Thirteen

Withdrawal and Pursuit

 

On the morning of July 4—Independence Day—the green fields and rolling hills around the town of Gettysburg were colored bloodred and littered with spent shells, discarded equipment, damaged buildings, and ghastly, twisted human remains. The losses during this three-day affair were staggering. This battle had engaged over 170,000 Americans, and in the end nearly thirty percent of them—more than fifty thousand—had been killed, wounded, captured, or could be counted among the missing.

Over five hundred artillery pieces had roared over those seventy-two hours to gouge craters in the earth as they sent shards of shrapnel whistling through the air to tear into vulnerable human flesh. Both armies had not sought to renew the carnage of the past days—it had ended with Pickett’s charge, although Alfred Pleasonton did attempt to persuade General Meade to allow the Union cavalry to assault the Confederate position one more time.1

Critics in the South might have considered the battle a loss—with casualties amounting to 3,903 killed, 18,735 wounded, and 5,425 missing—but the campaign had in many ways been successful. For instance, an abundance of supplies had been confiscated in the North, perhaps enough to last through the winter months. In addition, Robert E. Lee had demonstrated to the world and national observers that his army could hold its own against the Union on Northern soil. Had Lee gained a decisive victory at Gettysburg, the Army of the Potomac could have withdrawn to Washington and the Army of Northern Virginia would have resumed the invasion. In that case, the best that Lee could have hoped for would have been an opportunity to negotiate a peace agreement on a level playing field. Another scenario, however, shows that if Lee could have maneuvered his troops between the Union army and Washington, thereby cutting off his enemy’s source of supplies, Lee would have had the upper hand in negotiations and the South might have ended the war as victors.2

On the night of July 3, Jeb Stuart had reported to General Robert E. Lee, and for the first time learned about the disastrous result of Pickett’s charge. Lee’s compassionate character would not permit him to condemn anyone else for actions he had directed as its commander. Other officers, however, had already begun dividing loyalties and pointing fingers. And Jeb Stuart, who had been occupied with riding around the Union army when the fighting had commenced, was their target.

The issue that has tarnished Stuart’s reputation from that day forth focused solely on the conduct of his reconnaissance mission and the timing of his arrival at Gettysburg. Most officers, if any, would have been privy to the plan for Stuart to strike the Union rear at the same time as Pickett’s charge—and its failure.

One can only imagine the reception Stuart received from other staff officers overlooking the bloody field at Gettysburg. Sides were being taken in the debate about whether or not Stuart had disobeyed orders and, if so, to what extent his actions had affected the outcome of the three-day battle.

The roster of officers who had harsh words for Stuart’s alleged malfeasance that contributed to the loss at Gettysburg included James Longstreet, Henry Heth, Edward P. Alexander, Walter Taylor, and C. M. Wilcox. There was one officer, however, whose reaction was particularly blunt and condemning of Stuart. Lee’s chief of staff, Colonel Charles Marshall, the officer who had prepared the orders issued for that questionable ride by Stuart around the Yankees, recommended that the cavalry commander should stand a court-martial.3

Stuart did not help matters when defending his actions in his official report, which was an astounding 14,300 words in length. The report, in essence, was a fictional account of Stuart’s true mission. He recounted his success in “spreading terror to the very gates of the [Union] capital,” and in a sense chided Lee by professing that enough cavalry had been left behind that, “properly handled, such a command should have done everything requisite.” Jubal Early as well as A. P. Hill and James Longstreet came under Stuart’s scrutiny for their alleged blunders for not finding him sooner or for advancing without better coordination with his cavalry.4

At the time Stuart delivered his report, he made an attempt to persuade Colonel Marshall to admit that the conduct of the cavalry had been justified. Marshall retorted that Stuart should have obeyed orders, and, predictably, an argument followed with neither man backing down.5

