And so the dreadful massacre began;
O’er fields and orchards, and o’er woodland crests,
the ceaseless fusillade of terror ran.
—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
On July 7, 1862, General George McClellan, commander of the Army of the Potomac, wrote a letter to his commander in chief from his encampment near Harrison’s Landing, Virginia. His purpose was to set forth his views on the state of the rebellion, and to articulate those convictions “deeply impressed upon my mind and my heart.” The war, wrote McClellan,
should be conducted upon the highest principles known to Christian Civilization. It should not be a War upon population; but against armed forces. . . . Neither confiscation of property . . . nor forcible abolition of slavery should be contemplated for a moment.1
McClellan’s letter neatly summarized the federal government’s position as the war commenced in 1861. The aim was to preserve the Union by putting down the rebel insurrection quickly and efficiently. Lincoln, therefore, advocated a policy of limited war, insisting that the conflict be kept within clearly defined bounds. Erring secessionist states were to be taken back into the Union, and Southern society was not to be reshaped. The authority of the national government was to be reestablished by respecting, not abusing, the constitutional rights of the rebels. Notwithstanding radicals in the North who pushed for emancipation, the limited war concept would satisfy the general populace as long as reasonable progress in the field could be shown.
Believers in this limited war strategy hoped that the goals could be met even as the army acted in a humane, professional manner. A harsh, vindictive war would inflame the passions of the rebels and only delay reunion. Better that the army conduct itself, as McClellan’s letter shows, as gentlemen. There would be no foraging for food, no destruction of property or interference with property (i.e., slave owners’) rights, and no punishment of rebels. The war would be fought between the two armies, McClellan and his subordinates believed, and not against the Southern population. The federals would prevail by methodically building a huge, unbeatable fighting force and then outmaneuvering the Confederates. “The object is not to fight great battles, and storm impregnable fortifications,” said Union general Don Carlos Buell, “but by demonstrations and maneuvering to prevent the enemy from concentrating his scattered forces.”2 Lincoln agreed, and hoped that the goal could be met with a minimum of disruption and bloodshed. “In considering the policy to be adopted for suppressing the insurrection,” he told Congress in December, “I have been anxious and careful that the inevitable conflict for this purpose shall not degenerate into a violent and remorseless revolutionary struggle.”3
Within a year, however, it would become painfully apparent to Lincoln that the strategy of limited war would not be successful. His generals fought reluctantly or, even worse, incompetently against their Confederate counterparts. The patience of the Northern populace wore thin, and criticism from politicians of both parties and from the press increased. Out of necessity Lincoln took on a more active role in managing the war, formulating strategy, influencing movements, and supervising the fields of operations. Lincoln searched desperately for generals who could lead troops aggressively. Finally it became clear that the limited war would have to be replaced by total war, and that that policy, carried out by Ulysses S. Grant and William Tecumseh Sherman, would eventually bring about the destruction of the Confederacy.
Lincoln’s initial willingness to refrain from involving himself directly with strategic matters seemed prudent. His only military experience was a brief period of undistinguished duty in the Black Hawk War of 1832, where his popularity with local men earned him the rank of captain, and where he muddled through a series of misadventures, none involving combat. At the outset of the war Lincoln believed that the Southern insurgency would be stifled within a few months, perhaps a year. He ordered a blockade of Southern ports (a move that proved to be an effective use of Union naval superiority), and he called for 75,000 voluntary enlistments to serve for ninety days (a number that would become pitifully inadequate). Aside from his insistence that the city of Washington be defended at all costs, Lincoln made no other direct strategic decisions. He believed that the force he had called for could be effectively managed and deployed, and that in those matters it was “his duty to defer” to his military leaders, namely, General Winfield Scott and his replacement, George McClellan.4
But both men proved to be woefully ineffective. At age seventy-five, Scott was well past his prime. He suffered from vertigo and gout and was so overweight that he could not mount a horse. A hero of the Mexican War, Scott had served as the nation’s general-in-chief for two decades. Though he initially favored compromise on the secession issue, a position Lincoln could never accept, he had successfully ensured that Lincoln’s inauguration proceeded peacefully, and he was zealously loyal to the president. Now, for Lincoln, he devised his “Anaconda Plan,” a strategy whereby a naval blockade would choke off Confederate supplies in the east while the Union Army gradually built up strength and secured the Mississippi River in the west. The plan was derided in the press and for the most part dismissed by War Department officials, mainly because it was considered to be overly cautious and did not call for a direct invasion into rebel territory. After a series of early Union losses, including the battles of Bull Run and Ball’s Bluff, Scott resigned in November 1861. (The Anaconda Plan, however, would ultimately prove to be a successful strategy; eventually all its parts would be implemented to some degree by Union armies.)
