The war may last 10 years.—
—ROBERT E. LEE, April 30, 1861
THE UNION HAD NO REAL STRATEGY when the war began. Lincoln quickly approached his professional military leaders for guidance, a decisive difference between him and Jefferson Davis. Even in the conflict’s opening days, Lincoln was asking Winfield Scott what plans he had for winning the war. Lincoln always pondered how to achieve victory, and, as we will see, he was willing to do what was required. Davis, historian David Potter argued, “always thought in terms of what was right, rather than in terms of how to win.” Lincoln tried to get his generals to figure out the path to victory. If they could not, he would try to figure it out for them. By contrast, “there is no evidence in all the literature that Davis ever at any one time gave extended consideration to the basic question of what the South would have to do in order to win the war.”1 This is perhaps the most important difference in how these men led.
On April 19, 1861, Lincoln instituted an element of Union strategy that endured throughout the course of the war: a blockade of southern ports. Initially, the blockade affected only South Carolina, Georgia, Florida, Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama. Later, as secession expanded, Lincoln included Virginia and North Carolina. In August, he forbade trade with the rebellious states.2
Lincoln expressed his first ideas on prosecuting the war on April 25, 1861. He would bolster Fort Monroe in eastern Virginia, blockade Southern ports, secure Washington, D.C., and then “go down to Charleston and pay her the little debt we are owing her.”3 This plan only applied to one theater, and historian T. Harry Williams speculated, probably correctly, that “at this stage Lincoln apparently did not envision operations in the Mississippi Valley.”4 The fact that Lincoln’s plan intended to strike Charleston, the perceived heart of secession (if not its head), strengthens Williams’s assessment.
Lincoln, though, does not appear to have been suffering from the disorder afflicting most of the civilian and military leaders on both sides: an inability to look beyond what today would be defined as the operational level of war. In the Civil War, as in many conflicts pre-dating World War I, the method of differentiating the levels of war—tactical, operational, and strategic—did not exist in the manner in which we understand this today. Most leaders looked only at the prospective battle (tactical issues), not at how each individual engagement fit into a campaign (the operational level of war) and then at how this related to the nation’s military strategy. Few could envisage an extended campaign (or operation), and almost none could see beyond their theater.5Their education had not prepared Civil War officers to think strategically.6
Modern wars, of which the Civil War was arguably the first, because of the depth of resources and manpower brought to bear, require broader vision to prosecute successfully. Lincoln would sometimes fall victim to this same flawed thinking, but he threw off the shackles and encouraged his subordinates to do the same.
Lincoln was not the only Union leader trying to determine how to win the war, though he was undoubtedly among the first. On April 27, 1861, Major General George B. McClellan sent a letter from his headquarters in Ohio to Winfield Scott containing two plans for securing Union victory. “Communications with Washington being so difficult,” he wrote, “I beg to lay before you some views relative to this region of country, & to propose for your consideration a plan of operations intended to relieve the pressure upon Washington, & tending to bring the war to a speedy close.” The first plan involved securing Cairo, Illinois, and then crossing “the Ohio at or in the vicinity of Gallipolis and move up the valley of the Great Kanawha on Richmond.” McClellan believed that a detachment in Gallipolis and a “prompt movement” on Louisville or the heights opposite Cincinnati would hamstring Kentucky. “The movement on Richmond should be conducted with the utmost promptness, and could not fail to relieve Washington as well as to secure the destruction of the Southern Army, if aided by a decided advance on the eastern line.”7
If this proved impractical—because Kentucky abandoned its neutrality— McClellan suggested crossing the Ohio at Cincinnati or Louisville with 80,000 men, marching straight on Nashville, and “thence act according to circumstances.” If the Union forces broke the military strength of Kentucky and Tennessee, they could push on to Montgomery, supported by eastern action against Charleston and Augusta. This would then permit Union drives against New Orleans, Mobile, and Pensacola.8 As we will see, some of this resurfaced in McClellan’s later plans.