The last word belonged to Marshall, however. After reading Stuart’s report, the colonel wrote a second report over the signature of Robert E. Lee in which he toughened his previous stance by adding that perhaps Stuart should have been shot. Lee later modified the report to exclude that severe and prejudiced opinion. He did note, however, that “the march toward Gettysburg was conducted more slowly than it would have been had the movements of the Federal army been known,” and did not delete a statement that his army’s operations were “much embarrassed by the absence of the cavalry.”6

The question of whether or not Stuart disobeyed orders has been debated by battle participants and noted historians since that July day in 1863 when the battle of Gettysburg became a bitter disappointment for the South. Stuart has borne the brunt of the accusations likely because in death he was a convenient scapegoat to those contemporaries who fixed blame for the defeat on him in order to perhaps camouflage their own inadequacies during that battle.7

Outwardly, Stuart’s apparent contempt for detractors and customary self-importance remained on display for all to observe—as evidenced by his arrival in Martinsburg, Virginia, during the withdrawal from Pennsylvania. Lee and his three corps commanders—Longstreet, Hill, and Ewell—rode along in a somber fashion befitting the mood after Gettysburg. Stuart, on the other hand, arrived in town with his typical flair of pounding hooves, announced by two buglers “blowing most furiously.” The Beau Sabreur was not about to let anyone perceive that his spirit could be broken by rumors and innuendos that, in his mind, were totally baseless.8

However, another star that had brightly shone over Southern skies throughout the war was now rapidly becoming obscured by clouds of vilification.

Back at Confederate headquarters, confidants witnessed for the first time the stalwart commander Robert E. Lee briefly teeter near the emotional breaking point. Lee, who accepted personal blame for the defeat, had good reason to display his anguish. He quickly gathered himself, however, and tended to his soldiering responsibilities. His army remained entrenched in a defensive posture on Seminary Ridge, expecting an attack. But, as the hours passed, Lee correctly surmised that Meade was for the time being content to rest his battle-weary troops.9

Lee summoned his officers to a council of war, and arrived at the only logical conclusion under the circumstances—withdraw his army. The Confederate troops, who had expected to resume the fight, were disappointed by Lee’s decision, which dispelled the rumor that the spirit of the rank and file had been broken. John Esten Cooke wrote, “Nothing is more erroneous than the idea that the Southern army was ‘demoralized’ by the results of the bloody action of these three memorable days. Their nerve was unshaken, their confidence in Lee and themselves unimpaired.”10

Lee’s first order of business would be the evacuation to Virginia of his wagons, supplies, and the ambulances that carried many of the wounded—including General Wade Hampton. Unfortunately, a great number of wounded would, out of necessity, be left behind with the hope that they would be treated with compassion by the enemy. Gettysburg, with a population of 2,400 civilians, would be overwhelmed when the swift-moving armies would leave behind 22,000 wounded men. The town would rally together to do its best to care for the wounded and bury the dead, while worried relatives of missing soldiers arrived in town to look for their loved ones.11

The safe passage of General Lee’s wagon train, with its vital stores and equipment, was crucial to the survival of the Army of Northern Virginia. Therefore, the responsibility of guarding the extensive caravan could not be handed to just anyone, but Lee was confident in his selection of an escort.12

Brigadier General John Imboden had demonstrated skillful resourcefulness and the ability to act as a semi-independent command. His successful spring raid through western Virginia had cut the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad lines and captured a large amount of livestock. Imboden and his twenty-one hundred Virginia cavalrymen most recently had been acting as the army’s rear guard, which had freed up Pickett for his fateful presence at Gettysburg. Lee now summoned Imboden, who reported just after midnight. Imboden greeted General Lee by saying, “General, this has been a hard day for you.”13

Lee replied, “Yes, it has been a sad, sad day to us.” He then told Imboden about Pickett’s heroic charge, and commented, “I never saw troops behave more magnificently.” After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Lee’s emotions poured forth, and he said, “Too bad! Too bad! Oh! Too bad!” Lee composed himself, and issued orders for Imboden’s unit to act as escort for the departing wagon train.14

