I HAVE THE HONOR TO ENCLOSE MY RESIGNATION
CHAPTER THREE
BY THE TIME THE ARMY REACHED SALT LAKE CITY, THE WAR WITH THE MORMONS had fizzled out like a wet fuse. The war between Sibley and Colonel Philip St. George Cooke, however, raged on unabated.
In June 1858, while encamped at Camp Floyd, some forty miles south of Salt Lake City, a drinking party among the officers of the Second Dragoons, probably led by Sibley himself, became excessively boisterous. Cooke, who had been ill and was in no mood to endure the noise and revelry, had the officers arrested and confined to their tents. Naturally, Sibley took umbrage at Cooke’s action. The two then became embroiled in a shouting match over the fact that Sibley had not signed his company’s muster rolls. Exasperated with Sibley, Cooke preferred court-martial charges against the brevet major for “neglect of duty” and “conduct to the prejudice of good order and military discipline.” Sibley, fuming, was once more restricted to his tent.1
Sibley’s court-martial began on July 10, 1858; one of the officers serving on the court was Edward Richard Sprigg Canby. Although the court found Sibley guilty of two of the specifications, it ordered him released from arrest. Whether Sibley was grateful to Canby for his part in the decision to free him from custody is unknown. But within two years, Sibley and Canby would be working in concert against a common foe: the Navajos in New Mexico Territory.
Philip St. George Cooke. (Courtesy, Colorado Historical Society, #10028264)
Sibley and Canby had much in common. Both came from relatively wealthy backgrounds; both had graduated from West Point (Canby matriculated in 1839, two years ahead of Sibley); both had participated in the campaign against the Seminoles in Florida; and both had served with distinction in the war against Mexico.
In terms of their temperaments, however, the two officers were polar opposites. Whereas Sibley imbibed freely, was subject to volcanic outbursts of anger, and was unreliable in the fulfillment of his administrative duties, Canby was a solid and steady officer—quiet, reserved, rarely given to excesses or hyperbole. Clean-shaven during an era when facial hair was considered the height of male fashion and adornment, Canby exemplified good breeding and a naturally conservative nature. And Canby reveled in the administrative work that Sibley reviled.
Born on November 9, 1817, on the family estate at Piatt’s Landing, Kentucky, southwest of Cincinnati, young Edward never knew privation. In 1835, Canby received an appointment to West Point. A few months after Cadet William Gilpin had resigned and left the academy, Canby arrived, along with other fresh-faced plebes, including Henry W. Halleck (destined to succeed George McClellan as General-in-Chief of the army), James B. Ricketts (who would one day command a Union division), Edward Ord (who would command the U.S. Army of the James), Henry Hunt (future Chief of Artillery of the Army of the Potomac), Jeremy Gilmer (the future Confederate Army’s Chief Engineer), and Alexander R. Lawton (who would become the South’s Quartermaster General).
Although life at West Point was difficult, Canby soldiered on. In his sophomore year he was joined by a new class of plebes that included William Tecumseh Sherman (who would later gain fame—or infamy—as the pitiless despoiler of the South), Richard Stoddert Ewell (whose reputation would be forever tarnished by his failure to take Cemetery Hill from the Yankees at Gettysburg), Stewart Van Vliet (who would become a prominent Federal quartermaster), George H. Thomas (who would rise to command the Army of the Cumberland during the Civil War), and Henry Hopkins Sibley.2
Edward Richard Sprigg Canby. (Massachusetts Commandery—Military Order of the Loyal Legion and the U.S. Army Military History Institute)
The competition was stiff, the curriculum difficult and by the end of his second year Cadet Canby was in academic difficulty, ranking thirty-third in a class of thirty-five. Furthermore, while on summer leave at home in 1837, he discovered that life for the family had taken a downward turn. During the general economic depression that was ravaging the country at the end of Jackson’s presidency, his father, severely leveraged in his real estate holdings, had fallen deeply into debt.
