Now is the winter of our discontent. . . .
—William Shakespeare
Like Abraham Lincoln, Ambrose E. Burnside was feeling the full weight of responsibility. “He is working night & day and has been sick ever since he took command,” trusted aide Daniel Reed Larned reported. “He has slept but little and is most arduous in his labors and does not spare himself even for the common necessities of health.” Shortly before the meeting with Lincoln, Burnside appeared to be driving himself almost beyond endurance.
But to what end was Burnside pushing himself? Most of the pontoons had finally arrived, yet so had most of Lee’s army. Federal signal officers at Falmouth had cracked the Confederates’ flag alphabet but intercepted no messages of importance. The famous aeronaut Thaddeus Sobieski Constantine Lowe could send up reconnaissance balloons 1,000 feet, though he had not yet arrived in Falmouth. In New York McClellan claimed to “pity” poor “Burn” because the public expected so much of him, though as Larned noted, should the current campaign fail, Little Mac’s newspaper friends would let him have it “right and left.”1
If only the general could strike a blow before winter weather halted all campaigning. But where? The Union high command was divided. Brig. Gen. John Gibbon, a former West Point classmate of Burnside’s now commanding a division in the First Corps, decided that the delays and bad roads made any crossing into Fredericksburg impossible. Instead he advised—and here the McClellan influence was still evident—that Burnside transfer the army to the James River and seize the Confederate rail center at Petersburg. General Sumner favored crossing the Rappahannock downstream to turn the Rebels’ right flank, while other officers preferred moving upstream to fall on Lee’s left. Burnside apparently considered this latter option because he ordered batteries placed to protect Banks and United States fords. But with more pontoons arriving, a head-on attack against Lee remained a live option.2
Burnside had earlier requested gunboats be sent up the Rappahannock to open the river for quartermaster vessels and to cover troop movements. He had revised his initial plans because of the pontoon delay and now hoped to cross the river at Skinker’s Neck, twelve miles or so downstream from Fredericksburg where the terrain seemed favorable. Franklin, however, objected, and Hooker still pressed for a crossing well above the town. In fact, the Skinker’s Neck crossing was fraught with peril. Even if Burnside could steal a march on Lee, such a massive movement of men and supplies in early December would require perfect weather and better luck.3
Burnside might also have crossed farther downstream at Port Royal under the protection of Federal gunboats, but Maj. Gen. D. H. Hill’s Division stood athwart that route. Late in the afternoon of December 4, Rebel artillery shelled four Yankee gunboats near Port Conway and succeeded in driving them off after an hour-long exchange of fire. With typical invective and much bravado, Hill reported that the “ruffians” had shelled Port Royal, a town “full of women and children,” but that God had mercifully protected the “inoffensive inhabitants.” According to Hill the “pirates” suffered six killed and twenty wounded, but the Federals reported no casualties. The gunboats, however, quickly left the area and anchored downstream awaiting orders from Burnside.4
The prolonged encampment of the army caused ominous rumblings in Union ranks. The president received a letter from Anson Stager, superintendent of the military telegraph, damning General Franklin. The commander of the Sixth Corps, Maj. Gen. William F. “Baldy” Smith, supposedly warned Burnside against assaulting Lee’s strong defensive position, though Smith’s loyalty to his chief was as questionable as his memory. Hooker’s headquarters, of course, buzzed with intrigue and backbiting. Meade reported overhearing Fighting Joe “talking very freely about our delay.” The ambitious Hooker expected to lead any advance on Richmond and was currying favor with the irascible Stanton. Rumors of Hooker’s ascension to command of the Army of the Potomac, some of which emanated from the general’s staff, cropped up every other day or so.5
Politically sophisticated soldiers concluded that Burnside’s stalled advance had hurt his standing with the army and the country. The clamor at home was rising to a crescendo despite some sympathy for Burnside, even from the McClellan crowd. “If Burnside does not move soon,” a Hoosier sergeant predicted, “his head will be demanded and drop in the basket.”6 With the pontoons available at last, many soldiers could not understand why they had not crossed the river. The delay only gave Stonewall Jackson more time to bring up his troops. No answer to these musings, veterans realized, would be forthcoming. Soldiers had little choice but to wait and complain, especially about the lack of reliable news.7
Idle speculation fostered wishful thinking: perhaps Burnside was waiting for another Federal army to threaten Richmond from the east, or maybe the Rebels were preparing to withdraw from Fredericksburg. Normally sanguine soldiers became edgy. Expecting a bloody fight soon, a Massachusetts recruit wondered why he should risk his life “just to please the croakers at home.”8 Patriotism of this variety might not survive many more hardships or setbacks. Morale was mercurial, and whether the army crossed the river to fight or went into winter quarters, the men’s spirits might falter.