While Imboden conferred with Lee, Brigadier General George Armstrong Custer was released by General Gregg and reported back to Judson Kilpatrick’s Third Division. Certainly Gregg, as commander of the troops opposing Stuart, deserved some of the credit for the victory east of Gettysburg, but most of the glory was reserved for Custer, who had led the two daring cavalry charges and inspired and rallied his troops on the field by his courageous example. Perhaps more importantly to Custer than any official acclamation was that he had earned the utmost respect of his officers and troops. They had followed him into the depths of hell and emerged victorious. His courage and leadership skills on the field of battle were now unquestioned.15

On that night of July 3, Custer and his troops did not sleep, but rather maintained a vigilance, with one detachment waiting in ambush down the Baltimore Pike in case Stuart chose to attack. By 2:00 A.M., Custer was relatively certain that no attack was imminent, and bedded down his troops near the Rummel farmhouse. The men were weary but rejuvenated, and ready to resume the fight. A writer for the Detroit Free Press summed up the feelings of the Michigan Wolverines when he wrote, “The battle is fought, the victory is won, and Michigan troops are still ahead.”16

The North, however, had little reason to celebrate, having suffered 3,155 killed, 14,529 wounded, and 5,365 missing. And, although losses from the Michigan Brigade in its significant role had contributed to that incredible casualty toll, Custer was saddened and troubled to learn upon reporting to Kilpatrick about one detachment of the Third Division that had fallen in a senseless slaughter.17

Kilpatrick’s division had been skirmishing with the Confederates at the south end of the battlefield below Gettysburg late on the previous afternoon. The Yankee horsemen faced a well-entrenched line of Texas and Georgia infantry barricaded behind a stone wall and stake-and-rail fence. Attempts had been made to dislodge the Rebels, but the terrain, which was comprised of boulders, fences, and ditches, was unacceptable for effective cavalry maneuvers.

Regardless, Kilpatrick decided that, although this location held no significant strategic importance, he must take this Confederate position with an assault of his horsemen. Without Custer’s brigade available, Kilpatrick had only the brigade commanded by Brigadier General Elon J. Farnsworth remaining to carry out the risky charge.18

Farnsworth, who had been promoted to general on the same day as Custer, opposed the action with the opinion that such a charge would be tantamount to suicide. Captain H. C. Parsons, who led one of Farnsworth’s battalions, described his commander as “courage incarnate, but full of tender regard for his men, and his protest was manly and soldierly.” Kilpatrick had responded by mocking Farnsworth’s fortitude, and virtually goading him into agreeing to lead the charge.19

In an assault that was described by a Confederate eyewitness as wholesale slaughter, Farnsworth, who was shot at least five times, and sixty-six of his men were killed during the execution of this ill-conceived charge.

Kilpatrick’s irrational act and its outcome would have likely chilled the blood of even George Armstrong Custer, who, as evidenced by his bravery at Cress Ridge, was no stranger to charging into the cannon’s mouth. But there was a time to charge and a time not to charge. Kilpatrick had crossed that line. The men of the Third Division were angered by the general’s reckless decision, which to them served as an example of their commander’s disregard for lives when personal glory was at stake. The troopers began calling their commander “Kill-Cavalry” for the needless slaughter of Farnsworth and his men.20

Captain James Kidd wrote, “He [Kilpatrick] had begun to be a terror to foes, and there was a well-grounded fear that he might become a menace to friends as well. He was brave to rashness, capricious, ambitious, reckless in rushing into scrapes, and generally full of expedients in getting out, though at times he seemed to lose his head entirely when beset by perils which he himself, had invited.”21

But there was no time to dwell on the past. Orders passed from General Pleasonton to Kilpatrick instructed that the Third Division would ride south and attempt to intercept the Confederate wagon train that was reportedly on the move.