General Scott forwarded McClellan’s plans to Lincoln, pointing out that they could not be fulfilled before the expiration of the three-month terms of enlistment of the available men. “Second,” Scott noted, “a march upon Richmond from the Ohio would probably insure the revolt of Western Virginia, which if left alone will soon be five out of seven for the Union.” Scott believed McClellan was ignoring the possible use of the Ohio and Mississippi rivers “in favor of long, tedious, and break-down (of men, horses, and wagons) marches.” Last, Scott argued that the plan offered a “piece-meal” approach rather than an enveloping one—“a cordon of posts on the Mississippi to its mouth from its junction with the Ohio, and by blockading ships of war on the seaboard.”9
Scott replied with his own plan for prosecuting the war, one his previous reply foreshadowed, and one that, when its contents became known, the Union press derisively dubbed “Anaconda.” The foundational element of Scott’s “Great Snake” was a blockade of Confederate ports on the Atlantic and Gulf coasts. Tied to this would be the movement of 60,000 well-trained men down the Mississippi River. Supported by navy gunboats, they were to conquer their way to New Orleans, establishing secure posts along the way, and clearing the river for Union use. This combination of actions would “envelop the insurgent States and bring them to terms with less bloodshed than by any other plan.”10
Scott provided a framework for the Union’s war, but one based upon the false assumption that a great well of Union sentiment in the South only needed to be tapped. He believed that the North should not undertake an invasion of the South because this would provide unwanted impetus to anti-Union sentiment. Scott was not completely wrong: there were areas of the Confederacy with pro-Union feeling, but none had the depth necessary to provide a base for a Southern counterrevolution. T. Harry Williams brands Scott’s plan “more a diplomatic policy than a plan of strategic action,” while his fellow historian Archer Jones deems it a “political strategy,” but they misunderstand. Scott’s Anaconda was a military strategy; it counted upon military power to deliver the Union’s objective.11
Lincoln did not adopt the Anaconda Plan. He sought a quicker end to the war. He also believed that victory would require more than a single operational drive down the Mississippi. Scott’s proposal did provide grist for the mill of Lincoln’s evolving thoughts on the prosecution of the struggle, particularly the importance of the Mississippi River.12 It failed, though, to address the politically touchy, and as yet unresolved, status of the border states, something weighing heavily on Lincoln’s mind.
But to suppress the rebellion the Union needed a large army. Initially the new Federal army arose from the individual states, which usually supplied much of the equipment as well. A way to encourage recruitment was to give military positions to popular political figures, such as those who became known as “War Democrats”—members of the Democratic Party, including Benjamin Butler and John A. McClernand, who had opposed Lincoln but supported the Union. Another reason Lincoln employed them was to avoid the partisan rancor that had distracted President James K. Polk during the Mexican War (Lincoln had been a part of the antiwar campaign). Both sides also appointed popular border states political leaders as military commanders in order to garner support in these regions.13
To fight the war, Lincoln needed a government as well as an army. One of the key figures we have already met: William H. Seward, the secretary of state. A former governor and senator from New York known for his antislavery stand, he would later become most famous for “Seward’s Folly,” the purchase of Alaska from Russia in 1867. So dedicated was Seward to preserving the Union that in April 1861 he advocated a foreign war as a means of bringing back the Confederate states. Lincoln rebuffed his overly ambitious secretary of state, and Seward’s primary task became keeping Europeans out of the war.14
Seward started out overly bellicose but soon developed a fine diplomatic hand, as reflected in his handling of the Trent Affair. He also knew when to take a hard line and did not shy away from blunt talk. He assured the British and French that, if provoked, the United States government would not hesitate to prosecute a war against them if it deemed it necessary to preserving the Union. Interference in the struggle meant war. His stance achieved the desired effect. Seward also assured the Europeans that the Union wanted nothing but good relations with them.15
IN COMPOSING HIS PLAN for the war, Scott revealed to McClellan his great fear of “the impatience of our patriotic and loyal Union friends” who “will urge instant and vigorous action” before Union forces were properly trained and before autumn returned to kill the Mississippi River Valley’s fevers.16 In some respects, Scott proved correct. The Union papers cried, “On to Richmond!” and public pressure for action mounted. This did not produce the North’s first advance, and when it did take place, it did not come down the Mississippi. Lincoln forced Scott to mount an offensive aimed at Manassas, Virginia, because he considered it militarily feasible.17 Lincoln also wanted a quick war.18 In his July 4, 1861, address to a joint session of Congress, one laying out the Union’s legal arguments for war and the military actions Lincoln had taken while Congress was not in session, Lincoln asked for “the legal means for making this contest a short, and a decisive one.” He also needed the physical means: $400 million and “at least” 400,000 more troops.19