The one thing that made life at home bearable that despondent summer for Cadet Canby was his courtship with Louisa Hawkins, an eighteen-year-old, dark-haired young woman with sad eyes and a sympathetic heart. That autumn, Edward returned to the academy for his third year, where he maintained his mediocre class standing. On June 21, 1839, he graduated second to last in his class, was commissioned a second lieutenant of infantry, and was assigned to Company A of the Second Infantry Regiment, then stationed in northern Florida. Before reporting for duty, he and Louisa were married.
The Second Seminole War, in which Gilpin, Canby, and Sibley all served, was extremely frustrating for the government—a seemingly unwinnable war that sucked soldiers into Florida’s gloomy swamps and impenetrable jungles as they went in search of elusive bands of Indians. Through much of 1840, Canby and his men chased Seminole shadows, rarely fighting—or even seeing—the enemy. Canby’s scouting abilities and the exceptionally thorough and cool-headed manner in which he carried out his duties, however, earned praise from his superiors. Many saw in the young lieutenant the makings of an officer worthy of higher rank.
Finally, in May 1841, the Indian chief whom the army had been pursuing surrendered, and Canby escorted a group of Seminoles from Tampa Bay to New Orleans and then on to the Indian Territory, where his charges were released into their new homeland. He was then ordered to Fort Niagara on Lake Ontario. During this period, Louisa joined her husband and soon gave birth to their only child—a daughter—who died in infancy.
In October 1845, Canby was posted to Buffalo, where he opened a recruiting rendezvous for the Second Regiment. Unlike Henry Hopkins Sibley, who appears to have accepted every candidate with a pulse, Canby was judicious in his selections. Canby was also far more successful than Sibley in attracting qualified recruits. Convincing an able-bodied man to join the regular army at that time was a difficult business, for the period of enlistment was five years, there were no special inducements to entice a man into uniform, and the pay was only seven dollars a month.
In spite of the drawbacks, Canby was highly successful in his recruiting efforts. Moreover, when a harsh winter prevented his recruits from proceeding from Buffalo to Detroit, Canby took it upon himself to provide for their needs. Because of the care and concern he showed them, only one of the thirty-one men who overwintered at Buffalo deserted.
Although he had spent more than six years in the army and had won praise from his superiors, Canby was at the beginning of 1846 still a second lieutenant. In July 1846, he and the Second Infantry were assigned, like Sibley and the Second Dragoons, to Winfield Scott’s amphibious invasion force, which was preparing to land at Vera Cruz.
Promoted to first lieutenant in August, Canby eagerly anticipated seeing action. Yet, even in Mexico, his administrative skills were more highly prized than his combat capabilities. Thus, he was assigned to the Second Brigade of the Second Division as its assistant adjutant general and ex officio chief of staff, and was promoted to brevet captain.
It wasn’t until April 18, 1847, at Santa Anna’s stand at Cerro Gordo that Canby got his first real taste of battle. Advancing slowly with a line of skirmishers through the thickets, Canby spotted a five-gun Mexican battery that was threatening the rear of his brigade. He quickly pressed Lieutenant Nathaniel Lyon and his company into an assault against the guns, which the Mexicans halfheartedly defended before abandoning them. As a result of this action, Canby was cited for rendering “highly valuable services.”3 During the march to Mexico City, Canby, although not in command of combat troops, continued to earn the commendation of his commanders. At the battle for Churubusco in August, for instance, with musket balls and cannon shot flying, the indefatigable Canby seemed to be everywhere—reconnoitering enemy positions, delivering orders, even bringing up reserves.
Nine months after the Mexican capital fell in September 1848, Canby returned home. His moments in the crucible of battle had been brief, but he had proven himself under fire and was rewarded with a promotion to brevet major. Canby was subsequently assigned to be the Assistant Adjutant General of both the Pacific Division and the Department of California. There, Canby found himself in a position of great responsibility. He excelled at this administrative work and threw himself into it with gusto.
Canby remained at his post until April 1851, when he was ordered to report to Washington, D.C., where his methodical manner and eye for administrative detail were needed by the Secretary of War to inspect the arsenals, depots, and forts along the Arkansas and Red Rivers. In March 1855, Canby, now a brevet lieutenant colonel, was given command of the newly formed Tenth Infantry Regiment at Carlisle Barracks. After months of training, the Tenth left Carlisle in October and headed for Wisconsin, where Canby was placed in temporary command of Fort Crawford. The unit settled in for a long, cold winter.