While the great armies fought at Gettysburg, another major operation was concluding to the west. On May 19, General U. S. Grant had arrived with his Union forces on the outskirts of Vicksburg, Mississippi, with intentions of capturing that city, which would give the North complete control of the Mississippi River and split the Confederacy in half. Grant attacked Vicksburg from both above and below the port of entry, mainly with frontal assaults, but none were successful. The general was not to be denied, however, and commenced what would become one of the longest and most devastating sieges of the war.

Throughout May and June both armies maintained their positions in the trenches, while the city withstood barrages from over two hundred Union artillery pieces. It may have taken a while, but the cannons eventually yielded the desired effect. By the end of June, the defenders of Vicksburg—unable to receive provisions or reinforcements from the outside—were weary, starving, and dying in their trenches, and could no longer prolong the inevitable. On July 3, the Confederates requested a peace treaty, and General Grant gave them his famous reply of “unconditional surrender” as his terms. There was no choice for the Southerners but to comply. The next day, July 4, Union soldiers entered Vicksburg and ended that long campaign.

Just after noon on that Independence Day, Brigadier General George Armstrong Custer and his Michigan Wolverines were back in the saddle, riding with General Kilpatrick’s division, when the heavens opened up to soak them and add further misery to the march. Captain James Kidd wrote, “It seemed as if the firmament were an immense tank, the contents of which were spilled all at once. Such a drenching as we had! Even heavy gum coats and horsehide boots were hardly proof against it. It poured and poured, making every rivulet a river and of every river and mountain stream a raging flood.”22

The downpour had an even worse effect on the Confederate wagon train commanded by John Imboden. The panicked mules rebelled in the blinding torrent, and the canvas covering the wagons could not adequately repel the rain, which added to the suffering of the wounded occupants. When the caravan neared Cashtown in late afternoon and commenced its climb over the mountains, Imboden rode toward the front and realized that his wagons stretched for seventeen miles along the muddy pathway.23

Imboden endured a personal nightmare as he traversed that lengthy line of wagons. “For four hours I hurried forward on my way to the front,” he wrote, “and in all that time I was never out of hearing the groans and cries of the wounded and dying. Scarcely one in a hundred had received adequate surgical aid, owing to the demands on the hard-working surgeons from still worse cases that had been left behind. The jolting was enough to have killed strong men, if long exposed to it.” A shaken General Imboden swore that “During this one night I realized more horrors of war than I had in all the preceding two years.”24

General Kilpatrick reached Emmitsburg about 3:00 P.M., and rendezvoused as planned with Colonel Pennock Huey’s brigade from Gregg’s division, which brought his total strength to more than five thousand. By late afternoon, en route in a southwest direction toward Frederick, scouts delivered a civilian, C. H. Buhrman, to Kilpatrick. Buhrman reported that a huge Rebel wagon train had been observed moving south along Fairfield Gap in South Mountain toward Hagerstown, Maryland. This was not Imboden’s train, rather one commanded by Richard Ewell that had departed Gettysburg several hours after the wounded and supply train.25

Kilpatrick viewed the capture of this wagon train as an opportunity to restore his somewhat tarnished image. With Buhrman guiding, Kilpatrick pushed his troops along the soggy earth in a driving rainstorm toward Fairfield.

At about 10:00 P.M., Custer’s brigade, which led the march, arrived at a fork in the road—the northwest branch led to Fairfield Gap, the southwest to Monterey Pass—to learn that the Rebel wagons had passed onto the northern road within the past three hours. A Confederate cavalry picket line had been deployed near the fork, but withdrew toward Fairfield after only token resistance when the Yankees approached.

In an effort to head off the wagon train, Kilpatrick ordered Colonel Charles Town and the First Michigan along the Fairfield Road to attack the rear of the caravan while the main force moved toward Monterey.

