can.
7) Around 5:00 or so, McClellan still has not heard back from Pleasonton. He decides to issue attack order to Franklin anyway, w/o having verified the lost orders are authentic.
8 Federal troops march through Frederick to the west all day and into the night. The procession finally comes to an end around midnight.
9) Commanders rouse their troops between 2:00-3:00 a.m. to get back onto the road.

 

Harper’s Ferry

There were two significant engagements in the Maryland campaign before the Battle of Antietam. Both directly impacted the major battle to come. Maj. Gen. Thomas J. "Stonewall" Jackson's captured Harpers Ferry on September 12. This is important because Jackson’s Corps, a large portion of Lee's army, was absent from the Battle of South Mountain and AP Hill’s Corps was not present at the start of the Battle of Antietam, attending to the surrender of the Union garrison..

The Battle of Harpers Ferry took place over 4 days. Stonewall Jackson found Maryland Heights stoutly defended but brigades led by Barksdale and Kershaw attacked strongly, with retreat of the Union troops across the Potomac the next day. On September 14, the rest of his infantry arrived and found Loudon Heights undefended. Jackson placed his artillery on these heights while his infantry confronted the Union army on Maryland Heights. An attack on the Union left flank was threatened by AP Hill while 50 guns began a bombardment. The Union commander realized the situation was hopeless and surrendered.

Colonel Dixon Miles was the union commander at Harper’s Ferry.. At age 58 he was the oldest active colonel in the Union army; a West Point graduate, he led a division at First Manassas but was held in reserve on account that he was drunk. A court of inquiry confirmed this, but he was given command of Harpers Ferry instead of a court martial. Miles was given orders on September 5 by Maj Gen John Wool: "you will not abandon Harpers Ferry without defending it to the last extremity." Wool sent another saying "there must be no abandoning of a post, and shoot the first man that thinks of it". The likelihood that the town would be attacked was appreciated by the Union leadership. Why they sent no more men to defend it isn’t clear, Why Miles kept his men in the town and not positioned on the heights isn’t comprehensible. Miles was mortally wounded in the artillery barrage.

Following his feud and threatened duel with General Longstreet after newspaper articles concerning the Battle of Glendale, AP Hill was transferred to Jackson’s command. He had performed magnificently at Second Manassas. But he clashed with Jackson during the march in Maryland, who had Hill arrested and charged him with eight counts of dereliction of duty after the campaign. For this reason, Jackson left him behind when Harper’s Ferry was captured to process the POWs.

It’s hard to see how things could have been done any faster. Had Miles positioned his troops with more thought, it would have taken even longer. Had Jackson considered this in his placement of the troops around the town? Did Lee make an error in not taking charge of this mission himself instead of giving it to an independent Jackson?  Was this really worth the time it took? The answers to these questions remain unclear, but it is noteworthy to keep in mind that Lee didn’t try to take Harpers Ferry in the Gettysburg invasion. And that neither Hooker nor Meade were interested in defending the town.

The implications were enormous. Recall that Special Order 191 was written September 9 but not retrieved by Union forces until September 13. Even though the intelligence was four days old, McClellan knew that Jackson was behind schedule at Harper’s Ferry, which was surrounded but not yet taken, and that Lee’s army was divided and separated over miles of Maryland countryside. Aware that a portion of Lee’s army was now vulnerable to attack, McClellan advanced toward the South Mountain range to attack Lee’s forces there.

Maryland Campaign of the American Civil War, September 1862. Source: Hlj, available here, reproduced according to Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International.

South Mountain

The Battle of South Mountain took place on September 14, 1862. It is very important to re-emphasize that the Lost Orders were given to McClellan on September 13, and a battle occurred the very next day. How slow is that?

McClellan had followed Lee’s army based on the routes identified in Special Order 191. Union forces attempted to break through South Mountain to advance toward Lee's army, which would eventually concentrate near Sharpsburg. Lee was surprised that the lethargic McClellan had caught up with him so rapidly. He did not know at that time about Special Order 191. Jackson was just wrapping up Harpers Ferry. He only had Longstreet and DH Hill to defend the passes.

Although the Confederate troops ultimately had to retreat, they put up a strong resistance and delayed the Union's progress, giving Lee valuable time to reposition his forces.. While Union forces were able to gain control of the mountain, they could not stop Lee from regrouping.  Confederate defenses delayed McClellan's advance enough for Lee to concentrate the remainder of his army at Sharpsburg, setting the stage for the Battle of Antietam three days later.

During the Battle of South Mountain, engagements took place at various passes and gaps within the South Mountain range. The passes and gaps of South Mountain, particularly Turner's Gap, Fox's Gap, and Crampton's Gap, offered natural defensive positions. Lee was using South Mountain as a screen, but McClellan had pursued faster than was anticipated. With Jackson at Harpers Ferry, Lee fell back along the roads that led mainly to the northern gaps.

The Union forces, commanded by General George B. McClellan, aimed to seize control of the mountain passes and break through the Confederate defensive positions. In the battle, Union army attacked at 3 gaps.

Longstreet was atop South Mountain at Turner’s Gap, the northernmost pass. Lee ordered Longstreet back to the mountain from around Hagerstown after he heard cannon fire on the morning of September 14. Given that Lee and Longstreet knew only about the main gap that carried the National Road over the mountain, it made sense for Longstreet to join D.H. Hill there.

DH Hill had been the rear guard and naturally came to these 2 passes. Hill situated his headquarters at the stone house that sits in the middle of Turner’s Gap. Longstreet joined him there later and used the same house for his headquarters.

The first fighting broke out at Fox’s Gap, about one mile south of Turner’s Gap.

Fox's Gap: Located just south of Turner's Gap, Fox's Gap saw intense fighting between Confederate forces commanded by General Samuel Garland and Union troops led by General Jesse Reno. The Union forces eventually managed to seize control of this pass. Federal troops with Jesse Reno’s Ninth Corps attacked Confederates under Sam Garland there. That fight gradually went against the Confederates as the Federals forced them back. A single 5,000-man Confederate division under D.H. Hill protected Fox’s and Turner’s Gaps at South Mountain. Early on September 14, Union Gen. Jacob D. Cox’s Kanawha Division of the Union IX Corps launched an attack against Samuel Garland’s brigade at Fox’s Gap. Cox’s 3,000 Ohioans overran Garland’s North Carolinians, driving the Southerners from behind a stone wall and mortally wounding Garland. However, by nightfall, Confederate soldiers still held the western edge of Fox’s Gap.

By nightfall, Reno’s men controlled the gap and the Old Sharpsburg Road running through it.

Turner's Gap: This was the northernmost and most heavily defended pass. Confederate forces, under the command of General D.H. Hill, held strong defensive positions on the slopes of Turner's Gap, while Union troops, led by General Joseph Hooker, made determined efforts to dislodge them. Turner’s Gap saw heavy fighting. A brigade of men under the command of John Gibbon attacked the gap late in the day on September 14, but darkness fell before that attack could carry the gap (see #5). At Turner’s Gap, Union Maj. Gen. Joseph Hooker’s I Corps arrived on the steep mountainside near Frostown, and divisions under George G. Meade and John P. Hatch made relentless charges on the gap’s northern edge. After a brutal firefight along a cornfield fence, Hatch broke through the Rebel line. Only the timely arrival of reinforcements from Longstreet prevented the Confederate line from collapsing. By nightfall, the Confederates still maintained control of Turner’s Gap.

Lee never intended to defend the gaps in South Mountain. His decision to do so was primarily influenced by two factors: Jackson had not yet compelled the surrender of Harpers Ferry, and McClellan launched his attack sooner than Lee anticipated. If Jackson had completed his mission by September 14, Lee would likely have instructed his troops in Maryland, positioned near Harpers Ferry, to cross into Virginia and regroup with the rest of the army to the west of South Mountain. Additionally, Lee would have repositioned D.H. Hill to the elevated terrain north of Boonsboro at Beaver Creek, which was the site where he intended to engage in a decisive confrontation with McClellan’s forces, rather than at South Mountain.

It was here that the iron Brigade made its name. This was the brigade that was part of General John Gibbon’s division of I Corps, composed of 5 Midwestern regiments: 2nd Wisconsin, 6th Wisconsin, 7th Wisconsin, 19th Indiana and later joined by the 24th Michigan. They wore distinctive black Hardee hats, which were regulation dress hats (unlike the more common kepis). These black hats made them instantly recognizable on the battlefield—and helped them stand out even more due to their discipline and performance. They fought a fierce uphill battle against Confederate forces under D.H. Hill, taking heavy fire from wooded ridges and stone walls. They helped push the Confederates off the ridge by late evening, though at a steep cost. General McClellan exclaimed, “They must be made of iron!” and the nickname “Iron Brigade” stuck.

The Battle of Crampton’s Gap is typically overlooked by Civil War enthusiasts as merely a prelude. In fact, Antietam happened precisely because of this battle. Fighting at the third gap, Crampton’s Gap, near Burkittsville, located five miles south of Turner’s Gap, proved to be the most decisive, as McClellan had intended it to be. Around 1,500 Confederate troops there attempted to hold off the entire Union Sixth Corps of around 13,000 men. Franklin began his attack very late in the afternoon on September 14, which was a mistake on his part. If anyone on the Federal side dawdled during the campaign, it was William B. Franklin. Nevertheless, he had the gap in hand by nightfall and had pushed men into Pleasant Valley beyond it. McClellan ordered Franklin to attack the Confederates where he found them, but Franklin believed he was outnumbered 2-1 and declined to do so on the morning of September 15.

