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Jim Stempel: Articles Online

Monocacy: The Battle That Spared Washington.

From an open plain near Frederick, Maryland, on July 8, 1864 General Lew Wallace took a long look through field glasses at the Blue Ridge off to his west. He spotted lazy clouds of dust tumbling down the Ridge in lengthening trails that day, only miles from where he stood. Through breaks in the trees, he’d noticed the sun glinting off what he took to be belt buckles, rifle bores, and cannons, sure signs of soldiers on the move. “There could no longer be room for doubt,” he later wrote, “what I saw were columns of infantry, with trains of artillery. They were good strong columns too, of thousands and thousands.”

Lew Wallace was commander of the Middle Department of the Federal Army, a region that extended from Baltimore west to the Monocacy River, just east of Frederick City. For days he had been receiving troubling reports at his office in Baltimore of a large-scale Confederate movement sweeping north up the Shenandoah Valley, inching closer by the day, destination unknown. He had first gotten wind of all this when railroad man, John Garrett – President of the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad – appeared in his office on July 2. Seems Garrett had also been receiving disturbing reports from his agents – from Harper’s Ferry all the way out to Cumberland, Maryland – regarding excessive Confederate activity. Garrett wanted a firm promise from Wallace that his railroad bridge at Monocacy Junction near Frederick would be protected, should the Rebels succeed in getting that far.

Then, on July 5 – after ordering several regiments of his own off to defend Monocacy Junction – Wallace took a special train out to apprise the situation himself. Since then, reports of substantial Confederate activity had only increased, newswires suddenly hot with reports that Confederate General Jubal Early was marching north with a new Rebel army of perhaps 20,000 men. Whether those reports were true or exaggerated Wallace did not know, but of one thing he was certain: The roads to both Washington and Baltimore passed through Frederick, and he had a duty to oppose Early, in whichever direction he moved. Unfortunately, Wallace had very few troops with which to make good that commitment.

In Washington, General Henry Halleck, Wallace’s superior, had responded to the threat by sending a few uncoordinated units out by rail toward Harper’s Ferry, which sat in nearby Virginia, at the confluence of the Shenandoah and Potomac Rivers. Then, on July 4, the telegraph lines in the Shenandoah had gone dead, and Wallace – fearing Harper’s Ferry seriously threatened – had the good sense to have those trains stopped. He then commandeered the troops for his own defensive purposes at Frederick.

Stepping from the train near Frederick on the 5th Wallace had made a quick survey of the area and was impressed by the pastoral valley that stretched out before him. “What Wallace soon discovered was a beautiful landscape of gently flowing rich farmland, and fields ‘golden with wheat just ready for the reaper.’”

Wallace also discovered that the Monocacy River offered natural defensive features. The eastern bank, for instance, rose considerably higher than the western bank, providing a long, dominating position with good cover. Three bridges crossed the river at Frederick, and all three, Wallace knew, would have to be defended. At Monocacy Junction the B & O’s railroad bridge passed over, while below that about 1/3 mile distant, a wooden bridge carried the road toward Georgetown and Washington. 

Lastly, some 2 miles north of the railroad junction the National Road out of Baltimore crossed over a stone bridge (called the “Jug Bridge” due to a monument erected at one end). It was the same stone bridge where, in December 1824 the town’s people had swarmed-out to greet the Marquis de Lafayette, then 67 years old, while on his triumphant tour across the country.

As Wallace examined the terrain along the riverbank, he realized that, with ample troops and artillery, a stout defense could be easily mounted. Unfortunately, with few troops and virtually no artillery, that vision quickly withered into little more than a forlorn hope.

Lew Wallace had been born in Brookville, Indiana into a political family of means. He had served in the Mexican War, then later returned home to practice law. When Civil War erupted, he offered his services to his state, and was soon promoted general of Indiana volunteers. Unfortunately, at Shiloh, through some confusion, Wallace had failed to move his unit at the time and to the place Grant needed, a failure that Grant could not forgive. He was subsequently shuffled-off to a desk job, a scar on his record Wallace yearned desperately to erase.  

Redemption aside, the problems General Wallace faced were both grim and enormous, and not merely any potential defense along the Monocacy River. For Ulysses Grant had stripped the Washington defenses of men earlier that year for his spring campaign, hence the capital remained virtually undefended. Yes, Washington was ringed with enormous earthworks but, in the spring of 1864, they sat effectively unmanned. 

All the reports indicated that Early was coming on fast, and unless stopped or delayed, he might march into Washington virtually unopposed. Under the circumstances, visions of Congress, the Whitehouse, and sundry government buildings going up in flames seemed far-less than farfetched. So, until Grant could ship reinforcements from Petersburg to man the Washington defenses, Wallace and his small band at Frederick appeared to be the capital’s only defense. It was a heavy burden and, adding to that burden, for days Grant had seemed unimpressed and unmoved by reports of Early’s approach. So, for the time being, Wallace was on his own.