McClellan was given every chance to prove his worth in two separate command stints, but his agonizing tactics of delay proved to be more than the patient Lincoln could bear. McClellan was an intelligent young man, an engineer and West Point graduate, who excelled at military organization and preparation. As general-in-chief he proved to be a relentless drillmaster but a tentative fighter at best. Tempered by his experiences in the Mexican War and buoyed by some minor successes in western Virginia in the summer of 1861, McClellan was hampered by a huge ego. He disdained civilian leadership, resented any advice that was offered, and was openly critical of Lincoln, the cabinet, and members of Congress. He was guilty of regularly overestimating the strength of the enemy. Preferring to drill his soldiers rather then press the battle, McClellan was loved by his men but was a constant source of frustration to the White House. The general was a proslavery Democrat, but Lincoln chose to overlook political differences and trusted that McClellan would eventually devise a workable military plan.
After months of delay McClellan finally settled on a strategy that called for an attack on the Confederate capital of Richmond from the east. But once the campaign commenced he fought defensively and continued to complain that he had not been given enough soldiers. He was baffled by Confederate movements and could not countermove. Relations between him and Lincoln grew increasingly sour. McClellan fretted about the loss of Union lives, and his insecurities about his soldiers’ readiness and the size of the enemy led to more procrastination. He could never bring himself to accept responsibility, but was quick to blame others, including subordinates and officials in Washington. He wrote the secretary of war: “You have done your best to sacrifice this army,” but the telegraph operator deleted the sentence from the rest of the message.
Weary of dealing with overly cautious commanders, and facing increased criticism from Congress and in the press (particularly after the disaster at Bull Run), in 1862 Lincoln began to take a far more active role in managing military affairs. He read books on military theory, consulted with his advisers, and carefully studied maps and organizational charts. He requested information as to the location of forces, their state of readiness, and the levels of arms and ammunition they held. These efforts enabled Lincoln to begin to formulate a basic war strategy in his own mind. He would never again adhere to the position that a passive containment strategy would suffice to bring the Confederates to their senses and win the war. The war would have to be fought if it was to be won, and Lincoln intended to win it.5 He came to realize the wisdom of Scott’s idea for securing the Mississippi Valley, and thereafter his strategic outlines stressed success in the western as well as eastern theaters. Recognizing that the Union had the advantage in numbers and in weapons production capabilities, Lincoln believed that the Union troops should “threaten all their positions at the same time and with superior force, and if they weakened one to strengthen another, seize and hold the one weakened.”6 He was becoming the military’s commander in chief, and he was progressing from administrator to war president.
In January 1862 Lincoln fired the corrupt and ineffective secretary of war Simon Cameron for personal and professional reasons. Cameron was “selfish and openly discourteous,” Lincoln said privately. And since he had proven himself to be “incapable of either organizing details or conceiving and advising general plans,” his service was “obnoxious to the Country.”7 Lincoln replaced Cameron with Edwin Stanton, a serious, capable man with the will to succeed. Stanton was dedicated, honest, and efficient, and his energetic efforts would soon revitalize the War Department and bring much-needed direction to the Union military effort.