Many bluecoats, however, did not expect a battle. The idea of a winter campaign seemed, in soldier parlance, “played out.” The Virginia weather, a Pennsylvania private declared, would prove “just as fatal to a campaign as frost is to cucumbers, or arsenic to rats.” Apt or not, the analogies reflected the expectations and frustrations of troops who had tasted defeat before.9 Men who had only a few weeks earlier welcomed reports of an advance against the Rebels were apparently “played out” themselves.
The Confederate defenses also sobered once-enthusiastic bluecoats. In his unpretentious headquarters tent, Lee pored over reconnaissance reports and scanned northern newspapers. Lee knew he could not prevent Burnside’s army from occupying Fredericksburg, given the commanding Federal artillery positions on Stafford Heights. But with the excellent ground his own forces occupied, he had decided against a retreat to the North Anna River. Still expecting another Federal army to advance along the James toward Richmond, Lee suggested bringing reinforcements from the West but did not press Jefferson Davis on the matter. Like Burnside, Lee increasingly felt weighed down by responsibility and public expectation: “I tremble for my country when I hear of confidence expressed in me. I know too well my weakness, and that our only hope is in God.” But for many Rebels, Lee’s character partook of the divine. This “quiet, urbane Christian gentleman,” noted a Richmond editor, inspired “reverence” among Confederates, who were beginning to believe he could work miracles.10
In the meantime Confederate preparations proceeded. Anticipating that the Federals would avoid attacking the high ground and instead attempt to turn the Confederate left, Longstreet’s artillery chief, Lt. Col. Edward Porter Alexander, had pits dug on the reverse slopes of these hills. He placed some guns on the crest where they could sweep the plain behind the town. Parapets and traverses were built and improved as engineers and artillerists argued about the appropriate height for earthworks; the men manning the guns naturally favored piling the dirt high. Longstreet ordered all approaches to Marye’s Heights along the Plank and Telegraph roads examined and measured, and Lee inspected the artillery positions.11
Despite efficient and energetic activity, the distribution of artillery pieces between the two corps of Lee’s army still bothered Jackson. Moreover the Federals had more experienced artillery officers and better ammunition, not to mention superior guns. Confederates most needed more 12-pounder Napoleons, but Lee also requested additional 10-pounder Parrotts and 3-inch rifles. Some larger Parrotts could be useful as well, he thought.12
Lee remained quietly confident, however, and still was not worried about Jackson’s scattered troops strung out from Hamilton’s Crossing to Guiney Station and along the Rappahannock from Skinker’s Neck to Port Royal. Although Lee held a formidable defensive position, uncertainty about when and where Burnside might cross the river had for the moment rendered his forces dangerously divided. The men, however, exuded optimism, and some even spoiled for a fight. “He is Burnsides now,” a Georgia lieutenant crowed, “but if he will come out in good weather he will be Burnt-all-over.” As one North Carolinian told his wife, the next battle might be the last.13
Given the obvious strength of the Rebel positions, it seemed likely that Burnside would try a flanking maneuver, perhaps even another “change of base.” In any event, until the army actually neared the Rebel capital, a big fight remained improbable.14 Yet rumors of an impending battle refused to die. After all, why had there been no official orders to build winter quarters? And why were some officers so enthusiastic? Colonels were itching for a fight, claimed one Michigan recruit, eager to have a “star on their shoulder” and willing to “sacrifice half their regiment.”15
Colonels might have been itching to fight, but not here. “The time for crossing has gone by,” a New Jersey officer lamented the day after Thanksgiving. Enlisted men sensed it too; an attack against those positions would produce staggering casualties.16 Every delay deepened the pessimism infecting the ranks, and with veterans expressing a fatalistic defeatism, the newer regiments quickly caught the disease. Even the most stalwart soldier admitted succumbing to a seemingly pervasive despair. The idea of whipping the Rebels in battle seemed ludicrous. What is more, it all seemed without purpose, a “worthless war doing no one any good,” a Michigan volunteer sourly commented. There was too much phony glory and moneymaking, a New Hampshire soldier agreed. “There is no soul in this war to an ignorant man,” a Pennsylvania private reported to a friend back home, “not half as much as in the southern side.”17
Clamor from the home folks and political pressure from Washington added to the uncertainty, and the rumor mill was grinding overtime. “Why we remain here idle, while we are having such beautiful weather, is a mystery to us all,” an artillery officer complained to his sweetheart back in Ohio. The word “mystery” frequently cropped up in soldiers’ letters as November faded into December. Rumors did not simply pass from person to person but instead were discussed, argued, evaluated, and modified. Veterans and neophytes alike exchanged the latest tales, and their reactions ranged from gullibility to skepticism. The men loved to debate the wild reports, idle gossip, and more solid speculation that floated about in camp nearly all the time.18 Burnside and Lincoln would likely have understood and sympathized with the perplexity in the ranks. More than either fading determination or growing discouragement, a sad bewilderment encircled politicians and soldiers alike.