One regiment of Colonel Town’s battalion, commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Peter Stagg, approached its objective, but was repulsed after destroying several wagons. The Wolverines suffered a number of casualties, including Stagg, who was injured when his horse was shot out from under him.26

Kilpatrick’s column also encountered opposition, and was stopped in its tracks inside Monterey Pass by a company from the First Maryland Cavalry reinforced by elements of the Fourth North Carolina and one artillery piece. In spite of being greatly outnumbered, the Rebels were aided by the rainy weather, the darkness, and terrain that afforded them a clear field of fire down the road from their positions behind rocks and trees. The narrow pass prevented an orderly retreat by the Yankees, and the Rebel sharpshooters effectively pinned them down with accurate fire.

General Armstrong Custer quickly deployed his troops near a once-popular health resort named Monterey Springs. Seven companies of the Fifth Michigan dismounted and scrambled up the slopes to form a skirmish line on both sides of the mountain road. The Sixth was placed on the right, extending down to the road not far from a bridge across a stream that had supplied mineral water to the spa. The two remaining companies of the Fifth remained mounted and poised to charge, while the First and the Seventh were held in reserve.

Custer ordered the Wolverines forward in a series of attempts to mount an offensive and dislodge the Rebels, but the pitch-black darkness, nagging rain, and thick underbrush—not to mention the accurate fire of the hidden enemy—thwarted each effort. James Kidd, who more than once was sent sprawling by vines and briars, wrote, “One had to be guided by sound and not by sight.”

Finally, just after midnight, Colonel Russell Alger of the Fifth Michigan returned from a reconnaissance and reported to Custer that the bridge remained intact and could be crossed. That was all the frustrated Custer needed to hear to formulate his strategy—an immediate charge was in order.

Custer dismounted the Sixth Michigan and seven squadrons of the Fifth, while the First and the Seventh were held in reserve. The Boy General then led Alger and the Wolverines of the Fifth Michigan on the assault, and rushed full tilt across the bridge into the midst of the enemy. It was difficult to maintain order on this charge due to the darkness, the rough terrain, and the stormy conditions. The position of the Confederate skirmishers could only be determined by spotting their muzzle flashes.

By sheer numbers, however, firing their Spencers at muzzle flashes, Custer’s men cleared the way for the Seventh Michigan to follow them across the bridge. The small Confederate force understood that in the face of this resolute attack it was now time to break contact, and vanished into the dark countryside. During the brief fray, Custer’s horse was shot dead—reportedly his seventh mount lost in the Gettysburg Campaign—but Custer was uninjured in the fall.27

The next order of business was to secure the wagon train, which was located a half mile away. Kilpatrick’s men, embarrassed that only a handful of the enemy had stymied three brigades for several hours, swooped down with a vengeance on Ewell’s wagons. The Rebel drivers viciously whipped their teams to urge them on, causing numerous wagons to overturn. The wounded inside, whose screams could be distinctly heard, were rudely thrown out onto the muddy ground. But it was too late to make a run for it—the Federal horsemen, with their sabers in hand, quickly halted and commandeered the wagon train.

The train, with its 400 vehicles, which reportedly extended for some ten miles, was easily captured, along with 1,360 prisoners, who were for the most part Gettysburg casualties. Supplies were confiscated, and most of the wagons were hacked apart or burned before an enemy brigade arrived to chase away the Yankee cavalry. Kilpatrick moved his troops, prisoners, and newfound riches to Ringgold, where at dawn a halt was ordered.28

The division, according to New York Times reporter E. A. Paul, was “tired, sleepy, wet, and covered with mud. Men and animals yielded to the demands of exhausted nature, and the column had not been at a halt many minutes before all fell asleep where they stood.” Paul noted that the “gallant Brigadier” Custer found refuge under the eaves of a chapel, “enjoying in the mud one of those sound sleeps, his golden locks matted with the soil.”29

This respite from the saddle was short-lived, however, when after two hours Kilpatrick roused his weary troops. He was determined to locate and engage Jeb Stuart’s cavalry, and pushed onward in the direction of Smithstown (present-day Smithsburg), fifteen miles away. The dogged pursuit would continue.30