McClellan ordered Maj. Gen. William Franklin and his VI Corps to set out for Burkittsville from his camp at Buckeystown 9/14 at daybreak, with instructions to drive through Crampton's Gap and attack McLaws' rear. Although he sent the order immediately, by allowing Franklin to wait until morning to depart, his order resulted in a delay of nearly 11 hours. When the Federals reached Burkittsville around noon, the Confederate artillery opened up. In Burkittsville, while under artillery fire, Franklin assembled his troops into three columns. At 3 p.m., after a delay of nearly 3 hours, the VI Corps finally began its assault. The reason for the delay has never been ascertained, but it would prove costly.

The Confederate force consisted of one battery of artillery, three regiments of infantry under Brig. Gen. William Mahone, one brigade under Brig. Gen. Howell Cobb, and a small cavalry detachment under Col. Thomas T. Munford. After the report of a very large number of camp fires indicating a much larger Union force than anticipated, General Lee recognized the threat this posed to his split forces, so the order was sent down to General Cobb to ..."hold the gap if it cost the life of every man in my command".

Only about one thousand Confederates defended Crampton's Gap, the southernmost of the South Mountain passes. At around 4:00 p.m., Maj. Gen. Henry Slocum's division charged into the gap and dislodged the Confederates from the protection of a stone fence. The arrival of four regiments under Gen. Howell Cobb did little to stem the Union tide. Reinforced by a brigade of Vermonters, the Federals made a second attack and drove the remaining Confederates down the western slope of South Mountain, leaving the VI Corps in possession of Crampton's.

The Union attack broke the makeshift rebel line, but not until 6 pm, too late for a follow-up attack. This gave Lee a chance to salvage his army.

Crampton's Gap: Situated south of Fox's Gap, Crampton's Gap was the southernmost pass where significant fighting occurred. Union troops, led by General William B. Franklin, engaged Confederate defenders commanded by General Howell Cobb. The Union forces successfully captured Crampton's Gap, further pressuring the Confederate positions. When Crampton’s Gap was taken, the other gaps were indefensible. Roads behind South Mountain were such that once one gap fell, the rest were in danger of being encircled. Once any gap is in Union hands, a road connects it to all of the roads behind the mountain, and so Hill and Longstreet can be surrounded.  Turner’s and Fox’s Gap were held by the Confederates at the end of the day but had to be abandoned. By sunrise on September 15, the Confederates had completely withdrawn.

There are 2 roads leading west from Frederick; one goes to the north gaps to Hagerstown and one goes south toward Williamsport. Lee left the southern gap exposed, likely due to limitations on manpower and supplies.

Now read part 3 on the Battle of Antietam here. 

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A 26-year-old Union brigade commander risked being court-martialed when, without orders, he rushed his four regiments to the summit of an undefended hill at a crucial moment during the Battle of Gettysburg. The Harvard graduate’s valor may have saved the Army of the Potomac – but it cost him his life. Timothy M. Gay explains – in part 2 of 2 he looks at how it ended.

Part 1 on the soil of old Pennsylvania is here.

Statue of Strong Vincent at Blasco Library in Erie, Pennsylvania. Source: Pat Noble, photograph taken by self on May 4, 2007, via Wikimedia Commons here, and licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0.

It took the red (First Division), white (Second Division), and blue (Third Division) Maltese Cross-men of the Fifth Corps the entire night to march to Gettysburg. Famished and spent, they didn’t arrive at the Union camp at Powers Hill, a mile behind the Federal center on Cemetery Ridge and about a mile and a quarter removed from the northeastern edge of the smaller of the two round tops, until around seven o’clock on July 2nd, a couple of hours after dawn.

They were told to eat breakfast and try to catch up on sleep. As the day wore on, the commotion on the far side of the high ground ebbed and flowed – at times nearly deafening, at other times strangely quiet.

Along with rest of the corps, Strong Vincent’s Third Brigade was put in a swing position; depending on how the battle transpired, General Sykes’s men could either be sent to support General Daniel Sickles’s Third Corps to their southwest or General Henry Slocum’s Twelfth Corps to their northwest. Since late afternoon the previous day, Sickles’s men had been anchoring the Army of the Potomac’s left flank, the southern “eye” of its upside-down fishhook defensive line. Slocum’s men, meanwhile, had been assigned the area surrounding Culp’s Hill, the hook’s northeastern “bend.”  

The Federals owed their possession of Gettysburg’s high ground to the guile and cunning of cavalry commander John Buford. On Tuesday, June 30th, the day before the battle began, General Buford was on a reconnaissance patrol to assess the exact whereabouts of the Confederate forces and determine the best ground on which the Army of the Potomac should wage its fight. As soon as he rode through town, Buford recognized the strategic value of the ridges and hills that formed Gettysburg’s southern and eastern sides. Surmising that the Rebels would consolidate their troops and attack the next day from the north and west, Buford positioned his soldiers some three miles in front of the high ground. Once the shooting starts, Buford instructed his 2,700 men, fall back gradually and prevent the enemy from making a full-scale assault on the hills.

Then he sent messengers galloping to General John Reynolds, begging the Pennsylvanian to rush his First Corps to Gettysburg. Reynolds’ men the night of June 30th were encamped in northern Maryland, some eight or nine miles south of Buford’s position. If the Federals were to maintain control of the high ground, thousands – maybe tens of thousands – of reinforcements would be needed before noon; otherwise, the Rebels would gain a decided advantage.

Sure enough, Reynolds arrived early that morning, ultimately slamming his 12,000 men into the Rebel front. Within minutes, Reynolds was killed by a Confederate sniper.

Buford’s fallback strategy worked. For much of the first day, the Union forces were outnumbered and on the defensive, yet at sunset, they were still in charge of the high ground. It was Fredericksburg in reverse. Now, the other side would be forced to launch vertical attacks on entrenched positions.

*

In the aftermath of the war, various theories were put forth to explain how Strong Vincent and his brigade came to defend Little Round Top. Most scholars, however, have come to accept Oliver Willcox Norton’s version of events. Despite the chaos that engulfed them that evening, the Third Brigade’s orderly and bugler was never more than a few yards from Vincent’s side.

Professor Allen C. Guelzo, who once taught at Gettysburg College, writes in Gettysburg: The Last Invasion that Sykes was alerted in mid-afternoon that his corps would be needed to buttress Sickles’s position. An irascible Tammany Hall politician bereft of military training and instinct, Sickles had defied orders and moved his men off the high ground and down into the Peach Orchard at the base of the ridge and round tops. Thanks to Sickles’s gaffe, his corps was now vulnerable to assault from three directions. By late afternoon, Sickles was getting pummeled in and around the orchard by General Lafayette McLaw’s Division of General James Longstreet’s corps.

In one of the war’s most hotly debated moments, Confederate commander Robert E. Lee on the morning of July 2nd had ordered Longstreet to frontally assault the Union left flank. Longstreet protested, urging Lee to swing the entire Army of Northern Virginia to the right around the Union line, get between Meade and Washington, D.C., pick more favorable ground, and force the Federals to attack them. Lee refused, insisting that Longstreet try to dislodge the enemy from the hills and win the battle in front of them. Lee’s obstinance helped sound the Confederacy’s death knell.

It took the South Carolinian the bulk of Thursday to choose a location from which to launch his assault, a delay known – sardonically in Confederate lore – as “Longstreet’s Long March.” But when Longstreet finally did attack, it was with a vengeance. The Union high command’s nightmare scenario was unfolding: the Rebels were again poised to sweep the field with a bold maneuver, just as they’d done at Second Bull Run and Chancellorsville.

*

When word came from Meade’s staff that it was time for the Fifth Corps to join the fight, officers barked the commands – Fall In! . . . Attention! . . . Load! . . . Load at Will! – to their 11,000 men sprawled across Powers Hill. Still, it took the better part of an hour – beginning roughly at four o’clock, Guelzo estimates – before the Fifth Corps was fully mobilized. Sykes knew the situation was dire; he ordered his division closest to the fighting – the First – to move out as soon as possible.

Under the erratic leadership of General James Barnes, the division was at the corps’ point as it began marching toward Sickles’ position a little after quarter past four. Like Sickles, Barnes was another Union officer who had little business being entrusted with command. First Division officers, Vincent among them, knew that when a firefight was imminent, Barnes had a tendency to go hors de combat, often drinking himself into a stupor.

Barnes and his horse were apparently not at the head of the column as it moved toward the fighting, now just a few hundred yards in front of them and growing more cacophonous by the second. The First Division, with the Third Brigade in the lead, was approaching the action, scholars believe, from the north side of Little Round Top.

American military history is full of fortuitous moments, when the right officer happened to be in charge at the right moment. But none loom as large as the presence of bullheaded Strong Vincent and his intrepid Third Brigade at the tip of the Fifth Corps’ spear that late July afternoon. Like Myers and Guelzo, Edwin B. Coddington, author of The Gettysburg Campaign: A Study in Command, embraced Norton’s account of the pivotal moments leading up to the defense of Little Round Top. Coddington, Guelzo, and Myers all say that Vincent spied a young courier racing on a horse, craning his neck as he rode, clearly looking for General Barnes – and not finding him.