* * *
Confederates, too, wondered why the Federals remained idle. But then suddenly winter arrived with a vengeance. December 5 brought rain, then sleet, and finally several inches of snow (some soldiers claimed there was hail as well).19 December 6 saw snow on the ground and bitter cold; water froze five feet away from a campfire.20 On December 7 the temperature dipped into the low twenties. December 8 was still colder in the early morning at 16 degrees; a captain washing his face found the water had begun to freeze before he could dry off.21
The Army of Northern Virginia, as many Confederates freely admitted, was hardly prepared for the cold. Great roaring fires kept the men warm at night. Cutting and gathering wood began taking up much of their time, and areas near the camps were soon stripped of trees. Fires brought additional irritants besides uneven warmth: acrid smoke as well as sparks that set coats and blankets ablaze on windy nights. Sleeping on the ground in these conditions was a special kind of discomfort. An Alabamian with only one blanket happily became a hospital steward to enjoy snugger quarters, while a South Carolinian with three blankets thought he had “no right to complain.” Many Confederate regiments did not receive tents until the first week of December.22
Although a South Carolina volunteer added a “resolution” about needing a coat as a wry postscript to a letter home, the persistent clothing shortage was no joking matter. One grateful Georgian deemed a recently received overcoat was worth $50 to him. Other men begged for underwear or socks; in the threadbare Army of Northern Virginia, the list of needed items steadily lengthened.23
On December 8, General Orders No. 100 established new clothing allowances for the Confederate armies. The orders mandated an adequate issue of clothing twice a year, but the troops could hardly believe it would happen. Wealthy men who had raised regiments right after Fort Sumter had already reneged on promises to keep soldiers decently clothed. Families and charitable groups struggled to make up the shortfall. Several members of Gen. William E. Barksdale’s Mississippi brigade tried to talk Lee into allowing a man from each company to bring back winter clothing from home. Articles about officers in fancy uniforms and enlistees in rags dotted the newspapers.24
Yet reports indicate that the condition of Lee’s army began to improve after this first cold snap. More government-issue clothing and boxes from home reached the camps. Some men even claimed to have nearly everything they needed.25 Unfortunately, however, these fresh supplies did not include footwear. Men who donned new underwear or even fine overcoats too often went barefoot, or nearly so. Chronic shoe shortages, especially among Jackson’s men, as well as complaints about ill-fitting government footwear persisted. In Richmond debate still raged over who was responsible and what could be done.26
In some regiments the absence of palatable food rivaled the rarity of good shoes. The supply problems so evident in early November had abated only slightly. “I don’t think old Jeff Davis can feed us much longer and we will all have to starve or come home,” a North Carolinian predicted. Around the campfires the men talked of little besides what they did not have to eat, and they muttered the usual idle threats about raiding the commissary wagons.27 What they did have to eat was beef—variously described as “tough,” “blue,” and “dry”—along with flour, bread, or crackers. Besides being indigestible, these provisions were inadequate because the army remained on half-rations.28
Typically, soldiers tried to make the best of even wretched conditions, perhaps spurred by the growing conviction that no more real fighting would occur that year. Spirited snowball fights erupted among Stuart’s cavalry. The famous Washington Artillery, attached to Longstreet’s corps, built a makeshift theater from blankets and tents for their Literary and Dramatic Association. With winds howling against the pine brush and the audience seated on logs before great fires, the troupe produced a rendition of the light comedy “Lady of Lyons” with a strapping, petticoat-clad sergeant in the role of Pauline.29 The audience could only hope that Burnside would not spoil the entertainment.