Next, Lincoln issued General War Order Number One, which called for all Union armies to advance no later than February 22. The order was unrealistic and eventually withdrawn before it could be ignored by McClellan, but it gave an indication of Lincoln’s resolve for action. Lincoln also ordered governmental control of the U.S. telegraph system, establishing direct communication between his office and the generals in the field. For the rest of the war Lincoln was a regular visitor to the War Department’s telegraph office, sending and receiving messages, following movements as they occurred, and monitoring progress (or lack of progress) in the various theaters. He told his commanders that he would not be satisfied with the mere occupation of Confederate territories; he wanted to aggressively carry the war to the South and defeat its armies. And in April, when Major General David Hunter declared Georgia, Florida, and South Carolina to be under martial law and ordered their slaves emancipated, Lincoln rescinded Hunter’s order, saying that decision was reserved for himself as president. “I cannot feel justified,” Lincoln wrote, “in leaving [this] decision to commanders in the field.”8 He was growing into his job.
In 1862 Lincoln’s theory of a coordinated, simultaneous attack on all fronts began to produce mixed results. The military theaters of operations, now divided geographically and headed by main field commanders, were located in Tennessee, northern Virginia, and the Mississippi River. In central Tennessee in October, the Confederates under Braxton Bragg fought Buell’s Army of the Cumberland to a draw at Perryville, and then retreated; Buell’s failure to pursue cost him his command. Major General William Rosecrans replaced Buell as head of the federals and in late December 1862 met Bragg at Stones River. Again brutal fighting took place, and again Bragg retreated. While the tactical victory boosted Union morale, Rosecrans delayed his pursuit until June, squandering another opportunity to crush the rebels. Still, Lincoln was pleased that the Union had taken effective control of Tennessee.
Chaos seemed to prevail in Virginia, however. McClellan’s Army of the Potomac fought cautiously at Fair Oaks, and then again during the Seven Days battles, in June. As if to justify his lack of aggression, in early July McClellan delivered to Lincoln, from Harper’s Landing, his letter regarding limited, humane war. In August he failed to reinforce John Pope’s army at the Second Battle of Bull Run, but it was Pope who was chastised and not McClellan. Finally McClellan earned a victory at Antietam in September—providing Lincoln the opportunity to announce his emancipation timetable—but drew Lincoln’s wrath when, citing fatigue and overextension of his forces, he failed to chase and destroy Robert E. Lee’s army. Lincoln finally had had enough and relieved McClellan of his duties in November 1862, barely one year into his command. Since McClellan was not using his army, Lincoln sarcastically noted, “he would like to borrow it” for a while.
Now under Ambrose Burnside, the army moved toward Richmond but was crushed at Fredericksburg in a one-sided disaster for the Union. Desperate for a leader who could inspire his men and fight aggressively, Lincoln named yet another major general, Joseph Hooker, to head the Army of the Potomac. Hooker had been an ambitious corps commander but also had a reputation for drunkenness and insubordination. He also encouraged a bevy of women of relaxed morals to follow his troops—perhaps an effort to build morale. These women became known as “Hookers”—a dubious concession to the general and a title that has endured. He had suggested, after Fredericksburg, that the nation needed a dictator. In response, Lincoln wrote, “Only those generals that gain successes, can set up dictators. What I now ask of you is military success, and I will risk the dictatorship. The government will support you to the utmost of its ability, which is neither more nor less than it has done and will do for all commanders. . . . Beware of rashness, but with energy, and sleepless vigilance, go forward, and give us victories.”9
At one point Lincoln became so irritated over the failure of his generals to press the war against the Confederate forces even when the enemy was in retreat that he seriously considered going into the field and commanding one of the Union armies himself. In a cooler moment he recognized that as president he had numerous other duties that would be neglected if he went off to war. But Lincoln was a superb commander in chief whose leadership in that role was a major reason why the Union was to win the war. His judgment and leadership were far superior to that of the Confederate president, Jefferson Davis.
Meanwhile, goaded and pressured by Lincoln, Union forces were meeting with success in the West, where Major General Ulysses S. Grant was determined to control the Mississippi Valley. A West Point graduate, Grant had given up his commission in 1854 only to fail at a variety of civilian careers, and when war came in 1861 he had jumped at the chance to again wear the uniform. To the relief of Lincoln and the delight of Northern newspapers, Grant’s aggressive actions produced victories. In the Tennessee Valley, he took Forts Henry and Donelson, capturing nearly fifteen hundred rebel prisoners (at Donelson he famously demanded “unconditional surrender”), and then secured Nashville and Memphis. Surprised at Shiloh, Grant suffered horrendous losses but managed to hang on. He dressed casually, ignored basic Army protocol, and liked to drink bourbon whiskey. But Lincoln deflected any criticism away from Grant. “I can’t spare this man,” he said. “He fights.” Reportedly when Lincoln was informed of Grant’s drinking habits, the president said: “Find out what he’s drinking and order it for my other generals.”