Major General Robert Patterson commanded the Union forces operating against the Confederates in the Shenandoah. An elderly Pennsylvania militia officer and veteran of the War of 1812 and the Mexican War, Patterson was not known for speed; his troops branded him “Granny.” Brigadier General Irvin McDowell led the main Union force. McDowell was a West Point graduate, a professional army officer, and a friend of William T. Sherman. Later he acquired a reputation as a trencherman due to his prodigious feats at the dinner table, which left little time for conversation and convinced many of his fellow officers that he was no leader. The troops in the ranks, for reasons unknown, unfairly branded him a traitor. McDowell took to wearing a self-designed summer hat resembling a coal scuttle. The men attributed a malevolent purpose to its easily recognizable distinctiveness. But these things lay in the future. In July 1861, McDowell still had the chance to make a good reputation for himself, though, like most of his contemporaries, he had never commanded any significant body of troops and never in battle.20
When the Union forces began their advance in July 1861, the Confederates had two armies in northern Virginia. Facing Patterson’s Federals at the mouth of the Shenandoah Valley were 12,000 men under Major General Joseph Eggleston Johnston. Joe Johnston possessed a tremendous amount of military experience. After finishing at West Point in 1829, he saw service against the Black Hawks and then in the Seminole War, where he was wounded twice. Distinguished action in the Mexican War followed: Johnston commanded the key companies in the assault on Chapultepec in September 1847, “the decisive engagement of the war,” and was wounded an astounding five times. The other Confederate force was led by Beauregard, recently arrived from Charleston. (Beauregard, incidentally, had been with Johnston at Chapultepec.)21
McDowell composed the Union operational plan, which consisted of Patterson’s men pinning the Confederate forces at the mouth of the Shenandoah Valley while McDowell simultaneously met the roughly 20,000 Confederates at Manassas with 30,000 Union troops and defeated them. He also counted on Benjamin Butler, who commanded at Fortress Monroe, to keep his Rebel opposition from joining their brethren. McDowell wrote: “The objective point of our plan is Manassas Junction.”22
Scott opposed the offensive, branding it “war by piecemeal.” He insisted that “bloodshed would stop the rise of Union sentiment in the South” and instructed McDowell to resist launching the offensive.23 McDowell had his own concerns. At a White House meeting in late June he insisted that he could not defeat the forces of both Beauregard and Johnston. He also believed that his column and Patterson’s were too distant to support each other.24
The South’s countermove to a Union advance had come up in Confederate correspondence the month before the battle. Beauregard, in the face of what he believed was a Union thrust against Harpers Ferry, insisted that the South needed to concentrate its forces in Virginia, and he presented Davis with a pair of convoluted plans based upon when, and whether, Beauregard could unite with Johnston. One of these included Johnston’s army retreating on foot and concentrating for an attack against the enemy to defeat his advancing columns.25 Davis replied that he hoped to reinforce Beauregard’s force, bringing it up to the 35,000 men Beauregard believed necessary to take the offensive. He also said that if any of the Confederates’ “forward elements” (Johnston’s) had to move, it made much more sense for these forces to use the railroad.26
In mid-July, Patterson’s movements altered the Confederacy’s thinking on its deployments in Virginia. They worried Johnston, who had warned Davis that a retreat would have injurious effects. Davis replied that the “evil consequences” of such an event could be repaired only by “a vigorous attack” against the Union that “would drive them across the Potomac & by threatening the Capitol … compel the withdrawal of Patterson.” But he doubted the success of such an operation, and feared that its failure would result in the enemy occupying the Shenandoah Valley and cutting the lines of communication between the Confederate army and Richmond.27
Despite objections from the Union generals, the campaign went ahead. As Scott expected, Patterson made no energetic moves and failed to pin Johnston’s army. The Confederates discovered McDowell’s advance on July 16, and Patterson’s hesitation enabled the South to utilize its railroads and the telegraph to unite Johnston’s forces with Beauregard’s, as well as a third force under Theophilus Holmes, and meet McDowell with superior numbers.28
In the midst of the movement, McClellan, commanding troops in western Virginia, wired Scott. He did not know his commander’s plans but offered to move on Staunton, Virginia, to support the Union operation.29 Scott found this admirable.30 McClellan, though, lost his three-month enlistees within a few days, leaving him with insufficient manpower for any significant act.31McDowell, meanwhile, was losing what became known as the Battle of First Manassas, or First Bull Run.