* * *
Not that Burnside’s better-supplied troops always fared that much better. Soldiers bivouacked north and east of the Rappahannock were fortunate compared with those moving into new camps or ordered forward shortly after Thanksgiving. On December 1 Brig. Gen. George W. Getty’s division of the Ninth Corps broke camp near Washington. During an excruciatingly slow march the men trudged through snow and suffered greatly even with shelter tents and five days’ cooked rations. Some Rhode Islanders hooted at the “[13th] New Hampshire babies” for falling out along the way, though a member of this outfit claimed that army shoes—“very poor things excepting upon dry ground”—had slowed them down. Most regiments were on the road for eight days; they arrived hungry, soaked to the skin, covered with mud, and dead for sleep.30
Baldy Smith’s Sixth Corps received marching orders just as the cold weather hit. Brig. Gen. William T. H. Brooks’s division left camps near Stafford Court House on December 4 heading for Belle Plain. Caught in drenching rain that turned to snow, the men marched into a fierce wind. Uniforms soon became stiff with ice and snow. Nearly worthless shelter tents and a single blanket per man offered little protection against this kind of cold.31 Brig. Gen. Francis L. Vinton’s brigade, passing through Stafford Court House on December 4, also felt the full bite of the storm. The catalog of woes was long: wet feet, wood that would not burn, the impossibility of sleep, and ambulances stuck in freezing mud (six men in one brigade died en route). Later describing the experience, a Wisconsin surgeon used the word “miserable” five times in one sentence.32
Delays, exposure, and hunger also ravaged Brig. Gen. John Newton’s division. From one dreary, “colder than Greenland” bivouac, Lt. Charles Harvey Brewster of the 10th Massachusetts admitted to his mother that patriotism was waning. “McClellan was right and I believe this campaign . . . will be only second in horrors to Napoleon’s Russian Campaign.” Water froze in tin cups, the wind chilled men to the bone, and only the “miserable hard crackers” kept them from starving. This was usual soldier hyperbole, perhaps, but Brewster rightly wondered how an army could possibly fight under such conditions.33
Men already settled into camps were not necessarily more comfortable. Several days before the bad weather hit, a Hoosier private noted, “We are not well fixed for winter.” When the cold rain of December 5 turned to sleet and snow, Rebel pickets on the other side of the river held up painted signs announcing “winter quarters.” The next morning a blanket of snow covered the ground (some three to five inches, according to soldier estimates), and temperatures plummeted. “We might as well be on Lake Superior,” a Michigan volunteer claimed. One Pennsylvanian enjoyed watching his comrades slip and slide down a steep hill onto the parade ground, but the usual camp humor wore as thin as a government blanket.34
December 7 brought worse conditions. The sky cleared; but the wind blew snow around, and the air shimmered raw. A Michigan lieutenant awoke with his hair frozen stiff “sticking in all directions like porcupine quills.” Joints ached and wet feet became sore. “Winter is upon us savagely,” gasped a Pennsylvania chaplain whose thoughts naturally turned to Washington’s men at Valley Forge.35 The air still did not feel as cold as back home, a New Yorker decided, but a New Hampshire volunteer considered the temperature frigid even by New England standards.36
Men on picket duty during and after the storm had the roughest time. Sentinels covered with snow looked like “plaster statues,” one colonel thought. Soldiers stationed at reserve posts with the luxury of fires kept reasonably warm, as did those lucky enough to have gloves or mittens, but everyone began to lose feeling in their feet.37
Back in the camps the cold simply compounded the usual miseries of army life. Water froze in buckets; chunks of ice rattled in canteens. Men unable to sleep would walk through the camps to keep from freezing. After one restless night, a New York volunteer voiced a popular sentiment: “Wish they would bring out some of them ‘On to Richmond’ chaps and give them a chance.” Sheer exhaustion might finally induce fitful slumber.38 Men began sleeping in groups of two to five, often in “spoon” fashion, sharing blankets. Those on the outside of the spoon got cold, but shifting positions required unusual coordination and often simply frayed tempers.39
Shelter tents inadequate in early November were worthless now. “More like a dog kennel than a habitation for men,” a Michigan captain groused. About all a fellow could do was roll up in a blanket and stay inside or sit bundled up in an overcoat playing cards. At least by this time soldiers knew where all the leaks were, a New Yorker remarked sarcastically. Still, tents were better than nothing. While a New Hampshire recruit wearing overcoat and gloves sat on a knapsack in a small tent hunched over trying to compose a letter, horses and mules, some half-starved, froze to death outside.40
The snow and cold had forced regimental officers to order or at least allow their men to begin building sturdier quarters. Soldiers erected log huts, taking special pride in chimneys, and some laid out streets. One newly enlisted New York captain even crafted a primitive furnace from old camp kettles. A Fifth Corps lieutenant dropped live coals from a nearby fire in a hole dug in the tent floor: “I don’t know which it will do first asphyxiate me or warm up the tent.” To be sure, many a shanty was little better than a “hog house,” as one Connecticut soldier described them, but any jury-rigged structure seemed preferable to the flimsy shelter tents.41
Keeping warm had become a simple matter of survival. Sick lists were lengthening; 283 men were ill in one Ninth Corps brigade alone. Each morning more ailing soldiers would show up for the surgeon’s call. Hospital tents filled quickly. Cases of frostbite appeared, and deaths from exposure occurred in several regiments. Fevers and pneumonia took the highest toll, but despite the cold, unsanitary conditions proved no less unhealthy as dysentery and other intestinal complaints continued to debilitate regiments. Camp burials became final, sobering reminders of a winter campaign’s ultimate price.42
Although few Yanks looked as threadbare as the Rebels, some were nearly as poorly shod. Shoe shortages plagued all three grand divisions, and letters home often carried specifications for much-needed boots. Brig. Gen. Daniel E. Sickles claimed that 2,000 soldiers in his division did not have shoes good enough for marching. Officers had little choice but to excuse such men from duty.43
The soldiers’ wrath sometimes fell on what a New York surgeon called “drunken and dishonest Quarter Masters.” But it fell most often on shady contractors who supplied the army with shoes that quickly wore out and poorly made socks that immediately raised blisters.44 Especially galling was the common assumption that none of these supply problems were real. The typical Federal soldier had less patience with shortages than his Confederate counterpart because he knew that his suffering stemmed mostly from venality or incompetence.