Grant continued to show his mettle by taking Vicksburg. He recognized (as Lincoln did) that control of that city was crucial to supply and troop movement along the Mississippi River. Vicksburg was heavily fortified by Confederate guns; Lincoln said that the war could not end until “that key is in our pocket.”10 Grant maneuvered his men into position by crossing the Mississippi below Vicksburg, then forced the enemy into defensive positions and relentlessly attacked. Taking advantage of Lincoln’s directive that authorized Union commanders to “seize and use any property, real or personal, which may be necessary or convenient . . . for supplies or other military purposes,” Grant allowed his soldiers to forage for food, taking what they could from the surrounding countryside, rebel farms, and plantations.11 Meanwhile, Union forces fired on the city day and night, trapping both Confederate soldiers and citizens. With the fall of Vicksburg, the Union now controlled the entire Mississippi Valley, and Lincoln knew he had found the leader he had been looking for. Lincoln called Grant’s strategy “one of the most brilliant in the world,” and said, “Grant is my man and I am his for the rest of the war.”12
Lincoln admitted surprise that Southern resistance, even in the wake of scattered Union victories, remained so strong, and he now realized that this popular resistance had to be conquered. Grant’s success absolutely convinced Lincoln that only a hard-hitting, no-holds-barred offense on a wide front could break the resistance of the South. A new military strategy would be implemented.13 Grant’s relentless offensive techniques, and his willingness to take what he needed to improve his chances of victory, would become the model for the entire Union Army. Lincoln moved to a strategy of total war. This was no longer a match between two armies. Anyone, or anything, that contributed to the Southern war effort was now fair game.
John Pope was one of the chief architects of Lincoln’s new vision. Pope had met with success in the West and had been promoted to major general despite a reputation for braggadocio and pettiness toward his superior officers. But Lincoln liked his aggressiveness and appointed him to lead the new Army of Virginia, which had been organized from scattered forces along the Shenandoah Valley and was meant to supplant McClellan’s failed policies. On July 14, 1862, Pope delivered an address to his new soldiers, who, having been led previously by the cautious McClellan, were astonished at the tone of his words. “Let us understand each other,” Pope said. “I have come to you from the West, where we have always seen the backs of our enemies; from an army whose business it has been to seek the adversary and to beat him when he was found; whose policy has been attack and not defense. . . . I have been called here to pursue the same system and to lead you against the enemy. It is my purpose to do so, and that speedily. I am sure you long for an opportunity to win the distinction you are capable of achieving. That opportunity I shall endeavor to give you.”14 As Grant and Henry W. Halleck had ordered in the West, Pope now allowed his men to forage for foodstuffs, goods, and supplies wherever they might be found on enemy soil. They were authorized to seize private property without providing compensation, to punish or expel civilians who refused to take oaths of loyalty, and even to execute captured rebel irregulars. Northern opinion backed these tactics of aggressive warfare. But for all his bravado, Pope was no match for Robert E. Lee and found himself hopelessly outmaneuvered throughout the summer. He was relieved of his command in September, and McClellan was given another chance to lead.
But 1863 brought new struggles for the Army of the Potomac. Because that army was based close to Washington, Lincoln was able to more closely monitor its actions and movements. Occasionally he visited his commanders in the field. But he could only watch helplessly as they continued to demonstrate ineptitude and timidity. In May, Union forces under Hooker met with the smaller rebel army at Chancellorsville and were soundly defeated. “My God,” Lincoln repeated over and over. “What will the country say?” Robert E. Lee then seized the momentum and invaded Pennsylvania, hoping to further demoralize the Northern public by capturing a large Union city, perhaps the capital itself.