      John Garrett  President of B & O Railroad                                  Jug Bridge

On July 7 Wallace had sent his cavalry west over the Blue Ridge to locate the enemy, and they did not have to ride far. Just outside of Middletown – about 8 miles from Frederick – they ran into Confederate cavalry, and pistols and carbines immediately began cracking. The blue riders fought them off for the better part of the day, before slowly giving ground back over the Blue Ridge, but the Confederates were there, alright, and headed for Frederick.

 

Then, on July 8, knowing Early was closing rapidly, Wallace deployed what little infantry he had – perhaps 2,300 men – near Frederick City to cover the roads to both Washington and Baltimore. Recently reinforced by the 10th Vermont, his plan had been to delay Early’s approach as much as possible while discerning his true objective. If pushed off his line by overwhelming force, he intended to fall back to the east side of the Monocacy, and form again along the ridge and woods overlooking the river. Late that afternoon, a sharp fight broke out, Federals giving as well as they took, until Confederate numbers finally prevailed. Wallace then ordered his men back over the bridges to where he intended to make his final stand, whatever the odds.

Meanwhile, in Baltimore and Washington frantic efforts had been underway to man defenses or throw-up impediments on the streets leading into the cities. Yes, elaborate fortifications surrounded the capital, but there were not enough troops to man them, and those that were available were 100-day men or convalescents. They would be no match for Early’s tough veterans.  Then, suddenly, due to demands from Abraham Lincoln, Grant finally ordered reinforcements out by water from Petersburg to Washington, but it was anyone’s guess if they would get there on time.

During the early morning hours of the July 9, Wallace had fallen back with his troops to the east side of the Monocacy, where he scrambled to arrange a defense. Then, around 1:00 am a train whistle was heard coming-up on the tracks from Baltimore, and Wallace’s heart leaped. As the great engine hissed steam, the train pulled to a stop nearby at Monocacy Junction. On board Wallace discovered General James Ricketts with the vanguard of his entire division, veteran fighters from the Army of the Potomac. Here, at least, were some troops who could stand-up to Early’s veterans.

Wallace quickly briefed Ricketts on the situation, and the general’s eyes lit up. “What!” Ricketts bellowed. “And give Early a clear road to Washington! Never—never!” Ricketts, a West Pointer from New York, promptly agreed to fight his 3,000 troops alongside Wallace, bringing the total Federal force to almost 5,800. Wallace’s intentions were, first to determine in which direction Early was headed, then gauge the true strength of the Confederate force. Lastly, it was to try and delay the Rebels as much as possible to allow Grant’s reinforcements time to reach Washington. Given Early’s obvious superiority in numbers and artillery, those goals remained a tall order.

General Jubal Early had been given command of what would later be called the Valley Army on June 12 by Robert E. Lee. Lee’s hope was that “Old Jube” would take Stonewall Jackson’s old Second Corps north into the Shenandoah Valley, threaten Washington as Jackson (now long deceased) had previously done, thus forcing Grant to shift considerable forces north to counter the threat. If successful, this would relieve pressure on Lee’s army, now struggling against Grant’s heavy odds. On June 17 Early had brushed-aside a Union force near Lynchburg, Virginia, then continued down valley, panicking another Union force at Martinsburg into retreat. His march into Maryland then proceeded unopposed.

Early’s force – some 15,000 strong – had crossed the Potomac River near Sharpsburg, Maryland, and continued eastward, causing panic throughout the region. Unlike “Stonewall” Jackson, however, Early had been slow-of-foot, forcing the ransom of both Hagerstown and Frederick along the way, but losing precious time on the march while negotiating with frightened bankers. 

Henry Kyd Douglas, who served as an officer on Early’s staff during the Monocacy Campaign, provides insight into the general’s character. “He moved slowly from point to point,” says Douglas. “Moreover, he received with impatience and never acted upon, either advice or suggestion from his subordinates. Arbitrary, cynical, with strong prejudices, he was personally disagreeable; he made few admirers or friends either by his manners or his habits.” In a stand-up fight “Old Jube” had proven his worth; but serving as leader of an independent command, “Stonewall” Jackson he was not.

On July 9, as Wallace took his position on the east bank of the Monocacy, the Federal capital remained a hard day’s march southeast for the invading Confederates. Now, at least, Lew Wallace – if still unclear of Confederate strength – was reasonably sure their objective was Washington. To counter this, he had placed Ricketts’ entire division on the bluff overlooking Monocacy Junction, defending both the railroad and wooden bridge. It was a strong position regarding frontal assault, but the Union left, due to inadequate strength, remained entirely in the air.

Upriver on the National Road (on the Federal right flank), Wallace had posted two regiments of Ohio infantry along with a small contingent of cavalry, suspecting all along that Washington was Early’s true objective.  Old Jube, seeing personally to the ransom of Frederick City (Frederick banks would ultimately pay a ransom of $200,000 not to have the city burned to the ground), would not head to the front until around noon, wasting still more precious time.

Around 8:00 am Confederate skirmishers from General Dodson Ramseur’s Brigade were spotted on the Georgetown Pike, leading from Frederick City toward Monocacy Junction. A smattering of shots rang-out. Shortly thereafter, heavier Rebel columns were also detected on the roads leading east. Then Confederate artillery was spotted, turning off the Georgetown Pike and unlimbering their guns. Soon thereafter, hot lead began descending on the Ricketts’ troops, just across the river. Skirmishing west of the Monocacy escalated all morning long. Ramseur, however, held his infantry back, awaiting Early’s arrival.

