Nineteen

Change of Command

 

One of the officers on that train that Armstrong and Libbie Custer had taken to Washington was a man whom Libbie described in a letter to her parents, “Sandy hair and mustache; eyes greenish-blue. Short, and Mother, not ‘tasty’ but very ordinary-looking. No show-off but quite unassuming, talked all the time and was funny.”1

This particular general happened to be Ulysses S. “Sam” Grant, who had been summoned east to become general-in-chief of the army. Meade remained in command of the Army of the Potomac, but Grant, the hero of Shiloh, Vicksburg, and Chattanooga, had been handed authority no other military man had wielded since George Washington, and would command Meade.

Grant had been born on April 27, 1822, at Point Pleasant, Ohio, the son of a tanner who was descended from Puritans who immigrated to New England in the early seventeenth century. His father worried that Sam was too lazy to make anything of himself in life, and managed to secure the boy an appointment to West Point in 1839. Grant was not the most attentive student—preferring romantic novels to studying tactics—but graduated in 1843 ranked twenty-first out of thirty-nine cadets.

Grant was commissioned a lieutenant in the Fourth U.S. Infantry, and four years later fought in Mexico, winning brevets for gallantry at Molino del Rey and Chapultepec. His service after the war included a series of remote garrisons, where he could not bring his wife, Julia, and his two current children (he would have two more). This boredom and loneliness led to his drinking in excess, a habit that he continued at times throughout later years. In July 1854, he resigned his newly appointed captaincy, and returned home to his family in Missouri.

Grant had a difficult time making a living as a civilian, resorting at one point to peddling wood on the street, and grudgingly relied on charity from his father. The family moved into his parents’ home, and Grant worked at a number of menial and low-paying jobs. Then came the outbreak of the Civil War.

With the assistance of a patronage-minded congressman named Elihu B. Washburne and Governor Richard Yates, Sam Grant was appointed colonel of the Twenty-first Illinois Infantry in June 1861. Two months later, while training his troops, Grant was promoted to brigadier general of volunteers.

In November 1861, Grant engaged Confederates near Belmont, Missouri, but fared poorly and was relegated to an administrative post. He escaped his desk job in February 1862, and served under Major General Henry Halleck, and brilliantly commanded troops that captured Forts Henry and Donelson on the Tennessee and Cumberland rivers. Two months later, he was routed near Pittsburg Landing and Shiloh Church, but rallied the next day to repulse the enemy. He went on with an attempt to seize Vicksburg, Mississippi, that December, but was unable to secure the city.

Grant did not give up on Vicksburg, and devised hard-hitting tactics that led to the fall of that city in July 1863. This victory earned him a promotion to major general. He followed up his successes with victories in Chattanooga, Lookout Mountain, and Missionary Ridge, and was lauded as the top general in that theater. President Lincoln rewarded him with the three-star rank and made him general-in-chief.2

This shakeup at the top would also be of interest to Brigadier General George Armstrong Custer, who would soon find himself without the comfortable and protective relationship he had enjoyed with General Alfred Pleasonton.

One of General Grant’s first decisions was to relieve Major General Alfred Pleasonton as commander of the Cavalry Corps and replace him with a thirty-three-year-old West Pointer named Philip H. Sheridan.3

Although the date and place of his birth is uncertain, Phil Sheridan claimed to have been born in Albany, New York, in 1831. He was the third child of six born to immigrants from County Cavan, Ireland, and was raised in Somerset, Ohio. As a boy, Sheridan worked in a dry goods store, eventually rising to head clerk and bookkeeper. In 1848—full grown at five feet, five inches tall—he falsified his birth certificate and received an appointment to West Point, where he was suspended for a year for fighting with a classmate, future Civil War general William R. Terrill. Finally, in 1853, he graduated thirty-fourth in his class of forty-nine cadets.