Desperately in search of a general who could match Lee in a fight, in late June, Lincoln named George Meade to head the Army of the Potomac—the fifth general to do so. Days later Meade engaged Lee at Gettysburg, and, taking advantage of Lee’s uncharacteristic bungling, crippled the rebel army in three bloody days of fighting. But when Lee retreated back to Virginia, Meade inexplicably failed to pursue him. Meade was satisfied that the enemy had been driven from Union soil, but Lincoln seethed that another opportunity to smash Lee once and for all had been lost. His anger at Meade’s letting Lee escape, noted a friend, was “something sorrowful to behold.”15
Although his generals met with only mixed success in the field, Lincoln became more and more convinced of the justification for total war, and that it must be carried through no matter the cost. In November 1863 he traveled by train to Gettysburg for the dedication of a new national Soldiers Cemetery on the site of the battlefield. His remarks on November 19 were not the main event of the afternoon; that honor belonged to famed orator Edward Everett, who preceded Lincoln and spoke for two hours. But Lincoln’s two-minute address remains his most famous speech, and perhaps the most beloved in American history. For Lincoln did far more than simply honor those soldiers who had given their lives for their country. He succeeded in redefining the very meaning of the war itself. The struggle was no longer simply over the survival of the Union, Lincoln said, but for the ideals of freedom promised for all Americans in the Declaration of Independence. In that sense freedom was reborn, and the world itself would take note. The country, indivisible, was not merely a collection of states but a nation, “conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.” Men had fallen so that the republic would live, and now was the opportunity for the living to ensure that “this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom and that government of the people, by the people, for the people shall not perish from the earth.”
Lincoln declared that day: “The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced.”
No one can understand the greatness of Lincoln in his own time and in his place in history without reading some of his great speeches. Most of these addresses were carefully constructed by Lincoln—sometimes over periods of days or weeks, even months. He drew on extensive reading of the works of men he admired—Henry Clay, Daniel Webster, George Washington, Thomas Jefferson. He kept on his writing desk copies of his own speeches that provided lines and ideas he might work into the speech at hand.
Lincoln frequently pulled passages out of the King James version of the Bible, from the Hebrew prophets of the Old Testament and from Christ and his disciples in the New Testament. He borrowed ideas from Shakespeare, Robert Burns, Aesop’s Fables, and John Bunyan’s The Pilgrim’s Progress. He also drew from his experiences growing up in Kentucky and Indiana and from his legislative and lawyerly years in Illinois. His mind and his command of diction were doubtless sharpened in his debates with his able, experienced opponent Senator Stephen Douglas.
After penning a first draft of a speech, he would often ask a trusted friend or associate, or in later years a member of his cabinet—especially Secretary of State William Seward—to critically read what he had written. In some instances he would read his speech aloud to a critic and then listen while the critic read it aloud.
Prior to the speech at Gettysburg, Lincoln had delivered four speeches that could be described as great: his speech against the Kansas-Nebraska Act in Peoria, Illinois, on October 16, 1854; his acceptance of the Republican nomination for the U.S. Senate race against Stephen Douglas at Springfield, Illinois, on June 16, 1858 (the “house divided” speech); his speech at New York City’s Cooper Union on February 27, 1860; and his first inaugural address as president, on March 4, 1861. His second inaugural address, delivered on March 4, 1865, was also deserving of the description “great”—some would say it was his greatest speech.
But it is the Gettysburg Address, although brief, that has lived in history as an enduring political and literary treasure. Its fame places it alongside the Declaration of Independence and the Bill of Rights. Indeed, over the years more teachers and students have learned to recite the Gettysburg Address than any other document in American history. For it is in its 272 words that Lincoln redefined the meaning of the Union and of the sacrifice that had sanctified its preservation.
Lincoln was the most masterful speechwriter of any president in our national history. Much of his success in the American political arena derived from his superior ability to draft compelling public addresses. Likewise, his high place in history rests heavily on his beautiful prose. He was a literary giant.