Vincent spurred his horse forward and intercepted the messenger, insisting that he disclose the orders he was carrying. At first the junior officer balked, saying they were for Barnes’ eyes and ears only. But Vincent, knowing that Barnes was incapacitated, would have none of it.

“What are your orders?” Vincent demanded. “Give me your orders!”

The orders, the courier eventually spat out, were for Barnes to “send one of his brigades to occupy that hill yonder.” He then pointed to the smaller of the two round tops.

Vincent replied “Very well!” and vowed to hurry his 1,300 men to the top. He then instructed the courier to inform his superiors that he, Colonel Strong Vincent of General Barnes’ Third Brigade, would take responsibility for his action. Vincent was fully aware of the gravity of what he was doing. For a brigade commander to move his men in the heat of battle without explicit orders was a court-martial offense. But there was no time to observe chain-of-command protocol with McLaws’ men about to overwhelm Sickles’ position and run like banshees toward the round tops. Soon, McLaws’ division of Georgians and Alabamians was joined by Texans and Arkansians from General John Hood’s division.

The orders that Vincent intercepted, historians believe, had originated with General Gouverneur K. Warren, a topographical engineer by training and the Army of the Potomac’s chief engineer. Earlier that afternoon, Warren had been in a group of senior officers riding with General Meade to appraise the Union left side, which the high command had been worried about all day.

Warren suggested to Meade that to get a better view of the situation, the chief engineer, his field staff, and his signal corpsmen would ride to the summit of Little Round Top and report back. Once there, Warren was alarmed to discover that Sickles’ precipitous move had left the hill almost completely deserted. Warren recognized right away that the Federals were susceptible to an attack from the enemy right. Some Rebel troops – Guelzo described them as “a pack of ravenous wolves” – had already reached the jagged rock formation at the base of the round tops known as Devil’s Den. The situation was so bleak that Warren directed his signalmen to wave their big flags, hoping it might deceive the enemy into thinking the hill was still occupied.

Warren rode down into the valley, either found Sykes or sent a messenger to him – accounts vary – and urged the corps commander to dispatch a brigade of men onto Little Round Top before it was too late. With confusion rampant and precious minutes slipping by, scholars believe that it took multiple horsebound messengers bouncing among Meade, Warren, Sickles, and Sykes before word of the potential calamity finally reached the head of Sykes’ column – and then only because Vincent seized the initiative and flagged down the nervous courier.

The whole episode was pathetically constipated on the one hand and complete serendipity on the other. “The occupation of Little Round Top at the right time and right place by Vincent’s brigade was the result of a combination of circumstances and a stroke of rare good luck for which no one person in the Union high command could claim the credit,” wrote Coddington more than a century after the battle.

         *

Whether by luck or by pluck, Vincent never hesitated in asserting control. He immediately ordered bugler Norton to sound the alarm that the brigade was shifting its position to the left – and on the double-quick. Vincent then summoned his senior regimental commander, Colonel James Clay Rice of the 44th New York, and directed him to explain the urgency of the situation to the three other regimental commanders in the brigade – and to follow Vincent’s lead up the hill.

Vincent and Norton galloped to the base of Little Round Top, desperately searching for a trail. It took a few minutes, but they found an old logging path winding up the mound’s southern face near the swale with Big Round Top. The taller hill’s woods were so thick it made it almost impassable. But loggers had removed so many trees from Little Round Top over the years that a hellbent foe could assault it from its northern, western, and southern sides. Vincent hollered at his men to sprint to the summit as the equestrian whipped his horse up the trail.

When he and Norton got to the top, Vincent looked down on “a scene of pure disaster,” Guelzo writes. By then, hundreds of Longstreet’s men from both divisions were beginning to pick their way through the rocks at the bottom of the hill, Rebel-yelling every step. Many hundreds more were minutes away from joining them.

Norton was still dutifully displaying the brigade’s colors as musket shots started crashing into the rocks behind the pair.

“Down with that flag, Norton!” Vincent shouted, according to color bearer’s own account. “Damn it, go behind the rocks with it!”

Vincent handed the reins of his horse to his orderly. Then the colonel raced along the spur of the summit, trying to determine the best strategic positions for his men to defend. He hurriedly placed the 16th Michigan, the first unit to arrive, on the right flank facing almost due west; Rice and the 44th New York he put in the right-center, also looking west; the 83rd Pennsylvania he put in the left-center, facing southwest; and the 20th Maine he placed on the extreme left, also facing southwest, with one company looking almost due south across to Big Round Top. Vincent reminded Rice that the Butterfield Twins, the 44th New York and the 83rd Pennsylvania, had fought side-by-side many times; the brigade commander wanted them to do so again.  

As Vincent situated the 20th Maine, regimental commander Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain, before the war a professor of philosophy and rhetoric at Bowdoin College in Brunswick, and after it, a public servant and orator nonpareil, thought the Pennsylvanian addressed him “with a voice of awe.”

“I place you here,” Vincent thundered at Chamberlain. “This is the left of the Union line. You understand?”

Then the great-grandson of two Revolutionary War stalwarts delivered what is arguably the most consequential military order in the Republic’s history: “You are to hold this ground at all costs!”

Any retreat at all, both officers understood, could brook disaster for the Army of the Potomac, eroding its entire defensive posture, and throwing the outcome of the battle into doubt.

Vincent then ran back to the middle of the line, hollering at a staff officer to climb a bluff and keep him apprised of the enemy advance. He then turned to the 83rd’s adjutant, Lieutenant John M. Clark, and ordered him to return to the valley, find someone in command, and have him send reinforcements at once. Shouting into the ear of the Allegheny College alumnus who’d served at his side for two years, Vincent told him to deliver this message: “The enemy are coming against us with overwhelming force!”

Vincent instructed a third aide to procure more ammunition from Fifth Corps munitions officers down below. The Rebels were now getting so close that Norton put down his bugle, grabbed a musket, and jumped into the left-center of the line with his mates from the 83rd.

Things were so muddled that General Warren at this point apparently did not know that Vincent’s brigade had filled the void on Little Round Top. On his horse at the bottom of the hill, Warren spotted his old outfit, the 140th New York Infantry, commanded by Colonel Patrick O’Rorke, an immigrant from County Cavan in the North of Ireland. Warren ordered Paddy and his men to get to the top post-haste. When O’Rorke protested that his superiors expected him to follow the rest of the corps into the valley, Guelzo has Warren replying: “Never mind that, Paddy. Bring your regiment up [to the top] and I will take the responsibility.”

Warren also urged O’Rorke not to bother dressing his unit’s line once he got to the summit – there’d be no time for it.

The chief engineer was proven prescient. By the time O’Rorke and his men reached the peak, the Texans and Arkansians attacking the 16th Michigan on the right flank of Vincent’s line had begun breaking through.

“Here they are men! Commence firing!” O’Rorke shouted. A moment later, Paddy was shot through the neck, killed instantly.

The 526 men in O’Rorke’s unit had arrived in the nick of time. Together with the 44th New York and the remnants of the 16th Michigan, they succeeded in damming the Rebel surge. Soon they were buoyed by the 91st and 115th Pennsylvania and the 146th New York, whose clutch presence most likely can be attributed to Lieutenant Clark’s plea for reinforcements with the Fifth Corps’ brass.

Much of the fighting was hand-to-hand, furious and bloody. In his The Civil War: A Narrative, Shelby Foote writes that no fewer than five charges and counter-charges were mounted that evening on Little Round Top; each time the Rebels gained a toehold, they were shoved back. Vincent’s hastily-constructed line buckled but never broke.

The biggest threat came on the Federal right. In the middle of the maelstrom, Norton, Judson, and others remember Vincent running to his right to rally the Michiganders, shouting at them to get back into line. Waving Lizzie’s riding crop, he jumped onto a boulder, making himself, Nevins and Styple write, “an ideal target for hundreds of Confederate muskets.”

Moments after yelling, “Don’t yield an inch, boys, don’t yield an inch!”  Vincent was shot through the left groin. The Minié ball ended up lodged in his right thigh, shattering his pelvis and damaging other bones. He most likely collapsed on the boulder’s surface, perhaps languishing for some time before help arrived.

Amos Judson’s history of the 83rd has Vincent saying through gritted teeth, “This is the fourth or fifth time they have shot at me, and they have hit me at last.” He was carried to safety behind the 83rd’s position, which held steady throughout the carnage.

Colonel Rice of the 44th New York assumed command after Vincent was wounded. The Rebel attacks against the Federal middle and right began to wane toward sunset. But the Georgians and Alabamians on the southern side of Little Round Top kept heaving up the hill against Chamberlain and the 20th Maine. At twilight, virtually out of ammunition, Chamberlain famously ordered his remaining men to fix bayonets and countercharge down the hill.

The gambit worked, aided by the company of men close to Big Round Top. At a pivotal moment, they suddenly turned and fired into the exhausted Rebels, then joined Chamberlain’s pursuit down the slope. Before they spread themselves too thin in the darkness, Rice reeled back in the 20th Maine. Like the rest of the men in blue that night, they had more than done their job.

*

It had been complete mayhem, but somehow the four regiments of the Third Brigade and the four other Fifth Corps regiments that stormed to the top of the hill kept the Rebels from gaining control of Little Round Top. The human cost was ghastly: of the roughly 1,300 men in the Third Brigade, more than 530 of them had been killed or wounded.