Sheridan served in various posts throughout Texas, California, and the Pacific Northwest, fighting in the Yakima and Rogue River wars and being wounded by a bullet grazing his nose in 1857 in Oregon Territory. During his duty in Oregon, he lived with a Native American mistress, the daughter of the chief of the Klickitat tribe, and learned skills necessary for negotiating with the various tribes. He was promoted to first lieutenant in March 1861 and captain in May, just prior to the Civil War.

In the early stages of the war, Sheridan served with the Thirteenth Infantry in southwest Missouri, and then moved on to become quartermaster and commissary for the regiment. Seeking field action, Sheridan managed to be appointed colonel of the Second Michigan Cavalry in May 1862. One month later, he distinguished himself in a victory at Booneville, Mississippi, and was rewarded with the rank of brigadier general. He continued to impress his superiors in actions at Perryville while commanding an infantry division and at Stone’s River when he was credited with saving Rosecran’s army. In March 1863, he was promoted to the rank of major general.

The new major general distinguished himself once again at Chickamauga as commander of the Army of the Cumberland, and caught General Grant’s eye at Chattanooga while leading a brilliant charge up Missionary Ridge.4

In appearance, “Little Phil,” as he was nicknamed, did not by any means portray the prototype image of a cavalryman. He was “a small, broad-shouldered, squat man, with black hair and a square head.” Lincoln wryly described him as “a brown, chunky little chap, with a long body, short legs, not enough neck to hang him, and such long arms that if his ankles itch he can scratch them without stooping.” But what the Irishman lacked in physical presence was offset by his demeanor on the field of battle. “In action,” one officer noted, “or when specially interested in any subject, his eyes fairly blazed and the whole man seemed to expand mentally and physically. His influence on his men was like an electric shock.”5

Grant gave Phil Sheridan command of the Union cavalry—three divisions totaling about ten thousand men. Little Phil wasted no time reshaping the Union cavalry corps to suit his own taste in fighting men. The first move came when Wesley Merritt, who was thought by most observers to be in line as Buford’s successor, was passed over for command of the First Division in favor of Brigadier General Alfred T. A. Torbert, a thirty-three-year-old West Pointer from Delaware. Surprisingly, Torbert, who had led a brigade in the Sixth Corps, had no experience in the cavalry. He had been, however, a schoolmate of Phil Sheridan.6

Command of the Second Division remained in the capable hands of General David Gregg, and—to the relief of the officers and troops—Judson Kilpatrick was relieved of his command and assigned, or banished, to the Western Theater. Custer believed that he was a worthy successor, and had been told as much by Kilpatrick. Instead, command of the Third Division was given to Brigadier General James H. Wilson. Wilson, who had been a classmate of Wesley Merritt at West Point, was an engineering officer and had never served in the cavalry. But the twenty-six-year-old had one major advantage over other qualified candidates. He had formed a friendship with U.S. Grant in the West, and it was Grant who had personally handpicked him for the command.7

There was one problem in this chain of command, however. Wilson had received his promotion to brigadier general on October 30, 1863, which made him junior in rank to Custer, Merritt, and Henry Davies. Regulations stated that Wilson could not command senior officers. To remedy the situation, Custer’s brigade—the First, Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh Michigan—was transferred to the senior one-star position in the cavalry—the First Brigade of Torbert’s First Division. Henry Davies’ brigade was assigned to Gregg’s Second Division. Custer was pleased with the new assignment, and with Torbert, whom he called “an old and intimate friend of mine and a very worthy gentleman.”8

Despite George Armstrong Custer’s father-son relationship with Pleasonton, whose removal must have saddened him, he professed an agreeable initial opinion of Phil Sheridan. This view was the result of a “get acquainted” meeting between Little Phil and Old Curly on the evening of April 15. “I remained at Genl. Sheridan’s headquarters last night and to-day until nearly four o’clock,” Custer wrote to Libbie. “[He] impresses me very favorably.” He also mentioned his new cavalry commander to his sister, “Gen Sheridan from what I learn and see is an able and good commander and I like him very much.”9

General Grant was anxious to test the resolve of Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia—and Sheridan was equally as eager to pit his horsemen against Jeb Stuart. And now that the winter cold had given way to spring, it was time to heat up the action on the field of battle.