A recently published book by Douglas L. Wilson entitled Lincoln’s Sword: The Presidency and the Power of Words offers a clear picture of Lincoln’s methodology in the writing of speeches, letters, and essays. The author leaves little doubt that Lincoln was in a literary class above all other presidents. Perhaps Jefferson and Wilson would rank numbers two and three.
As the war dragged on into its fourth year, there was plenty of hard fighting left to do. By 1864 Lincoln, satisfied that Grant’s vision of warfare coincided with his own, wanted to put Grant in charge of the entire Union Army. But Grant was not eager to leave the western theater. In February 1864 a bill was introduced in Congress reviving the rank of lieutenant general and designating the recipient as supreme commander of all the Union armies. Weeks later Lincoln met Grant for the first time and awarded him his new commission. He also insisted that Grant come east; public pressure and practical necessity demanded it. Grant agreed when Lincoln promised him unfettered control. Sherman took Grant’s old position as head of the Army of the Cumberland in the East. Meade would technically lead the Army of the Potomac, but Grant was determined to ride with the army in the field. He wanted no part of a Washington office job, he insisted. He would communicate with other generals via the telegraph. Halleck would act as a go-between, relaying orders and information and keeping Lincoln and Stanton informed as events unfolded.
With Lincoln’s firm approval, Grant devised a grand strategy whereby Union armies would move in concert along a thousand-mile front from Virginia to Louisiana. Grant, Meade, and the Army of the Potomac would aggressively pursue Lee and force him back to Richmond; General Benjamin Butler’s Army of the James was to move toward Petersburg; and William Sherman, who had succeeded Grant as head of the Union armies in the West, would lead his hundred thousand soldiers through Georgia with the aim of capturing Atlanta. This simultaneous advance was meant to exert relentless, maximum pressure at different places at the same time, exposing rebel weaknesses and resulting in inevitable breakthroughs. The plan utilized the overwhelming strength and numbers of the Union Army. “Those not skinning can hold a leg,” joked Lincoln.16
Grant took the offensive during the terrible, bloody campaign of 1864. With an army numbering some 120,000 men he crossed Virginia’s Rapidan River into the Wilderness, a region named for thick forestation and dense underbrush. In May he met Lee’s forces, who, although greatly outnumbered, thwarted Grant’s attack. Unlike his predecessors, Grant did not retreat but flanked Lee’s army and engaged it again, a week later at Spotsylvania Court House and then at Cold Harbor. For a month the two armies clashed. The Union suffered nearly sixty thousand casualties; the Confederates, twenty thousand. The public was appalled at the carnage, and Lincoln was heartbroken. He knew the truth of the brutal strategy, however; the North could continually resupply its army, while the enemy had little or nothing in reserve. All but dismissing the horrific loss of life, Grant relentlessly pushed the battle. He advanced toward Petersburg, just twenty miles from Richmond, and dug in, surrounding Lee’s army. The resulting siege would last ten months.
While Grant kept Lee occupied in Virginia, Sherman’s forces in the West flexed their muscles, embarking from Chattanooga and proceeding southward, engaging the army of General Joseph Johnston and later that of John Bell Hood. In his march Sherman was generally victorious in a series of some nineteen battles, often in and around mountainous terrain, taking advantage of superior numbers and a steady stream of reinforcements. Sherman enthusiastically embraced the Lincoln/Grant strategy of total war, which he called “hard war.” He knew that it was not enough to defeat the rebel army; the Confederates’ economic ability to wage war had to be dismantled as well. The will of the Southern people had to be broken; their spirit had to be crushed. “We are not only fighting hostile armies but a hostile people, and must make old and young, rich and poor, feel the hard hand of war,” he said.17 The war would now be conducted as a conquest.