Meanwhile, out on the National Road, around 10:00 am the Ohio infantry encountered both cavalry and infantry in increasing numbers. The fighting grew in intensity until around 11:30 that morning, when the Federals were forced back to a secondary position near the “Jug Bridge,” hanging-on by their fingernails.

Thus, as Early – finally done negotiating with Frederick’s bankers – rode forward around noon, he discovered that precious little had been accomplished by his troops and subordinates. Word had been passed to him that veteran units of the Army of the Potomac appeared to be occupying the high ground east of the river, and he could see for himself that any frontal assault in that direction would be both difficult and costly. After reconnoitering the Federal position, he decided to try and turn the Federal left which, if successful, would uncover the Georgetown Pike – the straight route into Washington.

For this effort Early turned to General John McCausland’s cavalry, some 1,100 strong. Earlier McCausland’s scouts had discovered a usable ford downriver that led to the property of a farmer named Worthington. There the Rebels had driven-off a small party of Federal pickets guarding the ford. Now Early ordered McCausland to ford the river and attack the Federal left, which still appeared in the air.

Unfortunately for McCausland, his trooper’s initial activity at the Worthington ford had been spotted by Wallace. Expecting trouble from that direction, Ricketts agreed to change fronts with four of his regiments to confront any attack on the Federal left.  These troops moved forward, locating a fine, hidden position along a fence line that bordered the Worthington farm. There, mostly concealed, they laid in wait. 

McCausland’s dismounted troopers moved forward “over a post and rail fence and through waist high corn,” expecting an easy time of it.  The Federals remained silent and unnoticed until the Rebel cavalrymen were in easy range. Then they stood, rested their rifles on the fence rails, and discharged a horrific volley at almost pointblank range, sending many Confederates tumbling backwards into the corn. McCausland rallied his men and tried again, but the outcome was the equally as dismal, and what remained of McCausland’s shattered force tumbled back to the river in anger and confusion. They had expected to confront only untested units of Union 100-day men along an unprotected flank, but instead had been shot to pieces. What had happened? 

On the other side of Monocacy River, Confederate officer’s heads had snapped about as volleys of Federal rifle fire rattled across the countryside. Like deafening claps of thunder, the ear-splitting rumbles were unmistakable. Not one officer had to be told that they were now facing veteran, Union infantry, and that it would take far more than dismounted cavalry to move them. A brief lull fell over the field as Early pondered his options.

But McCausland’s cavalrymen, embarrassed by being so roughly handled, had reformed. This time McCausland grabbed every trooper and horse-holder he could find, and soon was back at it again, with a line swaying though the corn that flanked Rickett’s left. Wallace shifted a few artillery pieces to cover Ricketts (the Federals had little artillery), while the Confederate artillery west of the river, now aware of the precise location of Ricketts’ four forward regiments, unleashed a fierce and lethal fire. 

The Federals – forced now to fight in the retrograde – were driven back through the property of a family named Thomas to the Georgetown Pike, where they quickly took cover along the road’s southern embankment. There they made a valiant stand as the Rebels swarmed around the Thomas house, named Araby. Intense fighting continued for over twenty minutes, before McCausland’s troopers – fighting in the open – were again driven off by repeated volleys of accurate rifle fire.

Once again, the cavalrymen retreated to the Worthington ford. McCausland’s troopers were done for the day although, in fairness to them, they had been foolishly sacrificed. By the summer of 1864 it was well understood by both sides that cavalry fighting dismounted with carbines were no match for veteran infantry armed with far more powerful Springfield and Enfield rifles.

Then, around 2:00 in the afternoon, Wallace spotted a group of Rebel officers on horseback leisurely reconnoitering his lines from the opposite side of the river. At once he grasped the grim fact that a major attack would soon be in the offing. Early had seen enough, and now understood that the Worthington ford offered easy access to the Union left. If he moved fast and hit hard, he was sure the Union left flank would implode, and he had just the man to supply that push.

The call went out for Georgian John B. Gordon’s Division, three veteran brigades under their hard-driving commander. Gordon, who had been wounded five times at the Battle of Antietam, was one of the Confederacy’s finest officers. Gordon responded at once, as artillery took position up and down the line to better support the assault. “We first took a position on the left of the Washington Pike,” explained one artillerist, “and afterwards crossed over to the right and put our battery on a hill fronting a still higher hill held by the Yanks.” Gordon’s Division began moving down the Buckeystown Pike toward the Worthington ford, then, tying their shoes around their necks, slipped across the Monocacy. But it would take until almost 3:00 that afternoon before Gordon’s division was fully deployed to advance. At that point they were arranged en echelon, Tyler’s Brigade on the left, York’s in the center, and Evans’ on the right. Gordon, riding out front wearing his flaming red battle shirt, led them forward.