Phil Sheridan had ambitious plans for his ten-thousand-man cavalry, and sought a meeting to present them to Meade. He envisioned his horsemen as an independent unit with the freedom “to march where we pleased, for the purpose of breaking down General Lee’s communications and destroying the resources from which his army was supplied.” Sheridan also proposed that he draw Stuart’s cavalry away from the protection of the infantry, where he could destroy it.

Meade denied Sheridan’s requests, and insisted that the cavalry perform the traditional role of subservience to the infantry and screen and protect its movements. The decision did not set well with Sheridan, but the temperamental Irishman had no choice but to bow to Meade’s wishes—for the time being at least.10

General Grant was anxious to take the offensive, and devised a strategy that called for his army to cross the Rapidan and Rappahannock rivers at various points—up the James; south of Richmond; up the Shenandoah to threaten the South’s granary; and a march by Sherman on Atlanta. The main body would pass through the Wilderness toward Richmond, a movement that would assuredly draw the Army of Northern Virginia from winter quarters to engage the superior Union force. It would then become a war of attrition, with the numerical odds favoring Grant’s army.11

At daylight on May 4, the Union cavalry departed winter quarters in the vicinity of Culpeper-Stevensburg and rode south. General Custer was disappointed to learn that his Wolverines had been assigned Torbert’s rear—to guard the supply train—while the Second and Third Divisions led the infantry into the dense, second-growth timber known as the Wilderness. Grant had intended to pass beyond Lee’s right flank and traverse this brambly arborous maze, where Fighting Joe Hooker had been defeated the previous year, before engaging the Confederates, rather than under conditions that would obstruct his artillery and impede cavalry movements.12

At about 2:00 A.M. on May 6, Custer’s brigade with the cumbersome wagon train was on the move in the direction of Ely’s Ford, trailing by some miles the main army. The column arrived at its destination by mid-morning, and the tedious task of crossing to the south bank was executed. The cracking of distant firing from the west could be distinctly heard as the wagon train rolled along, finally reaching Chancellorsville at noon and camping about a mile beyond on the slope of a plateau overlooking the Wilderness.13

The nearby thick woods produced an eerie, confounding acoustic effect, which compelled staff member George B. Sanford to remark, “The sound of musketry exceeded in intensity anything to which I have ever listened before or since.” Custer could only anxiously gaze into that dark wall of timber, listen to the roar of gunfire, and imagine the battle that was unfolding without him.14

That battle was Tom Rosser’s brigade confronting Wilson’s cavalry and driving them back toward the vicinity of Todd’s Tavern. Grant’s intention to clear the confines of the Wilderness before Lee could react had failed. Rosser’s initial engagement had triggered a firestorm of conflict that escalated into full-scale, continuous skirmishing between the two armies, which for the most part took place along roads and around the few clearings. It was virtually impossible to maintain military formations within the tangled undergrowth, which caused mass confusion on both sides and neutralized the numerical superiority of Grant’s force.15

At Confederate field headquarters, a temporary command post off Plank Road in a small field hidden by dense foliage, General Lee was holding a conference with Generals Stuart, Pendleton, and Hill and other staff members. Within moments, this meeting was abruptly interrupted by the unexpected appearance of a small group of the enemy who had emerged from the woods within point-blank range. Lee hurriedly leaped onto his horse and galloped to safety, Hill ran on foot into the woods, and the others scattered for their lives. The Union intruders, who had mistakenly wandered ahead of their lines, were just as surprised as the Confederate officers and vanished in the woods just as quickly as they had appeared. The Confederacy had escaped what could have been a disastrous day had just one volley been fired by the Federals.16

The line of battle extended for six miles through the Wilderness. All afternoon, the men from both sides fought their way through thorny thickets while under constant fire from their enemy. They emerged from this prickly jungle late in the afternoon with ripped uniforms and faces scratched and bleeding.17