Sherman advanced through Georgia at a frantic pace, applying “scorched earth” tactics as he went. His army was authorized to destroy civilian supplies and foodstuffs. It burned fields, tore up rail lines, and wrecked the state’s infrastructure. The looting of homes was officially forbidden, but offenders were not punished or even chastised by their commanders. Sherman was in a hurry to accomplish his goals. “If you can whip Lee and I can march to the Atlantic I think ol’ Uncle Abe will give us twenty days leave to see the young folks,” he cheerily wrote to Grant as the campaign commenced.18
Sherman captured Atlanta on September 2, 1864, an accomplishment that lionized his name in the North and did much to ensure Lincoln’s reelection two months later. After ordering civilians to evacuate the city, Sherman ordered it burned to the ground. He would, he said, “make Georgia howl,” and he delivered on his promise. Now promoted to major general, he kept pushing south and east toward Savannah in his relentless “march to the sea.” His men were ruthless in the destruction of Southern property, causing an estimated $100 million in damages. Sherman’s name would be forever vilified in the South, but he explained his actions this way:
You cannot qualify war in harsher terms than I will. War is cruelty, and you cannot refine it; and those who brought war into our country deserve all the curses and maledictions a people can pour out. I know I had no hand in making this war, and I know I will make more sacrifices to-day than any of you to secure peace. But you cannot have peace and a division of our country. If the United States submits to a division now, it will not stop, but will go on until we reap the fate of Mexico, which is eternal war. . . . I want peace, and believe it can only be reached through union and war, and I will ever conduct war with a view to perfect and early success.19
Major Henry Hitchcock, a member of Sherman’s staff, also justified the tactics. “It is a terrible thing to consume and destroy the sustenance of thousands of people,” he said. But if hard war served “to paralyze their husbands and fathers who are fighting . . . it is mercy in the end.”20 It was particularly devastating in South Carolina, where Unionists believed the rebellion began. Sherman’s soldiers terrorized Southerners deliberately. He had a terrible power, he said, and “I intended to use it . . . to humble their pride, to follow them to their inmost recesses, and to make them fear and dread us. . . . We cannot change the hearts and minds of those people of the south, but we can make war so terrible, and make them so sick of war that generations would pass away before they would again appeal to it.” Federal soldiers agreed. “Here is where the treason began,” said one man, “and, by God, here is where it shall end.”21 Now it would be only a matter of time. Little wonder that Sherman uttered the reflection that has often been quoted even today: “War is hell.”
Lincoln’s remarkable military leadership—one of his greatest achievements—makes one wonder how the Union forces could have prevailed without him. He was truly commander in chief in the best sense of the title. Knowledgeable about every aspect of the war, he understood the weaknesses and strengths of every general. He did not hesitate to replace an officer after a blown assignment. He came to the firm conviction early in the war that the army must aggressively carry the war to the opposing army. If the enemy retreated, Lincoln insisted that the Union general in charge, instead of resting, should pursue the routed force and destroy them.
After 1861, Lincoln never wavered in his conviction that, given the North’s advantage in numbers of men, weapons, railways, and industrial resources, Union forces should press forward all across the lines of battle, hitting the Southern army in all theaters simultaneously. This strategy would prevent Southern generals from moving forces from places not under attack to those that were under attack. McClellan and other Northern generals, educated at West Point, were taught the strategies that had worked in previous wars in North America and Europe. But like American officers of the twentieth century who had to learn that the military methods of World Wars I and II would not work in Vietnam or Iraq, Lincoln and his officers found that the methods of George Washington were not effective against the Southern rebellion.
Lincoln’s success in winning the war is all the more remarkable in that most of his generals were largely mediocre, including McClellan, Burnside, Hooker, Meade, Buell, Halleck, and Rosecrans. The historian T. Harry Williams concludes that “the only Civil War generals who deserve to be marked as great are Lee for the South and Grant and Sherman for the North.”22
A century after the Civil War, the historian Shelby Foote visited two great-granddaughters of the Confederate general Nathan Bedford Forrest at their home in South Carolina. Thinking to score a point with the aging sisters, he told them that the Civil War had produced two geniuses: their great-grandfather in the South and Abraham Lincoln in the North. Well, replied one of the sisters, we don’t think much of Mr. Lincoln around here!23
Notwithstanding this evaluation by a loyal daughter of the Confederacy, Lincoln’s masterful direction of the Union forces, in spite of his scant military experience, marks him as a commander truly worthy of the label “genius.” As the scholar James Ford Rhodes concluded many years ago, “The preponderating asset of the North proved to be Lincoln.”24