As Gordon’s Confederates started forward, Wallace immediately spotted their advance from the heights, and knew at-a-glance his position faced an overwhelming threat. Still waiting for the last of Rickett’s brigades to come up by rail, he dashed off this note, praying for a quick response: “Hurry up your troops. I am greatly in need of them.” Guessing correctly that he was about to be overrun, Wallace also wired Washington; that he was facing some 18,000 – 20,000 troops under Early with a substantial complement of artillery; that Washington appeared to be their objective, and that every effort needed to be taken at once to defend the capital city.

Ricketts changed fronts to confront Gordon with what remained of his division but, as the full weight of the Confederate assault swelled across the farm fields before him, he realized his line would soon be overlapped on each flank. At this point in the battle, both Wallace and Ricketts understood their defense was doomed, and the most they could accomplish was to delay Early’s march on Washington.

As Gordon led his division forward, he quickly discovered to his dismay that the land ahead was entirely unfavorable for a coordinated infantry assault. To begin with, there were numerous fences his men would have to climb over, exposing themselves as they did. “Worse still,” he recalled, “those fields were thickly studded with huge grain-stacks which the harvesters had recently piled. They were so broad and high and close together that no line of battle could possibly be maintained while advancing through them.”

As before, Ricketts’ veterans took careful aim as the Confederates neared. Gordon continues his description: “As we reached the first line of strong and high fencing, and my men began to climb over it, they were met by a tempest of bullets, and many of the brave fellows fell at the first volley.” The Rebels reformed, were blasted back, then reformed again, braving a torrent of rifle and artillery fire. Eventually passing the grain stacks, Gordon’s troops reorganized once more, and – despite a virtual hail of bullets – Gordon pointed them toward their objective. “I ordered them ‘Forward!’ and forward they went.”

But the Federals were still well-posted, waiting and determined. Screaming the rebel yell, the Confederates stormed forward, straight into the teeth of Rickett’s defense. “A bloody conflict raged in and around the Araby buildings,” Confederates dodging between the barn and outbuildings as bullets tore the plank siding to pieces. One Georgian later recalled that, “Our brigade suffered as bad as it ever did in battle for the amount of men and length of time engaged.” By sheer numbers alone, the Confederates forced the Yanks back to their second line of defense, once again along the Georgetown Pike. 

Gordon, calmly leading his troops forward on horseback, recalled the fighting. “The Union lines stood firmly in this second position, bravely defending the railroad and the highway to Washington.” Here, some of the fiercest fighting of the war took place. “Nearly one half of my men and large numbers of the Federals fell there,” Gordon recalled. “Many of my officers went down, and General Clement A. Evans, the trusted leader of my largest brigade, was severely wounded.” Riddled with bullets, men on both sides were falling like leaves tossed in an autumn windstorm.

As bullets hissed and artillery shells burst all around, Gordon was suddenly unhorsed, his trusted battle-horse collapsing beneath him. “By his death I had been unhorsed in the very crisis of the battle,” he later wrote. “Many of my leading officers were killed or disabled. The chances for victory or defeat were at the moment so evenly balanced that a temporary halt or slight blunder might turn the scales. But some thoughtful officer sent me a horse and I was again mounted.”

With Gordon leading the way, the Confederates pushed forward once more, and by dint of numbers alone, finally overwhelmed those few Federal defenders that remained. Suddenly, very suddenly, the entire Federal defense collapsed, and the Yankee fugitives, alone, in small groups, or whole clumps of weary defenders, turned and raced off in the direction of the road to Baltimore.  

Against considerable odds they had made a valiant stand, knowing all the while they could only slow Early’s march toward Washington, never stop it. So, too, it was for the thin Federal defense at the “Jug Bridge” along the National Road. They turned and headed east toward Baltimore, a small brigade under General Erastus Tyler providing a fighting rearguard.

Rifles ceased cracking as gun smoke slowly drifted aloft. A priest, inspecting the field after the Yanks had flown, discovered an unsettling tableau of death, “in every direction and position, some on their sides, some on their faces, some on their backs with their eyes and mouths open, the burning sun beating upon them and their faces swarmed with flies.” The Confederates had suffered roughly 1,000 casualties, the Federals 1,294, but those numbers hardly reflect the intensity of the fighting between Gordon’s and Ricketts’ divisions.

It had taken all day, but the Confederates had finally uncovered the road to Washington. Would they be able to get there before Grant’s reinforcements arrived?  Gordon recalled the moment: “Wallace’s army, after the most stubborn resistance and heavy loss, was driven from the railroad and pike in the direction of Baltimore. The Confederate victory was won at fearful cost and by practically a single division, but it was complete, and the way to Washington opened for General Early’s march.”

By then it was late in the day, however, and the Confederate dead and wounded had to be cared for. Consequently, Early would not be able to continue his march toward Washington until the following morning.

Meanwhile, Wallace gathered much of his battered force on the National Road and fell back upon the village of New Market where many of his wounded were cared for. The next morning, they too began limping their way back toward Baltimore.

When Grant got word of Wallace’s defeat, he bristled at the thought, and immediately replaced him with General Edward Ord. But shortly thereafter, government officials discovered the truth of Wallace’s valiant stand, and he was rightfully returned to full command.