The following April, Canby was made commander of Fort Snelling, near Minneapolis, on the Mississippi. Then, in June 1857, he was back in command of the Tenth Infantry and on his way to Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, where the Tenth, along with the Fifth Infantry and the Second Dragoons, were preparing to march against the Mormons in Utah. Unlike the mounted dragoons, the Fifth and Tenth Infantries—except for their field officers—walked every mile. In three weeks, the troops had covered nearly 300 miles—from Leavenworth to Fort Kearny—under a punishing July sun. After three days’ rest, the foot-sore, sunburned troops were again on the trail, making Fort Laramie on September 1, 1857.
According to one of the captains, who expressed his respect and admiration for Canby: “A more attentive, careful officer never strode a horse. He attends strictly to his duty, times the step, sees that everybody is cared for, and comes up to my idea of a field officer.” Louisa Canby, along with a few of the other officers’ wives, accompanied her husband in a wagon with, according to the same officer, “her amiable countenance beaming with goodness and graciousness of heart. A truer and more amiable woman God never created, always a kind word for everyone.”4 Once in winter quarters at Fort Bridger, with rations practically nonexistent and outrageously expensive when they could be procured, it is said that Louisa Canby, although ill much of the winter, personally purchased eggs and butter at exorbitant prices and then distributed the food to the sick soldiers.5
In August 1859, Sibley returned to Fort Bridger—where Canby was now the commandant—and reassumed command of Company I, Second Dragoons. The following February, when Canby was transferred to Camp Floyd and again took charge of the Tenth Infantry Regiment; Sibley became commander of Fort Bridger.6
The Mormon uprising was now settled, but a new and more worrisome situation had arisen south of Utah in New Mexico Territory. Tensions between the Navajos and the white and Hispanic citizens of New Mexico had been high for many years, and now, in the spring of 1860, matters had reached a crisis point. Both sides raided each others’ territories, and many people died.
So bold had the Navajo war parties become that on April 30, 1860, the Indians had attacked with impunity the U.S. garrison at Fort Defiance. The Secretary of War declared that this situation could not continue and directed territorial governor Abraham Rencher to deal with it.7 Rencher requested that Colonel Thomas T. Fauntleroy, commander of the Department of New Mexico, call out the regulars and punish the Navajos severely. Despite deep-seated doubts that another punitive campaign would have any lasting effect, Fauntleroy reluctantly agreed and placed Canby in command of the campaign.
Canby was ordered to march three companies of the Tenth 700 miles to New Mexico Territory, across some of the most daunting terrain on the North American continent, to pursue, capture, and kill hostile Navajos. With Sibley leading a second column from Fort Bridger and Captain Lafayette McLaws in command of a third column coming from Fort Craig south of Albuquerque, the three companies converged at Fort Defiance in October. No one expected the campaign to be easy; the country was rugged and inhospitable, water and forage were scarce, winter was coming on, and Canby rightly worried that his supplies were inadequate. He also failed to appreciate the skills of the Navajos, who proved as elusive and difficult to pin down as a droplet of mercury.8
Discouraged, disillusioned, and with his troops totally exhausted by weeks of chasing ghosts through terrain that Canby described as being “the most desolate and repulsive” he had ever seen, he led the expeditionary force back to Fort Defiance.9 In Canby’s view, the campaign, if its aim was to force the Navajos into giving up their warlike ways, had been a total failure. Only a protracted, unsparing war utilizing the full resources of the U. S. Army could accomplish such a difficult goal.
Canby, however, nearly accomplished the impossible. In December he met with the most powerful representatives of the Navajo nation and warned them that the war against their people would continue unabated unless they ceased hostilities. Assured that the majority of Navajos were peaceable and that the trouble stemmed only from two outlaw bands that the chiefs would do everything in their power to control, Canby agreed to a limited armistice with the tribe. He made the development of a lasting peace treaty with the Navajo nation his highest priority and displayed exceptional skill in negotiating with the Indian leaders, whom he treated with respect, understanding, and decency.