General Custer’s ears had been filled with the sounds of distant fury all day, and now as nighttime silence settled around the Wilderness, the orders that he had been waiting for finally arrived. The Wolverines would move out at 2:00 A.M. and reinforce David Gregg’s division, which was positioned south of Todd’s Tavern. Wilson’s division had been bested all afternoon by Stuart’s cavalry, and had been saved from total disaster only by the timely arrival of Gregg. Custer had been relieved of the frustrating duty of dragging along the supply train at the rear, and was elated that he would have the opportunity to participate in tomorrow’s struggle for control of the Wilderness.18

Several days before embarking on this operation, Custer had written to Libbie (from Camp Libbie, Virginia), and professed his most intimate preparations when a battle was imminent. “On the eve of every battle in which I have been engaged,” he wrote, “I have never omitted to pray inwardly, devoutly. Never have I failed to commend myself to God’s keeping, asking Him to forgive my past sins, and to watch over me while in danger … and to receive me if I fell, while caring for those near and dear to me. After having done so all anxiety for myself, here or hereafter, is dispelled. I feel that my destiny is in the hands of the Almighty. This belief, more than any other fact or reason, makes me brave and fearless as I am.”19

Custer arrived before daylight, and deployed his troops at the intersection of Furnace Road and Brock Pike. Pickets from the First and Sixth Michigan were posted around a five-hundred-yard-wide field—which was cut in half by a sloping ravine—while the remainder of the men were hidden in the woods. Custer received an order from Gregg to move down Brock Pike with two brigades and harass Longstreet, who was moving on the left flank. But before the order could be executed, the Thirty-fifth Virginia Cavalry, one of the regiments in Tom Rosser’s brigade, burst from the trees to assail Custer’s picket line, their Rebel yells splitting the stillness.

Custer immediately sprang into action. As Rosser’s men streamed from the trees to drive back the Federal pickets, Custer rode to the front of his brigade and ordered the band to play “Yankee Doodle,” which signaled to every Wolverine to form for a charge. Custer rode to the front, drew his saber and extended it toward the enemy, and shouted, “Forward, by divisions!”20

Major James Kidd described the charge, “The two regiments (the First and Sixth) charged with a yell through the thick underbrush out into open ground, just as the rebel troopers emerged from the woods on the opposite side. Both commands kept on in full career until they reached the edge of the ravine, when they stopped, the rebels apparently surprised by our sudden appearance and audacity, Custer well content with checking the vicious advance.”21

Rosser rolled out a section of artillery, and reinforced his attack with another brigade on foot that threatened the right flank. Custer countered by deploying the Fifth Michigan to meet that rush and moved the Seventh beside the First. Rosser launched a series of frontal assaults, bolstered by part of Fitz Lee’s division, but the Wolverines held firm. Gregg sent up eight artillery pieces, which Custer quickly brought into play and silenced the enemy’s guns. Finally, Colonel Thomas Devin’s brigade arrived, and Custer struck the Confederate left with the Fifth and Sixth Michigan as the Seventeenth Pennsylvania and the First and Seventh Michigan charged from the ravine.22

James Kidd wrote how his commander made an inviting target for enemy sharpshooters, “Custer was always on horseback. He was never seen on foot in battle, even when every other officer and man in his command was dismounted. And he rode close to the very front line, fearless and resolute.”23

Custer reported, “The enemy, after contesting the ground obstinately, was driven from the field in great disorder, leaving his dead and many of his wounded upon the ground. We also captured a considerable number of prisoners, who informed us that we had been engaged with Fitzhugh Lee’s division of cavalry. Orders having been received not to pursue the enemy beyond this point, we remained on the field until near night.”24

Since daylight, Jeb Stuart’s cavalrymen had been patrolling Plank Road in support of Longstreet. The day ended with Stuart halting a retreat, caused by a furious Federal charge, by placing his staff officers across Plank Road to restore order to the lines. At nightfall, neither side had asserted domination over the other, but the South had gained one strategic advantage by securing the area around Todd’s Tavern.25