Wallace had been soundly defeated, but victory, after all, had never been his ambition. His aim was only to slow Early, and in that he had been entirely successful. Early would reach the capital’s outer defenses the following day, but his men – after a grueling march of 30 miles in brutal heat and dust – would be too exhausted to fight. The next morning, July 11, Early rose to examine the Federal earthworks, but by then Grant’s reinforcements had arrived – literally, in the nick of time. Undone by the loss of one single day, Early was forced to demonstrate before the Washington defenses – now bristling with troops – then withdraw back to the Shenandoah Valley. The opportunity to storm into Washington had been lost by a single day, lost on the banks of the Monocacy River.

After the war Jubal Early initially fled the country for Mexico, then Cuba and Canada, before finally returning to the United States where he presided over the Southern Historical Society until his death. He is best known as the driving force behind the Lost Cause narrative. Grant would move on to the presidency, Gordon, governor of Georgia, later a seat in the United States Senate.

After the war, Lew Wallace turned to politics. He was first appointed Governor of the New Mexico Territory, later U.S. Minister to the Ottoman Empire. His greatest notoriety, however, came not as a soldier or politician, but as an author, most notably for his novel Ben-Hur, which became the best-selling American novel of the entire 19th Century.

Years later in his Personal Memoirs Grant would admit to Wallace’s heroics, writing: “If Early had been but one day earlier he might have entered the capital before the arrival of the reinforcements I had sent.” Lincoln’s favorability was at low ebb during the summer of 1864, and who can say what might have happened in the coming fall presidential election had Washington been overrun by Rebels, and the city put to the torch. An electorate, weary of war and defeat, may well have sent Lincoln home to Illinois.

On the banks of the Monocacy, Lew Wallace had saved Washington while salvaging his reputation in the process. It was one of the most courageous efforts of the Civil War, for Wallace and all those now long-forgotten men who fought and died so bravely beside him.

Jim Stempel is a speaker and author of nine books and numerous articles on American history, spirituality, and warfare. His newest book regarding the American Revolution – Valley Forge to Monmouth: Six Transformative Months of the American Revolution – is now available on Amazon and at virtually all online booksellers. For a full preview, pricing, and reviews, visit Amazon here  or visit his website to view all his books, reviews, articles, biography, and interviews.

 

There is No Such Thing as Whiteness

There is no such thing as whiteness – there, I said it. And it is a sad truth that in the 21st Century, it is suddenly necessary to point out the obvious fact that "whiteness," as a categorical reality, does not even exist. Yet by means of a hideous regression in thinking imposed upon us by a small cadre of racist ideologues, this is precisely where we've landed – and rather abruptly, I must say. Not long ago – like, oh, the day before yesterday – this view of the human condition would have been denounced as intellectually perverse and morally repugnant from virtually every quarter of American society. But today, it is championed by government, business, sport, and educational institutions who seem to have victories, warped ideologies, and dollars as their top priorities, not the truth, decency, or morality. The ready acceptance of this racist doggerel represents a sad commentary on our times' moral and intellectual status.

Viewing life through the lens of “whiteness” (or any skin color, for that matter) hardly represents a leap forward or breathtaking insight into the true nature of human reality. It is instead a stunning and disturbing freefall into the ignorant, ethnocentric hatreds of our past. Ascribing various qualities of character – either positive or negative – to the color of one’s skin is something any modern scientist would instantly recognize as an error in category, like ascribing meanness to rocks simply because they’re hard, or spontaneity to trees because they blossom. Human attitudes, beliefs, prejudices, etc., are social and cultural constructs, while skin color is a biological construct, plain and simple.

Therefore, confusing or mingling the two makes absolutely no sense and represents an error in category, something very young children – who have yet to develop the capacity for critical thinking – often do but generally grow out of as they mature. In that sense, the assertion that whiteness represents a legitimate category – that is, a distinct racial classification with immutable behavioral characteristics predicated upon skin color alone – serves as a perfect example of the infantilization of our national discourse. Perhaps this is the reason proponents of “whiteness theory” never care to discuss it rationally, but resort instead to rage, bullying, slogans, and temper tantrums whenever challenged – the classic responses of a two-year-old.

We could trot out all the genetic evidence collected over decades that debunks even the notion of valid racial behavioral categories between groups of human beings, but would it resonate with those who have no interest in facts? Yes, individuals from differing racial groups can be distinguished by means of their genetic makeup; that's a fact. Genetic techniques can be used to determine the race and gender of a dead body, for instance, often years after death, if the genetic material remains largely intact. But this tells us nothing when applied to the deceased's culture, character, intelligence, or personal attributes. We are all individuals living in a vast sea of individuals, a fact most sentient beings have understood for at least one hundred years, many far longer than that. Therefore, the notion of "whiteness" is a concoction created to empower its architects while disempowering their opponents. The people who traffic in it know it's a lie.