This was particularly true of food. If all the speculators in Washington had to eat army rations, a Michigan soldier fumed, the war would be over in a week. One Pennsylvanian in Meade’s division declared, only half-humorously, that the army fed the officers’ horses first, then the officers, then the mules, and finally the enlisted men. But at least the quantities were sufficient, and some soldiers actually grew to relish the spartan fare. “Am getting to be a great admirer of hardtack,” an orderly in Hancock’s division wryly observed. “Begin to regard them as the Arab does his dates. Salt pork too is a very good institution.” A Pennsylvania private even claimed that crackers and pickled pork (the “fatter the better”) had cured his bowel complaints.45
Adequate supplies along with the occasional special treat undoubtedly helped Federals endure the cold and perhaps buttressed morale, especially among regimental officers who occasionally enjoyed corn cake, fried Indian pudding, chicken stew, or some soft bread. Ingenuity brought its own satisfaction. A Michigan sergeant sent his girlfriend a detailed description of a tasty soup made from ordinary rations.46 By early December food was plentiful; some men claimed to be growing fat. Shortly after the snowstorm Capt. James Remington of the 7th Rhode Island reported having all the fixings for a regular homemade supper: baked beans and pork, potatoes, onions, vinegar, pepper, tea, coffee, and sugar.47
Paymasters also arrived to settle accounts with some regiments. The men received anywhere from two to six months’ pay; but this covered only the period through October, and so the Treasury remained in arrears.48 Suddenly these soldiers had money to buy the extras that made camp life more bearable. Anticipating quick profits, several entrepreneurs purchased everything from apples to whiskey (the latter item smuggled in cases marked “Bibles”) for sale to their suddenly flush comrades. Sutlers and gamblers gathered to clean out the unwary.49
Many camps, however, saw no fresh greenbacks. No pay for two, four, or six months became common laments. Men were so strapped that they could not afford small items such as paper or stamps. One rumor had it that the Treasury was short some $160 million of the amount needed to pay all the soldiers.50
The unpaid men quite understandably tended to lose heart. Crammed into cold tents and eating the same old hardtack and salt pork, soldiers readily vented their frustrations and disgust with the whole enterprise. The Lincoln administration, a disgruntled New York lieutenant asserted, seemed to think that all was going well even though his regiment had not been paid in five months. A Pennsylvania sergeant advised his brother not to join the army. Making matters worse, folks back home seemed indifferent to both the men and their families. Printing a letter from a soldier who had not been paid for six months, an Indiana newspaper editor drew what he considered two obvious conclusions: peace could not be won on the battlefield, and the Democrats deserved to take over the reins of government.51
At the end of the first week in December, both armies still nervously waited. Plagued by rumors, uncertainty, supply problems, and now the bitter cold, the long-suffering soldiers hardly knew what to expect. Two men, a Pennsylvanian and a New Yorker, wrote similar letters home describing how they wished the paymaster would arrive soon so they would not have to carry money across the Rappahannock River and into battle.52 Within a day or two, however, the safety of their cash would be the least of their worries.
Despite the Confederacy’s painfully obvious logistical shortages, Lee and his army were buoyantly optimistic. The future appeared bright if they could just throw back the invaders one more time. The less confident Federals, though, had far greater resources to withstand the rigors of the season—a good thing, too, because the Union high command was still hamstrung by delay and indecision.