Route of Canby and Sibley, Navajo Campaign, October–December 1860.
With supplies and the number of serviceable horses running perilously low, Canby’s Army of New Mexico was essentially powerless to do much more than maintain a static defense of existing posts. He ordered Sibley to take a column of men and head for Albuquerque, some 150 miles to the east, to acquire fresh animals and badly needed provisions. Once he reached Albuquerque and turned in Canby’s requisition list, however, Sibley was informed that someone else would bring the supplies to Canby. Sibley was to proceed north and assume temporary command of a small post, Cantonment Burgwin, about ten miles south of Taos.10
Two days before Christmas in 1860 Sibley found himself at the run-down, rat-infested post, which was practically unfit for human habitation. The soldiers manning the cantonment, too, were in frightful condition. Most had not received a clothing issue in nearly a year, rations were virtually nonexistent, and essential equipment was not to be had. Morale could not have been lower. Sibley discovered that a wagon train full of supplies earmarked for Cantonment Burgwin had been halted weeks earlier by an officer at Fort Union who did not even know that troops were stationed at the post.
To Sibley it must have seemed as if his military career had hit rock bottom. Here he was, a forty-four-year-old alcoholic brevet major in command of a handful of ragged troops and scores of rattlesnakes that populated an outpost that almost no one knew existed. He was more than 1,000 miles from his wife and children, far from the seat of power and influence, with nothing better to do than protect a small parcel of government property from bands of hostile natives. Gone were the glorious, horse-mounted charges against the Mexican foe; gone were the adrenaline-rushing battles with musket and saber; gone were the rousing parades, the snapping flags, the piercing calls of the bugle. Not even the excitement of pursuing Indians held much promise after Sibley learned of Canby’s peace treaty with the Navajos in March 1861.
In the spring most of the garrison soldiers at Cantonment Burgwin were posted elsewhere throughout the territory to enforce the treaty, leaving the post even lonelier than before. Finally, Sibley received orders relieving him of command and directing him to report to Fort Union, some fifty miles over the mountains to the east. He did not know what this new post would be like, but surely it could not be worse than Cantonment Burgwin. Shortly before leaving for his new assignment, there came stunning, electrifying news: the South had fired on Fort Sumter. The civil war had begun.
Rumors of high-ranking positions being available for qualified officers who joined the Confederacy spread like wildfire, and Sibley seriously began to contemplate making a change to his own future. This new war, as terrible as it would be, would offer immense opportunity for him to once again prove his bravery and skilled hand at leading troops. Surely the South would welcome him with his twenty-three years of military service; his commendations for bravery; his unquestioned valor in the face of withering fire at Medellin, Cerro Gordo, Molino del Rey, and Chapultepec. He had even ridden at the side of General Winfield Scott. How could his beloved South fail to reward him with a high rank and an important field command?
His letters to his wife reflected his growing desire to join his Southern brethren in their cause, and she, a Northerner, pleaded with him not to. But the lure of a colonelcy or higher in service to the Confederate army was more than Sibley could resist; his loyalties definitely lay with Dixie and on April 28, 1861, he penned his letter of resignation: “I have the honor to enclose herewith the resignation of my commission in the Army of the United States and request authority to leave this Dept. immediately.”11
The die was irrevocably cast. Henry Hopkins Sibley began to pack his bags. Soon he would be on his way to see President Jefferson Davis and unveil his latest brainstorm. If his revolutionary tent and stove were regarded as brilliant achievements, Davis and the rest of the Confederate hierarchy would be positively astounded by his latest creation—nothing less than the conquest of the entire Southwest, all the way to the Pacific!
A few weeks before Sibley resigned his commission, William Gilpin was in Washington, D.C., receiving the last of his instructions on how to organize and govern a territory, and musing at the circumstances of his appointment to the high position of territorial governor.