Since the very notion of whiteness is unscientific, illogical, and absurd, its adherents have been forced into a wide range of increasingly bizarre ploys to support the nonsense they’ve hatched. The most blatant of these is the insistence that anyone questioning the “oppressive reality” of their own whiteness is, by definition, so obviously infected by the disease that they are incapable of discerning reality. From this ridiculous perspective (which is not a perspective at all, merely a disingenuous game), any factual or logical argument offered against the existence of whiteness is dismissed out of hand as proof positive of whiteness. Get it? Heads, I win, tails you lose. This is akin to the Salem witch trials when the accused was bound hand-and-foot, then tossed overboard into a lake. If they sank and drowned, it was interpreted as proof they were innocent, while if they floated to the surface, proof they were lying, which then resulted in either being burned at the stake or hung by the neck until dead. Either way, they were dead people walking before the “test” had even begun. Horrible, right? Well, welcome to the new Salem.

So, rather than defend the legitimacy of the monstrous lie of whiteness through something as simple as debate, its architects have gone on the offensive, attacking logic, science, even mathematics, as malicious products of – you got it! – whiteness. Recently in Oregon, as but one example, the Oregon Department of Education introduced a “virtual micro-course on math equity.” Teachers were asked to “examine their actions, beliefs, and values around teaching mathematics.” The reason for this was the supposed concern the “culture of whiteness” or white supremacy might have on mathematical teaching methodologies. What, precisely, concerned Oregon? Well, for instance, when “the focus is on getting the ‘right answer,’ or when ‘students are required to show their work.’” So, let’s get this straight – in Oregon, math no longer has anything to do with getting correct answers or showing your work to demonstrate that you know what you are doing, which means it has nothing to do with learning math.

That this folly represents a crippling blow to the math students themselves seems of no interest to the Oregon Department of Education, which would presumably prefer to churn out students with little or no mathematical skills rather than explain decades of their own failures. This is a game as old as the hills – when the message stinks, kill the messenger. How many of these children might we suppose will go on to careers in science, math, engineering, architecture, or even teaching with stunted mathematical skills? If this is “math equity,” then math equity is nothing more than state-imposed ignorance, educational malpractice bordering on child abuse. And you can bet that it will be the least fortunate who will suffer the most.

Truth is the antidote to this racist madness, of course, but for decades now, the proponents of Marxism, multi-culturalism, and social chaos have had the concept of truth square in their sights because the truth always stands in their way. Hence, in their attempt to destroy truth, they have insisted for years that truth is nothing more than a construct of social power, with no inherent validity whatsoever. Your truth is not mine, and my truth is not yours, and never the twain shall meet. Oh, really? Try telling that to your mechanic the next time he tells you your car needs a new transmission and see how far that “vision of truth” gets you down the road.

What defines us as human beings is not the color of our skin but our unique and wondrous capacity to grow and mature through love and learning, to become something more profound and meaningful each-and-every day of our lives. This idea is as true today as it has always been true and has nothing to do with the color of our skin. It is a positive, proven, inherently spiritual view of the human condition.

Notions of “whiteness,” on the other hand, are lies championed by frauds, baleful fictions recently dropped on our heads like bombs, and it is time to stand up and confront them. The defense of human compassion, decency, and freedom has been a long, arduous, and sometimes violent struggle because, for every person willing to live and let live, there are ten others who are not. The English philosopher Edmund Burke once wrote: “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.” So, I repeat. There is no such thing as whiteness.

Jim Stempel is a speaker and author of nine books and numerous articles on American history, spirituality, and warfare. Feel free to visit his website for all his books, reviews, articles, biography, and interviews.

American Carnage: The Battle of Antietam

 

During the early morning hours of September 13, 1862, Corporal Barton Mitchell and Sergeant John Bloss of the 27th Indiana were having a pleasant conversation in a field slightly southeast of the village of Frederick, Maryland. Just the day before, the last elements of the Confederate Army had vacated Frederick as the vanguard of the Federal Army marched-in, and the 27th had been assigned a bivouac site recently occupied by the Rebels.

Mitchell suddenly noticed a large envelope in the grass nearby. Inside the two found three cigars wrapped in an official looking document. The cigars were a pleasant find, but the document seemed even more curious. When unfurled, the heading read: “Headquarters, Army of Northern Virginia, Special Order, No. 191,” and both soldiers fancied it something of importance. In fact, it would prove to be one of the most extraordinary intelligence windfalls in American military history.

The document was quickly rushed-up the chain of command. Remarkably, the special order had been prepared and signed by “R.H. Chilton, Assist. Adj.-Gen” to General Robert E. Lee, and one of the officers in the Federal chain-of-command was General Alpheus Williams, whose aide, Colonel Sam Pittman had served with Chilton in the prewar army.

Pittman knew Chilton’s handwriting and verified the document as authentic. How, exactly, it had been left in a farm field outside of Frederick no one could say, but that question soon faded into irrelevance. Because the order spelled-out in detail the current operational plan for the entire the Army of Northern Virginia.

By late morning, Special Order 191 was in the hands of General George McClellan, commander of the Army of the Potomac at his headquarters at the Schieferstadt Farm, west of Frederick. For McClellan, what had previously seemed a confused patchwork of Confederate movements, rumors, and baffling intelligence reports, suddenly crystalized into perfect clarity.