The Confederate army, however, did suffer one significant loss that can be attributed to the difficulty of fighting in such dense foliage. Reminiscent of the blunder that took the life of Stonewall Jackson, General James Longstreet was mistaken for the enemy by his own men, who fired a volley at him from point-blank range. Longstreet was struck by a bullet that entered near his throat and passed into his right shoulder. He was carried from the field with a serious wound that would incapacitate him for some months.26

An earlier incident that day demonstrated the aggressive nature of Robert E. Lee. At one point in the battle, Lee happened upon a brigade of Texans who were preparing to charge the enemy. He impulsively decided to lead this charge, but the Texans refused to move until Lee removed himself to a place of safety. The bridle of his horse was grabbed by some of the men, with calls for “Lee to the rear!” The commanding general grudgingly complied, and it became Longstreet’s duty to tactfully inform Lee that he was much too valuable to be leading charges.27

On the morning of May 7, neither side resumed the infantry battle, but Custer and his Wolverines pushed two miles down Brock Pike to connect with Gregg. Custer encountered Fitz Lee’s brigade three-fourths of a mile beyond the crossroads of the Pike and Furnace Road, and engaged in a fierce engagement. With assistance from Gregg, the combined force successfully drove the Confederates out of the area. The Wolverines settled in on Gregg’s right flank, and were not challenged for the remainder of the day.28

The Confederates, however, had withdrawn from Todd’s Tavern. Wilson’s Third Division, supported by infantry, had advanced toward the crucial road juncture of New Spotsylvania Court House. By evening, Wilson was tangling with Fitz Lee’s troops, while Stuart guided the approach of infantry reinforcements. The Union cavalrymen had managed to push Rosser’s brigade from Spotsylvania, but Sheridan suddenly recalled Wilson to Fredericksburg, and any pursuit was abandoned. The opposing infantries were involved in a heated battle until the Union troops withdrew, and quiet once again settled over the Wilderness.29

The battle to occupy Spotsylvania resumed on the following day, May 8. Not more than a few miles away from the scene of the action at Spotsylvania, the name of Jeb Stuart was being bandied about in a heated discussion between Generals Sheridan and Meade.

Meade had made a habit of issuing orders for the cavalry without bothering to consult or inform Sheridan. This incessant meddling had provoked Little Phil’s fiery Irish temper, which boiled over during a confrontation between the two strong-willed men.

“Meade was very much irritated,” Sheridan later wrote, “and I was none the less so. One word led to another until, finally, I told him that I could whip Stuart if he would only let me, but since he insisted on giving the cavalry directions without consulting or even notifying me, he could henceforth command the Cavalry Corps himself—I would not give it another order.” Little Phil added, “If I am permitted to cut loose from this army I’ll draw Stuart after me, and whip him, too.”30

Meade reported this incidence of insubordination by Sheridan to Grant, likely with the prospect of being backed up in his handling of the cavalry and its commander. Instead, Grant replied, “Did Sheridan say that? Then let him go out and do it.”

Meade might not have agreed with Grant, but dutifully issued orders for Sheridan “to proceed against the enemy’s cavalry.” For the first time in the war, the Union cavalry had been cut loose from the infantry, and was authorized to operate as an independent unit.

Sheridan summoned without delay his three division commanders—Wesley Merritt temporarily replacing Torbert, who was sidelined by an abscess at the base of his spine—to relate his plans and expectations. The cavalry would prepare to depart in the morning, and would at that time assume a route around Lee’s flank in the direction of Richmond, a movement that would assuredly draw Stuart and his horsemen in hot pursuit. “We are going out to fight Stuart’s cavalry in consequence of a suggestion from me,” Sheridan told them. “We will give him a fair, square fight; we are strong, and I know we can beat him, and in view of my recent representations to General Meade I shall expect nothing but success.”31

Each man present understood that the only hope the Union cavalry had of ever reaching Richmond would be over the dead body of Jeb Stuart. And there may have been an anticipation that the end could be in sight now that tactics had changed and they had a specific target to eliminate. No doubt many of them thought with confidence that if they were Jeb Stuart they would be very afraid right now—and for good reason.