As darkness settled that evening, Generals Meade, Butterfield, Sykes, Warren, et al., weren’t sure how, but they knew that Vincent had saved the day. Without Strong’s initiative, the left flank of the of the army may well have crumbled. If they had gotten clear of Little Round Top, the Army of Northern Virginia might have swung to its left and crushed the Union center in a maneuver painfully reminiscent of past fiascos.

Vincent stopped that scenario from happening – an exemplary bit of valor not lost on the high command. When Union generals made gaffes in previous battles, there was no one there to pick them up. Without the Third Brigade’s leader, Sickles might well be viewed in American history in the same ignominious light as Benedict Arnold.

*

It was pitch dark when Vincent was transported to the gruesome field hospital inside Jacob Weikert’s farmhouse on the northeastern slope of Little Round Top. Colonel Rice, Vincent’s successor, dispatched Oliver Norton to find more horse-drawn ambulances and – if the bugler could – the wounded Colonel Vincent. Groping in the darkness, Norton was not able to redirect more ambulances to Little Round Top. But he encountered injured soldiers from the 16th Michigan who said Vincent had been taken to the Weikert house.

The home was something out of Dante’s Inferno. Norton walked past dozens of men in screaming in anguish before he found Vincent. His boss had lost a lot of blood. Vincent was barely able to speak but recognized Norton and held out his hand. Norton grasped it, saying, “The boys are still there, Colonel.”

Vincent smiled and squeezed his hand, Norton wrote in The Attack and Defense of Little Round Top, his book that commemorated Gettysburg’s 50th anniversary. Norton tried to tell Vincent how much he meant to the men of the Third Brigade but was overcome with emotion and had to take his leave.

“That was my last sight of one of the most gallant heroes of the war,” Norton remembered in 1913, seven years before he died.

The Weikert home apparently proved too susceptible to stray shelling. Cannon fire the next day forced the medical staff to transport Vincent and many others to the Louis Bushman farm a mile removed from the action. By then, it was clear to the doctors that Vincent would not survive. Vincent asked to be taken to Erie to be with his wife and family but the physicians refused. He was in no condition to travel.

 “I presume I have done my last fighting,” Vincent supposedly said when told the assessment. He must have known his prognosis was bleak.

On July 4th, America’s 87th birthday, Adjutant Clark was told to find a functioning telegraph station and wire the sad news to Vincent’s family back home. He rode to Westminster, Maryland, twenty miles southeast.

The telegram reached the Vincent household late on July 5th or early the next morning. Lizzie, seven months pregnant, couldn’t possibly make the trip to Gettysburg, despite her husband’s wishes. B.B., her-father-in-law, immediately boarded a train; once there, he made arrangements to be taken to the battlefield.

When B.B. finally got to Gettysburg on July 8th or 9th, it was next to impossible to get straight information about his son’s status or pinpoint where he had been hospitalized.

By then, of course, it was too late. In his book, Judson noted that Vincent began “gradually sinking away” on July 5th, slipping in and out of consciousness. Judson wrote that Vincent believed it was “unworthy” for a soldier to display “outward manifestation of suffering.” So, Vincent kept his lips pursed through the agony.

Word that Vincent was at death’s door reached the Union high command as Lee and the Army of Northern Virginia slipped across the Potomac on their trek back to their Virginia sanctuary. Generals Meade and Butterfield petitioned President Lincoln’s War Department to give Vincent a battlefield promotion. The request was granted overnight.

Sykes, Barnes, and other senior officers came by the Bushman farm to pay their respects. It’s doubtful that Vincent was coherent enough to appreciate his elevation to brigadier general or discuss how he’d ended up at the summit of Little Round Top. By the morning of July 7th, four-and-a-half days after Vincent was wounded, it was clear that the end was imminent.

Judson described a scene in which Vincent was struggling to recite the Lord’s Prayer “when the soul of this young hero passed away to another world.” Vincent was embalmed that day so his body could be transported for burial.

Crawford Countian Clark, who’d been with Vincent since Erie Regiment days in the spring of ’61, was assigned to accompany Vincent’s corpse to Erie and help arrange the brigadier general’s memorial service. Clark headed out on Wednesday, July 8th, apparently unaware that Vincent’s father was then looking for his son around the battlefield. Strong’s body was already aboard a train when B.B. learned the awful news. Despite his grief, B.B. helped get the body of another 83rd Regiment martyr, Captain John Sell, embalmed, coffined, and sent home to Erie.

Then B.B. himself departed for home. His son’s funeral services would take place on Monday, July 13th, at the Vincent house in Erie and at St. Paul’s Episcopal.

Mourners filing through the Vincents’ parlor that day saw a coffin draped in black crepe with an American flag entwined around it. Wreaths of flowers and evergreens adorned the casket.

A detachment of U.S. Regulars from Waterford, the Vincents’ ancestral home, were pressed into duty as an honor guard. The Regulars led a lengthy procession to St. Paul’s that featured rolling cannons, members of the Erie County legal profession, foundrymen from Vincent, Himrod & Co., and a panoply of horse-drawn carriages.

The Erie Weekly Gazette reported that those who heard the “melancholy and imposing obsequies” at the service would not soon forget them. Once Reverend J.F. Spaulding concluded his funeral rites at Erie Cemetery, the honor guard fired a volley over Vincent’s grave.

“While we lament his death, and condole with his bereaved and stricken wife, father, mother, brothers, and sister, we yet point to his example as worthy of imitation by all ‘the truly noble’ and patriotic,” the reverend’s homily ended.

Colonel Rice, now the Third Brigade’s commanding officer, that week issued an announcement to his troops about Vincent’s demise. “A soldier, a scholar, a friend has fallen. For his country, struggling for its life, he willingly gave his own,” Rice wrote.

Less than a year later, Rice himself would die on another abhorrent killing field, the Wilderness battlefield in Virginia.

A friend of Lizzie’s described her as so distraught in the days after Strong’s funeral that she did not want to sleep for fear that she’d have more nightmares. Two months after her father’s death, Blanche Strong Vincent came into this world. The baby was sickly at birth and never gained full health. Blanche would not live to see her first birthday, an occurrence that was far too common in the 19th century.

Now grieving twice over, Lizzie chose to stay a member of the Vincent household. She never remarried and moved with Boyd Vincent’s family when the Episcopal priest was transferred, first to a church in Pittsburgh, then to another parish in Cincinnati. Lizzie was active in church and community work, conducting art classes for women and authoring two books: Mary, the Mother of Jesus, and Madonna in Legend and Art. She remained fluent enough in German, French, and Italian to provide translation services and collected a library full of books on art and literature. Lizzie also devoted much of her life to caring for her mentally impaired brother-in-law, Ward Vincent.

She lived for five full decades after her husband’s death, passing away at age 76 in 1914. The equestrienne was buried next to Strong and Blanche in Erie Cemetery. At the center of the family plot is a “Vincent” granite memorial with a large Maltese Cross – the Fifth Corps talisman that Oliver Willcox Norton, Strong Vincent’s flag bearer, carried to the summit of Little Round Top – engraved beneath the name.

Lizzie knew how much Norton had meant to her husband and was grateful to the bugler for keeping Strong’s legacy alive. In her will, she left him two hundred dollars to buy the best cigars he could find. Norton gently refused the money, donating it instead to a church charity.

In 1889, a quarter-century after the battle, a monument to the 83rd Pennsylvania was erected on Little Round Top. Back then, the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania’s rules governing Civil War statues forbade memorials that honored individual soldiers. Although it’s clear that the bronze likeness atop the monument was inspired by Vincent, there’s no plaque that explicitly identifies him.

The monument shows the 83rd officer drawing a sword out of a scabbard affixed to his waist, which is not an accurate depiction of Strong Vincent’s actions on the evening of July 2, 1863. In his memoirs, Norton wrote that Vincent was so rushed when he dismounted at the top of the hill that he forgot to grab the scabbard from his saddle. The only “weapon” Vincent was carrying in those fateful minutes was his wife’s riding crop.

The statue of Vincent at Erie’s Blasco Memorial Library, unveiled in 1997, got his heroic stance correct. Not only is he seen waving the riding crop in a menacing way, but he’s depicted looking down – which given the proximity of the enemy when he jumped onto that boulder, was surely the direction he was staring when struck by the fatal bullet.

*

The men that Vincent trained and with whom he fought side-by-side had plenty of war left. After Gettysburg, the Third Brigade and its 83rd Regiment fought in a dozen skirmishes and in such major battles as Spotsylvania, the Wilderness, Cold Harbor, Petersburg, and in April of 1865, the final throes of the conflagration at Appomattox Court House. No brigade in the Union Army fought with greater tenacity, perseverance, or élan.

One of those fighters, John M. Clark, returned home to Meadville, started McCauley & Clark, a wholesale dealership in fine wines, liquors, ales, and cigars. He also ended up the proprietor of two different hotels and, for eight years, served as chief of Meadville’s fire department.

Clark married a local lass named Bessie Banyard in 1862. They had three children and eventually relocated to Snyder in the Oklahoma Territory, where Clark died in 1905, two years before Oklahoma became a state.