Amazingly, Lee had divided his army into four parts, three of them converging on the Federal garrison at Harper’s Ferry just across the Potomac, while the other part (Longstreet’s Division) was marching west toward Hagerstown, Maryland on the National Road. After reading the document, McClellan tossed his hands in the air and exclaimed: “Now I know what to do!”

The document was, not only a clarification of Confederate intentions, but a blueprint for their destruction. For if McClellan moved rapidly, and interposed his forces between the divided Rebel units, he could overwhelm Lee’s army one piece at a time, thus destroying the Army of Northern Virginia in detail. For McClellan, Special Order 191 seemed almost a gift from heaven. But to take advantage, speed was of the essence.

But swiftness and decisiveness, unfortunately, were not attributes General McClellan possessed in great abundance. Around noon on the 13th, McClellan wrote President Lincoln in jubilant tones, claiming “I have the plans of the rebels, and will catch them in their own trap if my men are equal to the emergency.” But it would be McClellan, not his men, who would fail in this emergency.

He would dally for 18 crucial hours before putting his troops on the road, even though the roads were open, and the distance between the two main Confederate commands – Jackson at Harper’s Ferry, and Longstreet at Hagerstown – was only twenty-two miles. Yet the obvious need for haste proved beyond McClellan’s ability to summon.

The Army of the Potomac did not depart Frederick until the morning of the 14th, and then, with no sense of urgency. The troops under McClellan totaled 87,000, almost twice the size of Lee’s army, yet McClellan – the Young Napoleon, as he enjoyed being called – convinced himself he was facing an opponent 120,000 strong. As historian Stephen Sears writes, “Within his illusionary world he forever faced a superior foe – ‘I have the mass of their troops to contend with’ he wired Halleck [General Halleck in Washington] that night ‘and they outnumber me when united.’”

By noon on the 14th the Federal van had crossed-over the Blue Ridge and descended into the village of Middletown, 8 miles west of Frederick. A few miles ahead the National Road ascended South Mountain at Turner’s Gap, where a small detachment of Rebels was waiting. Atop the mountain General D. H. Hill watched as the Union troops poured into the valley. “From the top of the mountain the sight was grand and sublime,” he later recalled, “As terrible as an army with banners.”

It would take the Federals all day to push through three gaps in the mountain – Fox, Crampton’s, and Turner’s – against pitifully small defenses, only to find the Rebels withdrawn the next day, deployed near Sharpsburg, a few miles east of the Potomac River. Meanwhile, cannon fire from Harper’s Ferry had become clearly audible, as the three-pronged Confederate assault led by Stonewall Jackson tightened its grip on the Federal stronghold.

At this point, McClellan – if he truly intended to destroy Lee’s army in detail – could either swiftly fall on the Confederate force at Sharpsburg or break Jackson’s siege at Harper’s Ferry. He elected to do neither. Then late the following day – the 15th—the firing from Harper’s Ferry ceased, this as McClellan finally made his way to the front. At Sharpsburg he discovered Lee’s army arrayed for battle behind a winding stream named Antietam Creek, and for the irresolute McClellan the sight proved imposing.

Nevertheless, it can be recalled that Special Order 191 had laid out in detail Lee’s intentions, thus McClellan had to know he was facing only a small portion – at best half, probably much less – of Lee’s entire army. Even by McClellan’s delusional force estimate of 120,000, that still put at most 60,000 Confederates in front of him at Sharpsburg, while his own force, once consolidated, numbered 87,000.

In fact, counting every cook and courier, at that moment Lee had only 15,000 men at Sharpsburg. By logic alone the situation screamed for an immediate and overwhelming Federal assault, but McClellan balked. Knowing his opponent, Lee had positioned his troops out in the open, almost daring McClellan to advance. It was a grand bluff and, of course, it worked. McClellan backed away, calling for his field glasses.

For much of that day and the next McClellan inspected the Rebel lines, pointing and gesturing, riding and nodding, thinking and pondering. As this parody of generalship was taking place, in stark contrast at Harper’s Ferry – where the Federal garrison had surrendered – Jackson was moving with speed and clarity of purpose.

By late on the 15th Jackson had finalized arrangements for the captured supplies and surrendered Federals to be processed, and by nightfall his men were on the road to Sharpsburg. It would be a long, grueling night march for men already exhausted, but on the morning of the 16th Jackson was at Sharpsburg with Lee, his troops following closely behind.

At midday, September 16, McClellan issued a general memorandum indicating his army would attack the following day. Why wait an additional 24 hours? There was no explanation. As in the past, for McClellan, tomorrow always seemed preferable to today. Then, later that afternoon, he gave Joe Hooker, in command of the Federal First Corps, orders to initiate the morning attack against the Confederate left flank with Joseph Mansfield’s Twelfth Corps hugging his left for support.

But that was all. No additional preparations were made. At the time the Army of the Potomac consisted of six infantry corps. Four were in Sharpsburg with McClellan, one – Franklin’s Sixth Corps – just over South Mountain, while the sixth remained in Frederick.