In Lincoln’s view, the new territory required a strong, staunchly Union man at the helm. Ever since his return from his journey with Frémont, Gilpin had made influential friends in Washington, and many of them saw him as the ideal candidate for the post of governor. Frank Blair, the brother of Postmaster General Montgomery Blair and a confidante of the president, went so far as to tell Lincoln: “Billy Gilpin has done more for that section of the country than any man now living. Why, Mr. President, Billy Gilpin built Pike’s Peak!”12
Gilpin had had a powerful rival for the office—General William Larimer, one of the original founders of Denver City. Larimer’s backers had presented his qualifications to the president but, thanks to the efforts of Blair and others, it was Gilpin who received the prize. Remembering the man who had been one of his bodyguards, Lincoln summoned Gilpin to the White House, inquired as to whether he would be interested in such an office, and when the reply was confidently affirmative, Lincoln, on March 22, 1861, sent a message to the Senate, nominating him and Lewis Ledyard Weld for the posts of Colorado territorial governor and secretary, respectively. Gilpin’s salary was set at $2,500 a year, plus $1,000 for serving as the territory’s superintendent of Indian affairs.
Weld, Gilpin’s second-in-command, was a brilliant twenty-eight-year-old Yale graduate, class of 1854. A lawyer and eloquent abolitionist from a prominent Connecticut family, Weld migrated west and eventually landed in Denver City, where he sought to establish a law practice. But Jefferson Territory’s lack of an organized court system frustrated him and he closed his practice. Once he heard that a new, formal territory was being created, he hurried back to Washington to submit his name for consideration for the position of secretary, the second-most important job. He received it—at an annual salary of $1,800.13
While Gilpin and Weld were being instructed on the intricacies and legalities of governing a territory, Southern gunners fired on Fort Sumter and the Civil War began. Gilpin, the ex-soldier, quickly realized that one of his first duties would be to raise, equip, train, house, and feed an armed force tasked with protecting the territory. Such a force would require enormous sums of money, but when he approached Lincoln and Secretary of War Cameron on the portico of the White House one evening, Lincoln gravely informed him, “We have not a cent.”
Taken aback, Gilpin asked, “What shall I do for soldiers?”
“If you need them,” said Cameron, “call them out as we have done, command them yourself, and send your payrolls to me. I will see that they are paid.”14
It wasn’t a completely satisfactory answer but, thought Gilpin, it would have to do. The lack of written authorization from Cameron or Lincoln, however, would come back to haunt the new governor and eventually destroy him.
1. Jerry D. Thompson, Henry Hopkins Sibley: Confederate General of the West (Natchitoches: Northwestern Louisiana State University Press, 1987), 163.
2. Bruce S. Allardice, More Generals in Gray (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1995); Clarence C. Buel and Robert U. Johnson, eds., Battles and Leaders of the Civil War, vol. 2 (New York: Century Company, 1888); Ezra J. Warner, Generals in Blue: Lives of the Union Commanders (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1964), passim.
3. Max L. Heyman, Prudent Soldier: A Biography of Major General Edward R.S. Canby (Glendale, CA: Arthur H. Clark, 1959), 64.
4. Ibid., 102–103.
5. Ibid., 106.
6. Thompson, Henry Hopkins Sibley, 137–152, 156–168.
7. Heyman, Prudent Soldier, 114–115.
8. Thompson, Henry Hopkins Sibley, 177–194.
9. Heyman, Prudent Soldier, 119.
10. Heyman, Prudent Soldier, 114–136.
11. Thompson, Henry Hopkins Sibley, 198–209.
12. Thomas L. Karnes, William Gilpin—Western Nationalist (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1970), 251–254; Wilbur F. Stone, History of Colorado (Chicago: S. J. Clarke Publishing, 1918), 319.
13. LeRoy R. Hafen, “Lewis Ledyard Weld and Old Camp Weld,” Colorado Magazine 19:6 (November 1942): 201–207; Jerome C. Smiley, Semi-Centennial History of the State of Colorado, vol. 1 (Chicago: Lewis Publishing, 1913), 319.
14. Hubert H. Bancroft, History of the Life of William Gilpin: A Character Study (San Francisco: History Company, 1889), 43–44.