The hill that Clark, Oliver Willcox Norton, and Strong Vincent climbed under duress on the evening of July 2, 1863 was a far cry from the arid West. It looked over jagged rocks, some small creeks, a batch of fertile farmland, and off to the north, a charming village with a seminary and a college. It’s not known if Elizabeth Carter Vincent left a remembrance for Clark’s heirs; surely, though, she had a special place in her heart for the Crawford Countian who comforted her while her husband’s body was being laid to rest.

In the months after Gettysburg, Norton enrolled in a special officers training class and become a lieutenant with the Eighth Colored Regiment. In February 1864, he helped lead the Black unit at the Battle of Olustee near Jacksonville, Florida. Olustee did not go well for the Union side. Norton was fortunate that he wasn’t captured, since the Rebels had vowed to execute any White officer caught commanding Black troops.

It took three decades, but Norton finally accepted credit for composing “Taps” in 1862 with General Dan Butterfield, then a Fifth Corps brigade commander. The two worked together in taking an old French marching tune and reshaping it as a 24-note homage to the end of a soldier’s day. After more than a century and a half, the Norton-Butterfield collaboration remains a staple of solemn military occasions, a melancholy tribute to the sacrifice of American soldiers that never fails to move its listeners.

It’s not known if Norton played “Taps” on the evening of July 1, 1863, as the Third Brigade troops pitched their tents outside Hanover, but for posterity’s sake, let’s hope that he did. Soon enough that night, Vincent ordered him to blare “Assembly!”, which eventually sent scores of his mates to their deaths.

Norton became a successful Gilded Age entrepreneur. He and his brother devised a cost-effective method of manufacturing metal cans. At the turn of the 20th century, their company was acquired by the American Can Company, a spinoff from Andrew Carnegie’s U.S. Steel.  

In 1889, the onetime schoolteacher was among the speakers as the 83rd’s monument was being unveiled at Gettysburg. “Throwing himself into the breach, [Vincent] rallied his men, but gave up his own life,” Norton said that day. “In the very flower of his young manhood, full of the highest promise, with the love of a young wife filling his thoughts of the future with the fairest visions, proud, gentle, tender, true, he laid his gift at his country’s altar. It was done nobly, gladly.”

General Dan Butterfield, Norton’s “Taps” collaborator, wrote after the war that, “No man who lived and fought in the Battle of Gettysburg did more for his country than Vincent. He was a magnificent soldier, a gentleman of high education and great ability.”

That gentleman of high education was honored by Erie in 1930 when Strong Vincent High School opened. To this day, the school takes up a full city block. Its grand sweep and classic columns are meant to inspire the ideals that Butterfield saw in Vincent: discipline and high moral character. Inspirational quotes are inscribed on the school’s facade, along with the Vincent family coat of arms, an azure shield with a silver and white half-ram above this motto: Vincenti dabitur laurea, “The laurel will be given to the victor.”

After 87 years – Abraham Lincoln’s revered four score and seven – it closed as a high school, having been consolidated with two other city schools. It was converted into a junior high and is still going – as it should – strong.

“Through our great good fortune, in our youth our hearts were touched with fire,” Oliver Wendell Holmes, the great jurist and brevet colonel with the 20th Massachusetts Regiment, wrote of the Civil War generation. “It was given to us to learn at the outset that life is a profound and passionate thing.” 

Norton and Clark lived long enough to see the Great War, World War I, decimate a different continent. The pair had fought not only in a great war, but in a Great Cause War.

In the decades following the war, Medal of Honor recipient Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain became something of a beau idéal for the celebration of that cause. Chamberlain delivered scores of speeches all over the country – North and South – saluting the Third Brigade’s heroics. But his most memorable remarks, like Norton’s, came a quarter-century after the battle at the dedication of the 20th Maine’s memorial at Gettysburg.

“The lesson impressed on me as I stand here and my heart and mind traverse your faces, and the years that are gone, is that in a great, momentous struggle like this commemorated here, it is character that tells,” the teacher of rhetoric said that day.

“What I mean by character is a firm and seasoned substance of soul. I mean such qualities or acquirements as intelligence, thoughtfulness, conscientiousness, right-mindedness, patience, fortitude, long-suffering and unconquerable resolve.”

Vincent exhibited all of those qualities, Chamberlain said, when with “earnest and prophetic eyes,” he issued his seminal order not to retreat, no matter the circumstance.

Chamberlain reminded his listeners that Vincent had bellowed into his ear “You understand?”, as Rebel Minié balls tore into the trees around them.

“I did understand with a heavy weight on my mind and spirit,” Chamberlain shared with his mates. “You understood – and it was done. Held – and at what cost?!”

The cost, of course, was grievous – but in the end, utterly worth it. Surely, Strong Vincent sensed what would happen when he leapt onto that boulder. He was our Republic’s Horatius at the most epochal gate in American history.

 

Now read more on the Battle of Gettysburg here.

 

Timothy M. Gay is a Pulitzer-nominated author of five books and dozens of articles about history and culture. His most recent book is RORY LAND, which looks at the life of golf superstar Rory McIlroy through the prism of Ireland’s troubled past. A graduate of Georgetown University, Gay grew up in Warren, Pennsylvania, the proud home of a host of Little Round Top heroes in the 83rd Pennsylvania Infantry Regiment.

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AuthorHistory Is Now Magazine

A 26-year-old Union brigade commander risked being court-martialed when, without orders, he rushed his four regiments to the summit of an undefended hill at a crucial moment during the Battle of Gettysburg. The Harvard graduate’s valor may have saved the Army of the Potomac – but it cost him his life. Timothy M. Gay explains – in part 1 of 2.

Colonel Strong Vincent. Source: Public domain, Library of Congress, available here.

The bugle blare ordering the men to break camp that steamy Wednesday evening could not have come at a worse moment. Having not eaten a restful meal in days, the 1,300 soldiers of the Third Brigade, First Division, Fifth Corps of the Army of the Potomac had just settled down to supper when the dreaded “Assembly!” call came screeching through their campground.  

Now the infantrymen weren’t just ravenous, they were spitting mad. No doubt muttering curses while gulping a last bite of salted beef, they doused their fires, struck their tents, grabbed their equipment, and scrambled into formation. A dozen miles off, they could hear sporadic cannon fire. At first the noise was muffled, like distant thunderclaps from the summer storms that stalked them on their grueling trek north from Virginia. But as the Fifth Corps’ ten brigades – nine infantry, one artillery – hustled west, kicking up clouds of dust in what was already searing heat, the sounds grew sharper and more ominous.

General George Sykes, who had taken command of the corps just days before when President Lincoln elevated Major General George Meade to overall head of the Army of the Potomac, pushed his men past the brink of exhaustion. By the middle of the night, one Fifth Corps soldier recalled, “all human endurance was on the verge of utter collapse.”

Private Oliver Willcox Norton, a former northwestern Pennsylvania schoolteacher, was lucky. As a bugler, color bearer, and orderly, Norton was given a horse to keep abreast of the Third Brigade’s commanding officer. But almost every other enlisted man in the corps that night was struggling to stay upright, dragging one foot in front of the other.

Squinting their eyes in the purplish predawn, the men could make out a pair of hills to their left, a slight ridge dead ahead, and a mound to their right. They knew that beyond that high ground, a fierce battle was raging outside a crossroads called Gettysburg. It was now Thursday, July 2, 1863.

Third Brigade veterans had no illusions about the cataclysm that awaited them. At Gaines’ Mill in June of 1862, mired in the swamplands of Virginia’s Chickahominy River, they were caught in an ambush, losing close to half their men. Eight weeks later at Second Bull Run, many of them were forced to make a reckless charge into Confederate General Stonewall Jackson’s entrenched line; again, they suffered horrific losses. Four months removed from the Manassas debacle, under withering fire at Fredericksburg, elements of the Third crept as far up Marey’s Heights as any Federal unit. In frigid weather, they spent the better part of two days hunkered down within a stone’s throw of the Rebel front, trying to drown out the cries of wounded comrades. When their mates expired, as Michael Shaara described in The Killer Angels, they used the dead bodies as macabre shields against enemy fire.

Halfway through another year, their new brigade leader was predicting that a decisive clash was on the horizon. “We move tomorrow for the Pennsylvania border,” he had written two days earlier to his 25-year-old bride. Seven months pregnant with their first and only child, Elizabeth Carter Vincent was at their home some 330 miles northwest in Erie, Pennsylvania. Like her husband, “Lizzie” was a graceful equestrian. Acquaintances marveled at what a handsome couple they made while riding in tandem. Lizzie was also an accomplished scholar in an age when few women received formal educations; she was fluent in four languages and a devotee of religious art.

“A general battle must ensue soon,” the colonel penned in what proved to be his final letter to his wife. “[The enemy’s] fate is sealed.”

Lizzie’s husband did not suffer fools gladly. He knew his stern visage and burly frame were intimidating – and learned to use them to full effect. Thick-necked and barrel-chested, he had powerful arms, deep-set eyes, and a pair of bristly side whiskers that matched a flinty temper. As a youngster, he had won more than his share of fistfights and wrestling bouts.

It wasn’t just the Army of Northern Virginia whose fate was sealed in the early summer of 1863. At noontime on July 1stas the brigade crossed into his native commonwealth, the colonel ordered that the tattered colors of the Pennsylvania regiment under his aegis – the 83rd Infantry, the outfit that two years earlier he had helped organize – be unfurled, including a banner with its designated corps insignia, a crimson Maltese Cross. The cross symbolized the Fifth Corps’ devotion to God in eradicating evil; in the Union Army’s troop identification system, the color red meant it belonged to the corps’ First Division.