The contest took place at Bull Run Creek on July 21. Johnston arrived at Beauregard’s command at noon on the twentieth and told his colleague that he expected Patterson to join with the main Union force by the twenty-second at the latest. They decided to attack before the enemy could link its forces and drew up a plan to do so. But McDowell’s advance on the twenty-first contributed to the plan’s abandonment.32 The battle, fought with unskilled and partially trained troops on both sides, produced a Confederate victory. Davis appeared on the field during the last stages of the contest. He had wanted to come the day before, but his speech at the opening of the Confederate Congress had delayed his departure. Johnston noted later that “victory disorganized our volunteers as utterly as a defeat.” The lack of discipline in the Confederate force meant it required several days to reassemble the units in action.33 Pursuit of the fleeing enemy was impossible. Such became a common result of Civil War battles. In the wake of the battle, a stalemate ensued in the eastern theater that lasted until the spring of 1862.34
After the battle, Davis failed to give proper credit to Johnston and Beauregard for their success, and a poor working relationship between Davis and these two generals soon became the norm. Davis had clashed with Beauregard even before First Bull Run, the Confederate president having refused to approve any of Beauregard’s high-flown daydreams for invading the North. Beauregard and his staff became openly critical of Davis, Beauregard believing his genius trumped all. Their relationship completely collapsed in the battle’s aftermath. Davis’s quarrel with Johnston was based on Johnston’s resentment at the president placing him beneath three other Confederate generals in terms of seniority—this despite the fact that Johnston had held higher rank in the prewar army. A man prickly in regard to his reputation, Johnston couldn’t bear such a perceived insult.35
Davis, though, did buy into another daydream in the summer of 1861, but it was one that cost the Confederacy very little to indulge. On July 8 a note went out to Henry Hopkins Sibley approving his ambitious scheme for a strategic offensive (albeit a weak one). Sibley, a West Point graduate, had served for many years in the West before offering his services to the Confederacy. Sibley had big ideas: he aimed to take California and everything in between. “On to San Francisco,” Sibley hoped. Davis gave him nothing but permission—he had nothing else to give—and sent him on his way. After raising troops in Texas, Sibley joined the forces of John R. Baylor, who had already led Confederate forces into the New Mexico and Arizona Territories. Sibley’s expedition, which didn’t begin until February 7, 1862, was plagued by Sibley’s drinking, his incompetence (particularly in regard to logistics), and enemy action. Marching from El Paso, Texas, with 3,500 men, Sibley, despite Union resistance, took Santa Fe, New Mexico, on March 4. At the end of the month, though, oncoming Federal troops destroyed eighty wagons of Sibley’s supply train. The Confederates had no choice but to withdraw. The hungry retreat began on April 12. Half of Sibley’s men didn’t return with him, and the South never mounted another campaign for this inhospitable realm.36
THE RESULT OF BULL RUN provoked Lincoln into composing another plan for fighting the war. He ordered the rapid intensification of the blockade, the training of the forces under Benjamin Butler in the vicinity of Fort Monroe, and the securing of Baltimore. He also called for rebuilding the units defeated at Manassas, reinforcing the troops at Harpers Ferry, and getting rid of the “three-month men” as quickly as possible. Forces were gathered around the District of Columbia, and operations were launched in Missouri by John Charles Frémont and in western Virginia by McClellan. Lincoln also entered into the operational realm: when the army was reorganized he wanted the establishment of secure railroad lines between Washington and Manassas and from Harpers Ferry to Strasburg, Virginia, “the military men to find the way of doing these.” “This done,” he wanted “a joint movement from Cairo on Memphis; and from Cincinnati on East Tennessee.”37
Here was Lincoln the maturing strategist. He was beginning to see the broad sweep of the war, not just defaulting to a single campaign against Richmond or down the Mississippi. He established strategic goals— blockades, securing Union possessions—as well as operational objectives, and envisioned campaigns in the East and West. Moreover, we also see something else that became characteristic of Lincoln’s leadership, at least until the appointment of Ulysses S. Grant as general in chief. Lincoln designated the objectives but advised “the military men to find the way” of reaching them. The president was establishing separate spheres of responsibility for civilian and military leaders while simultaneously blurring them as he began partially assuming the de facto mantle of general in chief. He muddied the line between the strategic and operational realms, but this is often unavoidable. The role that Lincoln was carving out for the presidency in military affairs, though, soon would be challenged.