With the 83rd’s flags fluttering, the colonel rode through the brigade, directing his men to give three cheers for the Keystone State. “Hip, hip, hooray, Pennsylvania!” they hollered three times, happy to be north of the Mason-Dixon Line for the first time in more than a year. As dusk descended and the brigade neared its campsite outside Hanover, the colonel again ordered that the 83rd’s colors be uncased, but this time with a drum corps providing ceremonial pomp.

Once the sun disappeared that evening, Private Norton in all likelihood serenaded the men with “Taps,” the mournful end-of-day bugle call he had cowritten a year earlier with General Dan Butterfield. Butterfield, a veteran Fifth Corps officer, was now serving as General Meade’s chief of staff.

Norton and his old cohorts in the 83rd Pennsylvania were an eclectic mix. They hailed from different parts of the commonwealth, but mainly from Erie and its neighboring counties: Warren, Crawford, Venango, and Mercer. Before the war, Norton had taught school in Girard, a farm village southwest of Erie. Besides teachers and farmers, the 83rdincluded boatsmen, blacksmiths, bricklayers, barmen, carpenters, wagon drivers, railroaders, store clerks, shop owners, a few foundry workers, and a smattering of immigrants from Ireland and Germany – plus one notable second-generation Scottish-American. They fought with such ferocity in so many battles that at war’s end it was determined that only one regiment in the entire Union Army – the Fifth New Hampshire – had suffered a higher casualty rate.

They were proud to be called “Mud Turtles,” after an episode early in the war when one of its charges stuck a small Confederate flag onto a turtle's flipper and let it waddle around in the muck, to the cackling amusement of men from other units.

But none of the Mud Turtles were cackling as their colors were being presented at sunset on the outskirts of Hanover. To the martial thump of drums, Colonel Strong Vincent, the Third Brigade’s brand-new commander and the former head of the 83rd, removed his hat, bowed his head, turned to his adjutant, a lieutenant of Scottish descent from Meadville in Crawford County named John M. Clark, and uttered: “What death more glorious can any man desire than to die on the soil of old Pennsylvania fighting for that flag?”

 *

What death more glorious?” It’s such a poignant phrase that authors James H. Nevins and William B. Styple used it as the title of their 1997 book about the unflinching young man who sacrificed his life for something beautiful and profound: the preservation of the American Republic.

Did the 26-year-old Strong Vincent, a Harvard graduate and scion of one of Erie’s most prominent families, truly wax thatpoetic the evening before being mortally wounded? Well, none of us were there, so it’s impossible to know.

We know this much, however: amid all its bloody fratricide, the mid-19th century was an intensely romantic age. As filmmaker Ken Burns lovingly captured in his series The Civil War, combatants and non-combatants alike – from Abraham Lincoln to the spouse of the lowliest private – tended to emote in lyrical terms, often citing biblical passages and classic verse.

Indeed, a National Park Service essay on the Battle of Gettysburg suggests that Vincent’s “glorious death” prophesy may have been inspired by poet Thomas Babington Macaulay. The Englishman’s epic 1842 work, known informally as Horatius at the Gate, saluted the Roman martyr’s courage in defeating the invading Etruscans in 509 BC. During Vincent’s schoolboy days at the private Erie Academy, Horatius was surely assigned as must-memorize literature:

Then out spake brave Horatius,

The Captain of the Gate:

“To every man upon this earth

Death cometh soon or late.

And how can man die better

Than facing fearful odds,

For the ashes of his fathers,

And the temples of his gods.”

 

Still, the enlisted man who ascribed the death musing to Vincent – his orderly Norton who, a half-century later, wrote a pair of memoirs that had a lasting effect on Civil War scholarship – was doubtless eager to trumpet his dead boss’s heroics. The “Taps” cocomposer may have exercised some literary license. Perhaps Vincent’s actual words that evening were a bit more prosaic.

But there was nothing prosaic about Vincent’s gallantry the next night astride Little Round Top. Colonel Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain and his 20th Maine Regiment – heralded by Shaara, Burns, a host of other chroniclers, and not incidentally, the publicity-and-legacy-seeking future governor, Chamberlain himself – are justly revered for their twilight stand on Little Round Top’s southwestern slope. Too often overlooked, however, is the brigade commander who, with Minié and cannon balls shrieking through the air and thousands of wild-eyed enemy infantrymen clambering up the hill, brilliantly positioned the 20th Maine, the 83rd Pennsylvania, and his two other regiments, the 44th New York and the 16th Michigan. Despite his Horatius-like role in repelling the attackers, Vincent got nary a mention in Professor James McPherson’s Battle Cry of Freedom, the much-admired book that cracked the bestseller lists.

Amid the pandemonium that night, Vincent had the presence of mind to tell Chamberlain that his 360 Mainers now represented the extreme left flank of the Army of the Potomac. Any retreat whatsoever, Vincent admonished, could spell catastrophe.

“You understand?! You are to hold this ground at all costs!” Vincent yelled into Chamberlain’s ear as the bedlam below grew louder. Then the Pennsylvanian raced off to rally the rest of his troops.

Within minutes, the Rebels were threatening to swamp the right side of the Third Brigade’s line; they were as close to Vincent’s position as he had gotten to theirs at Fredericksburg. He leapt atop a boulder, brandishing the riding crop that Lizzie had given him as a keepsake, bleating, “Don’t yield an inch, men! Don’t yield an inch!”

Seconds later, he keeled over, shot through the hip and groin.

*

It would have come as no surprise to Thomas Babington Macaulay that the ashes of Strong Vincent’s forebears burned deep. Ancestors on both sides of his family fought in the American Revolution. His paternal great-grandfather, Cornelius Vincent, along with two of his sons, Strong’s great-great uncles, were captured in 1779 by British infantry at the Battle of Fort Freeland in Northumberland County, Pennsylvania; all three were exiled to a prison camp in Quebec, where they spent the next three years in captivity. His maternal great-grandfather, Timothy Strong, enlisted in a Litchfield County, Connecticut, volunteer outfit at age 55 and helped underwrite the Patriot cause.  

Strong Vincent was born in Waterford, a picturesque village a dozen miles south of Erie, in the spring of 1837, the first-born child of Bethuel Boyd (B.B.) Vincent and his wife, Sarah Strong Vincent. Seven siblings were to follow, but only four survived their childhoods. Waterford is most noted for being the home of Fort LeBoeuf, the frontier outpost where a cheeky 21-year-old Virginian named George Washington delivered Great Britain’s ultimatum to the French in 1753, helping to trigger the French and Indian War.

The Erie County of Strong Vincent’s boyhood was a hotbed of abolitionism and a haven for escaping slaves. Runaways were hidden in “safe homes” in Waterford, Erie, and other places, fed hot meals, then concealed in horse-drawn wagons or spirited through the woods, eventually being smuggled onto Lake Erie ships bound for Canada and freedom

The Vincents, originally “Van Sants” as Strong Vincent biographer Hans G. Myers has documented, were prosperous Huguenots who fled religious persecution in France, arriving in the New World in 1687. His mother’s clan, the Strongs, had been in the colonies even longer: they were direct descendants of the Puritan settlers of Massachusetts Bay. Strong Vincent’s great-great-great grandfather, the felicitously named “Elder John” Strong, was born in Somerset, England, around 1605. He emigrated to Massachusetts in the 1630s and lived another seven decades, purportedly fathering 18 children with two wives!

Strong Vincent’s paternal grandfather, Judge John Vincent, made a fortune by establishing mercantile and freight routes through the wilderness between Waterford and Erie and later along the lake between Erie and Cleveland, exacting fees for the use of his roads, wagons, and vessels.

 His maternal grandfather, Captain Martin Strong, grew up on the family farm in Connecticut before moving to New York State’s Genessee Valley, where he mastered the science of land surveying. In 1795, after surviving a harrowing trip on horseback, he moved to Presque Isle, a peninsula jutting into Lake Erie. For much of his journey, he had to look out for highwaymen and rogue Iroquois warriors.

Martin Strong soon became northwestern Pennsylvania’s leading territorial surveyor, eventually acquiring huge tracts of land, becoming a Waterford/Erie power broker and an intimate of John Vincent. When John Vincent routed his Waterford Turnpike around Martin Strong’s property, Martin – no fool, he – cashed in by establishing a nearby tavern and tollgate. Martin Strong was also a leader in the local unit of the Pennsylvania state militia, which earned him the title of “Captain.”

John Vincent, meanwhile, despite his lack of formal education, was appointed a magistrate, obtaining the “Judge” honorific. When the Judge’s son married the Captain’s daughter in 1834, it was a major event in Erie County social and business circles.

That son, B.B., became an industrial entrepreneur in Waterford and Erie. By 1840, B.B. co-owned Vincent, Himrod & Co., a Mill Creek iron foundry that produced stove plates, scale weights, railroad spikes, and other necessities that fueled the 19th century economy. The acquisitive B.B. also founded a bank and served as a manager of the Erie Canal Company, the commercial enterprise behind the 360-mile-long New York State waterway, completed in 1825, that transformed the northern half of the young Republic by linking the eastern seaboard to the Great Lakes. 

Both families were devoutly Christian. The Vincents were pillars of St. Peter’s Episcopal Church in Waterford, where young Strong was baptized, and later of St. Paul’s Episcopal in Erie after B.B. moved the family to the fledgling city of some 45,000 souls in 1843. The Strongs, for their part, built an ecumenical place of worship on their Erie County farm that they christened “Union Church”; the family encouraged its use by all Christian denominations.

Boyd Vincent, Strong’s younger brother who became an Episcopal minister, recalled decades later what it was like growing up in a rigorously Christian household. “Bible reading, family prayer, study of Sunday-school lessons, strict Sunday observance, carefully regulated amusements,” Boyd shared in a reminisce unearthed by Nevins and Styple.

Close to six feet tall and weighing 225 pounds, B.B. Vincent was not to be messed with. “When [Father] said ‘Come’ we came, and when he said ‘Go’ we went,” Boyd wrote.

The Vincents and the Strongs were surrounded by – and in some capacity, almost assuredly part of – a secret network devoted to ending the scourge of slavery. Erie County historical societies and Myers, author of the 2022 book The Lion of Round Top, have chronicled that B.B. Vincent’s business partner, William Himrod, was for decades one of northwestern Pennsylvania’s leading abolitionists and a key “conductor” along the Underground Railroad that snuck escaped slaves into Canada.

Erie was the terminus, scholars say, for several branches of the Underground Railroad that tapped old Seneca and Delaware Indian trails. The Senecas’ ancient Brokenstraw Path, for example, went through Sugar Grove near the New York State line in Warren County before meandering around Corry, Union City, and Waterford in Erie County.

Many hundreds, perhaps thousands, of slaves from the 1830s through the 1850s gained their freedom via Pennsylvania, Ohio, and New York State Native American trails like the Brokenstraw. Sugar Grove became such a wellspring of abolitionism that the great Frederick Douglass, himself a former slave, spoke at an anti-slavery convention there in 1854.

Did the young Strong Vincent witness escaped slaves being hurried from one home to the next or rushed onto boats anchored along Lake Erie? Almost certainly. Were the Vincent homes in Waterford and Erie used as safe houses? We can’t know for sure, but given the family’s religious convictions and personal and political connections, it’s a distinct possibility.

Moreover, young Vincent would have heard the Underground Railroad discussed at length at family and church gatherings, especially after slave catchers and federal marshals, emboldened by the Fugitive Slave Act of 1850, which made it a serious federal crime to harbor or aid escaped slaves, began harassing activists like his father’s close friend and business partner.

*

Photography was still in its relative infancy when war broke out in 1861. Picture-making was so primitive that it’s hard to distinguish one Civil War portrait from the next. Whether Reb or Yank, they’re eerily similar: the soldier stuck a hand in his uniform pocket, or inside open coat buttons, and struck a menacing pose – body erect, eyes narrow, mouth unsmiling.

The evolving insignias and epaulets affixed to Vincent’s uniform in one portrait shot after another reflect his promotions through the ranks, from second lieutenant all the way up to colonel in just over two years. There’s no photograph of Vincent as a brigadier general, since he was given that final honor as he lay dying in a Gettysburg farmhouse that, like scores of other dwellings in and around that benighted village, had been turned into an emergency hospital.

His friends recalled that Vincent took great pride in his muttonchop side whiskers; they were so thick and luxurious that they almost met under his chin. At least when having his portrait taken, Vincent kept his lower jaw and upper lip cleanly shaven.

Since a host of eyewitnesses – superiors, subordinates, even enemies – attested to Vincent’s courage, not just at Gettysburg but in earlier encounters, it’s easy more than a century and a half later to consider his Revolutionary War lineage, study the forbidding aura captured in photographs, and perceive greatness.

“There’s no doubt about it,” we tell ourselves. “This young man was destined to lead soldiers in battle.”

But was he?

*

In truth, there was little in Vincent’s boyhood to suggest future battlefield genius. As a youngster at Erie Academy, he was an indifferent student. To teach his 14-year-old son a lesson, his father let Strong leave school to work in the family foundry. After toiling for a few weeks around a red-hot furnace, Strong and B.B. decided the young man’s talents would be better suited to the foundry’s counting room. At a tender age, he began overseeing much of the factory’s labor force, report Nevins and Styple.

Within a couple of years, the Vincents realized that the youngster needed a stronger technical education to help grow the family business. At age 17, he entered the Scientific School at Trinity College in Hartford, Connecticut, then run by his family’s lodestar, the Episcopal Church.

His academic records at Trinity have not survived, but his time in Hartford had its share of controversy. As a sophomore, Vincent began courting Lizzie, Miss Elizabeth Carter, a teacher at Miss Porter’s finishing school in Farmington that – scandalously for that era – taught its female students actual academic subjects, not just social niceties. On one of Vincent’s visits, a security guard at the school apparently said something disparaging about his lady friend – or at least Vincent interpreted the remark as such. It violated Vincent’s code of chivalry, which back in the 19th century was grounds for fisticuffs – and often much worse. Vincent proceeded to pummel the man, which got him into Dutch with Trinity’s Episcopal leadership.

Vincent either was expelled or decided to leave Trinity of his own volition – it’s unclear. Either way, he ended up transferring to Harvard. But instead of entering the Massachusetts school as a junior, he chose – or more likely, Harvard chose for him – to begin his career in Cambridge as a sophomore, essentially “repeating” a grade.

“In light of the event that precipitated his departure from Trinity, it is not known how Vincent managed his way into Harvard,” Nevins and Styple observed, before drolly adding: “Of course, it is possible that his father’s wealth may have made his Harvard welcome more cordial.”

Regardless of the circumstances surrounding his admission, Vincent made his mark at Harvard. Contemporaries remember him as a popular figure around campus, a young man whose commanding baritone could be heard from one end of Harvard Yard to the other.

“He looked many years older than he really was, and in every respect his mind corresponded to his body,” a classmate recalled. “One would have said, on hearing him converse, that he was twenty-five years old.”

But old habits die hard. He was still a middling student, although his grades improved as graduation neared. His final rank in the class of ’59 was squarely in the center – 46th out of 92 students. Vincent’s files also reveal that he was regularly reprimanded for skipping prayer sessions and for indulging his tobacco habit on the grounds.

He continued to court Lizzie through his Cambridge years. The couple became engaged at some point in 1860, after he returned to Erie to study law under the tutelage of William S. Lane, one of the area’s most successful attorneys.

B.B. Vincent, as historian Myers has revealed, served as a delegate to the 1860 Republican convention that surprised many by nominating former Congressman Abraham Lincoln of Illinois instead of Senator William H. Seward of New York. Strong Vincent then joined his father in campaigning hard for the Railsplitter that fall against Democratic nominee Stephen Douglas and a host of other contenders in what proved to be an incendiary election. The Vincents’ work paid off: Lincoln romped to victory in Erie County with more than seventy percent of the vote and carried the commonwealth with room to spare.

                                                            *

Even before the new president formally asked for volunteers to combat the South’s move toward secession, militia units sprung up all over Pennsylvania, including one originally known as the Wayne Guards in Erie County. Radical separatists began firing on Fort Sumter in Charleston Harbor at dawn on April 12, 1861. As soon as he heard of South Carolina’s belligerence, Strong Vincent – according to the research of George Deutsch, the former executive director of the Erie County Historical Society – joined what was now called the “Erie Regiment,” a 90-day enlistment unit organized by Colonel John W. McLane, an Erie native and veteran of the Mexican War. Although transferred to Pittsburgh to be closer to the early fighting in Virginia, the Erie Regiment missed First Bull Run and disbanded before seeing any action. McLane and Vincent, a newly commissioned second lieutenant, then organized a new northwestern Pennsylvania unit that ultimately became the 83rd Regiment. It stayed in the war for the duration.

Vincent persuaded Lizzie that they should get married before he was sent to the front lines. They were wed on April 25, 1861, at the Reformed Dutch Church in her family’s hometown, Jersey City, New Jersey. A week after the ceremony, Vincent was promoted to first lieutenant.

Oliver Norton, the bugler from Erie County, was among the 83rd’s early enlistees. “My first impression of [Vincent] was not favorable,” Norton recalled in his memoirs. “I thought him a dude and an upstart.”

But Norton’s perspective changed once he saw the first lieutenant in action on the drill field. “I soon came to know that he wished to impress on that mob of green country boys, by example as well as precept, the proper way for a soldier to stand and move. It was the beginning for the regiment of a military education.”

Vincent’s own military education was strengthened that fall by a series of tutorials on maneuvers and tactics taught by Colonel McLane. McLane’s protégé became such a stickler for detail and preparation that some of his charges viewed him as a martinet. On George Washington’s 130th birthday in February of ’62, Vincent read aloud to the regiment Washington’s famous Farewell Address.

Norton was far from the only private who worried that a well-bred “gentleman” like Vincent might cower when commanding men in battle. But it didn’t take long for Norton and comrades to recognize that Vincent could translate his insistence on discipline into effective action on the battlefield.

Another member of the 83rd who developed an intimate relationship with Vincent was the regiment’s eventual adjutant, First Lieutenant John M. Clark. Clark had been born in 1837 in Meadville, a village of some 3,000 people forty miles due south of Erie in Crawford County. He was 24-years-old when he signed up for the Erie Regiment and then re-upped with the 83rd. His father was a Scottish immigrant who’d moved his brood from a Connecticut farm to northwestern Pennsylvania. The elder Clark continued to farm in Meadville and also served as a justice of the peace. His son John studied at Allegheny College and clerked for an iron foundry and a pair of grocery establishments in Erie County before the war broke out.

Once the Erie Regiment was disbanded, word circulated in the area that Colonel McLane was organizing a new three-year enlistment outfit. A host of men from Warren County, for example, traveled to Erie to sign up in July and August. Some made the 60-mile trip by horse or horsedrawn wagon; others rode the Sunbury and Erie Rail Road, which had inaugurated passenger service in Warren two years earlier. Most of the Warren County men who joined what soon became the 83rd Pennsylvania Infantry Regiment were assigned by McLane and Vincent to serve in Companies A and D.

Clark was among the Crawford Countians assigned to Company I. Soon enough, Second Lieutenant Clark became First Lieutenant. It appears he was elevated to regimental adjutant in the aftermath of the Gaines’ Mill melee in June of ’62. After Vincent became the 83rd’s head that fall, Clark became his right-hand man.

Vincent must have had implicit faith in the Scottish-American. Clark served as Vincent’s chief administrative and personnel officer. It was Clark’s job to manage Vincent’s paperwork and to ensure that orders from the brigade and divisional command were promptly carried out.

The Vincent-Clark partnership worked well in one battlefield crisis after another, especially during the nightmarish assault on – and retreat from – Marye’s Heights at Fredericksburg. Miraculously, both emerged more or less unscathed from one of the war’s most horrific killing fields.

                                                            *

The 83rd was officially mustered into service in September 1861, with McLane as its commanding officer and Vincent as his top aide. Most of its first year was spent in training, often in concert with its Third Brigade compatriot, the Albany-based 44th New York Infantry. The two regiments became so closely linked that they became known as “Butterfield’s Twins,” after their brigade and eventual division commander, General Butterfield, Oliver Norton’s songwriting partner.

The Twins’ baptism under fire came, sadly, in May and June of ‘62 in and around Hanover Court House, Virginia, amid Major General George McClellan’s ill-fated Peninsula Campaign. The Twins and other Union regiments were routed at Gaines’ Mill in what became known as the Battle of the Seven Days. McLane was killed in the Chickahominy wetlands along with five dozen other men from the 83rd. Two hundred more were wounded or captured.

Vincent missed the action at Gaines’ Mill because he had contracted “Chickahominy Fever” – a form of malaria that felled thousands of soldiers on both sides that spring and summer – and was confined to a field hospital bed. When Vincent got word that his regiment had been decimated, he defied doctor’s orders, jumped onto his horse, and raced off to Gaines’ Mill, arriving in time to see his bloodied men in full retreat. Vincent, still feverish, soon collapsed and had to be rushed back to the hospital. He nearly died, spending months in critical care. He was transported by medical boat to New York City, where he was met by his wife and father. The group then spent three weeks in Jersey City so Strong could be nursed at Lizzie’s family home. He improved enough to be taken home to Erie to continue his recovery.

It wasn’t until October 1st of ’62 that Vincent could rejoin the 83rd. The men were then encamped in Sharpsburg, Maryland, where most had been held in reserve at the Battle of Antietam two weeks earlier. Vincent was viewed in such high esteem that, even in his absence, the soldiers of the 83rd elected him their regimental commander.

Two months later at Fredericksburg, Vincent vindicated their faith. Once the Union high command realized its attack had failed, Vincent did a masterful job guiding his men off Marye’s Heights on a bitterly cold December night. He waited until the moon had been obscured by a cloud before ordering the retreat, undoubtedly saving many lives.

The men in the 83rd and other Third Brigade regiments had been so eviscerated at Fredericksburg that many were kept off of Chancellorsville’s front lines in early May of ’63. By the time it began marching north six weeks later for what became the Gettysburg campaign, the brigade had been refortified with men and equipment – and, as of June 28, had itself a new commanding officer.

Earlier that year, lawyer Vincent was offered the position of Judge Advocate for the Union Army. He turned down the appointment, telling his superiors that he had joined the military to fight, not litigate.

The magnitude of what was at stake brought out something in Vincent he may not have known he had. Raised in a strict Episcopal household and educated at Trinity and Harvard, he prided himself not only on his knowledge of history and literature but his grasp of moral urgency.

“Surely the right will prevail,” Vincent had written to Lizzie when he left for war in 1861. “If I live, we will rejoice over our country’s success. If I fall, remember, you have given your husband to the most righteous cause that ever widowed a woman.”

 

Now read party 2 on how it all ended here.

 

Timothy M. Gay is a Pulitzer-nominated author of five books and dozens of articles about history and culture. His most recent book is RORY LAND, which looks at the life of golf superstar Rory McIlroy through the prism of Ireland’s troubled past. A graduate of Georgetown University, Gay grew up in Warren, Pennsylvania, the proud home of a host of Little Round Top heroes in the 83rd Pennsylvania Infantry Regiment.

Queen Victoria, who ruled Britain from 1837 to 1901 and became one of the most recognisable monarchs in modern history, had nine children. By the time she died in 1901, her descendants sat on the thrones of Russia, Spain, Germany, and several smaller European states. She was known, without irony, as the grandmother of Europe. What she was also, though nobody used the term at the time, was a carrier of haemophilia.

James Hollander explains.

Queen Victoria by Alexander Bassano, 1882. Glass copy negative, half-plate. Source: Public domain, available here.

This article’s sponsor is EasyGenogram – a great tool that allows you to map out family trees and relationships. We highly recommend you give it a try – and you can even see one for Queen Victoria below!

Three of Queen Victoria’s nine children inherited a mutation in the gene responsible for producing a clotting factor in the blood.

Males who inherited it could not stop bleeding from even minor injuries. Females carried it silently, with no symptoms, and passed it to their own children. Victoria herself showed nothing, and neither did Prince Albert, her husband and first cousin. There was no history of the condition anywhere in her family.

Geneticists today believe the mutation arose spontaneously, either in Victoria's own embryonic development or through her father, Edward, Duke of Kent. However it began, what followed from it touched the internal lives of three royal courts over the next sixty years.

The three who carried it

Of Victoria's sons, only Leopold, Duke of Albany, was affected. He lived carefully and with frequent difficulty; a bruise that would heal in days for anyone else could leave him bedridden for weeks. He died at thirty from a brain haemorrhage after a fall.

Of her daughters, two carried the mutation without knowing it: Princess Alice and Princess Beatrice. A third daughter, Helena, and the eldest, Victoria, Princess Royal, apparently escaped it. Edward VII's descendants (the main British royal line) were clear.

The condition passed through Alice and Beatrice into the courts they married into.

Carrier lines from Victoria through Alice and Beatrice to the affected descendants in Russia, Spain, and Germany. Created using EasyGenogram.

Alice's line: Russia and Germany

Alice married Louis IV, Grand Duke of Hesse, and had seven children.

Two of her daughters were carriers.

Irene married Prince Henry of Prussia; two of their sons, Waldemar and Heinrich, were haemophiliacs.

The more consequential line ran through Alix, who became Tsarina Alexandra of Russia after her marriage to Nicholas II.

Their only son, Tsarevich Alexei, born in 1904, was the heir to the Romanov throne. He was also severely affected. Episodes of internal bleeding could last for days. The condition was concealed from the Russian public, as the succession of the empire could not be seen to rest on a child who might not survive to adulthood.

That secrecy created space for Grigori Rasputin, a Siberian mystic who appeared, through methods nobody could fully account for, to calm Alexei's bleeding crises. His influence over Alexandra, and through her, over court appointments and decisions, became a source of serious political instability in the years leading up to 1917.

Beatrice's line: Spain

Beatrice's daughter, Victoria Eugenie, married King Alfonso XIII of Spain in 1906.

Two of their sons, Alfonso, Prince of Asturias and Infante Gonzalo, inherited the condition.

Both died young from bleeding following minor accidents; Gonzalo died in 1934, Alfonso four years later in 1938.

What the science confirmed

For most of the twentieth century, historians assumed the royal condition was Haemophilia A, the more common form.

But in 2009, genetic researchers analysed the remains of the Romanov family and identified a mutation in the F9 gene, confirming it was Haemophilia B, the rarer type, sometimes called Christmas disease. The scientific question was settled more than ninety years after Alexei's death.

By then, the affected lines had mostly ended. The Spanish branch died out. The Russian branch was executed in 1918. The German branch had lost its last known carrier during the Second World War. The mutation that entered the historical record through one woman in the 1840s had run its course across four generations and three royal courts.

 

Let us know what you think about Queen Victoria below.

 

Sources

  • Wikipedia – Haemophilia in European royalty

  • Rogaev et al. (2009), Science – "Genotype Analysis Identifies the Cause of the 'Royal Disease'"

  • HemAware – "Why Is Haemophilia Called the Royal Disease?"

  • Hemophilia of Georgia – "The Royal Disease: A Family History Update on Queen Victoria"

  • unofficialroyalty.com – Royal Haemophilia Carriers

  • unofficialroyalty.com – Royal Haemophilia Sufferers in Queen Victoria’s Descendants

Posted
AuthorHistory Is Now Magazine
Categories19th century