Unfortunately, decisions and issues far beyond Sharpsburg were then at play as Great Britain and much of Europe watched events unfold from afar. After the disastrous Federal defeat at Second Bull Run in August, from across the Atlantic it appeared Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia had become invincible, hence recognition of the Confederacy opportune. In fact, a proposition in England had already been made for a Cabinet level discussion for recognition in October. If successful, a proposal for unified action by Russia, France, and England on behalf of the Confederacy was thought inevitable. Unknown to McClellan, deep waters were turning that September 16th, as he dithered east of the Antietam.

First light, September 17 arrived misty and damp. Overnight Hooker had shifted his corps forward, and the troops lay silent in the fields, enduring a light, cool rain.  While Hooker’s move put his corps in position to attack, it also telegraphed McClellan’s thoughts to Lee, who naturally bolstered his left. While McClellan still fancied himself facing overwhelming odds, the fact was Lee ‘s army still numbered only 26,500 men – with many still coming-up from Harper’s Ferry – and those 26,500 were stretched precariously thin over a four-mile front.

Including Franklin’s 19,000 effective troops within easy marching distance, McClellan had about 90,500 troops with which he could assault Lee’s position that morning. His decision was to attack what he considered a superior foe with one corps numbering 8,600 troops. The logic of this has never been explained, but it appears the Young Napoleon had decided to stick his toe in the water, then decide later if he cared to swim.

Nevertheless, Joe Hooker was one of the finest fighting officers in the Army of the Potomac, and at first light his corps started forward across a ¾ mile front, the East Woods on their left, West Woods on their right, open farm fields in the center. Their objective was a small white church, home to a congregation of German Baptist Brethren known as “Dunkers.”

Hooker’s troops were advancing against Stonewall Jackson’s corps, only 7,700 strong, but Jackson had changed fronts overnight so-as-to face the Yankees directly. Using every nook and cranny the terrain afforded, his troops were hardly visible to the advancing bluecoats. Across the Antietam the Federals had unlimbered batteries of large 20-pounder Parrott rifles, capable of striking with impunity across the battlefield, impervious to counterbattery fire due to their range, while the Confederates had unlimbered horse artillery on a hill flanking the Yankee right. These guns were only a small portion of what would turn the long day into what one Confederate artilleryman later called “artillery hell.”

The entire front was soon engulfed in raging rifle and artillery fire, gun smoke mixing with mist to obscure and confuse the combatants. Units were shredded then removed, others rushing forward to take their places. Casualties on both sides grew frightfully, as fresh brigades were fed into the maelstrom as they came up.

Fighting raged across the front north of Sharpsburg, but over time the epicenter settled upon a cornfield, high with unharvested corn, just a few hundred yards north of the Dunker Church. A Federal brigade inched its way carefully through the corn, only to be greeted by a blast of musketry from a brigade of Georgians as they emerged, sending many of the Yanks toppling backward.

More Federal units arrived, plunging into the corn, driving the Confederates backward, only later to be driven back themselves. Here occurred some of the most savage and relentless fighting of the war. Brigades were hurled into the vortex from all directions, fighting back and forth across the corn until bodies covered the field and hardly a cornstalk remained standing.

As Jackson’s remaining brigades arrived from Harper’s Ferry, they were tossed into the conflagration almost immediately. The fighting was so intense that by 7:30 Jackson’s Corp was shattered, Hooker’s wrecked. Nevertheless, fighting continued from the East Woods across the cornfield clear to the West Woods, as thick battle smoke settled, reducing visibility to little more than feet. The roar of battle rose to beyond deafening.

Hooker was everywhere atop his horse, directing the battle from out front, trying to force the issue, while the Twelfth Corps under General Joseph Mansfield, finally initiated a movement to support Hooker’s initial attack. But that movement was halting, and then Mansfield was suddenly cut down by Rebel fire.

Nevertheless, by around 9:00 AM Hooker’s Corps had finally pushed through the cornfield to the Dunker Church, their objective. Confederate resistance was in tatters, and Hooker, despite the carnage, was confident his morning’s attack could push the Rebels back to the nearby Potomac River, if reinforced. But then a Confederate sharpshooter put a bullet through Hooker’s foot and, suddenly delirious from the loss of blood, he was carried from the field. Without a guiding hand, the Federal advance sputtered to a halt.

Earlier – at 7:20 AM – McClellan had given orders for General Edwin “Bull” Sumner to lead his Second Corps into action in support of Hooker. Unfortunately, the Second Corps – the largest in the Federal Army – had been maintained at such a distance from the front by McClellan, that it would not reach the fighting until nearly 9:00 AM, after Hooker’s wounding. Sumner’s delay in reaching the action would cost the Federal’s dearly, for had Sumner’s additional 15,200 troops advanced along with Hooker’s and Mansfield’s Corps,’ Jackson’s troops – then hanging by a thread – would probably have been overwhelmed.

But that delay had allowed Lee & Jackson to cobble together a patchwork defense, hence as Sumner finally made his advance, the Confederates were reorganized and waiting. Sumner, arriving in the East woods, instantly misread the battlefield, deciding to attack due west toward the West Woods, believing the Rebels fought out. Hurrying the attack, “Bull” promptly marched two of his divisions forward across the cornfield into a hornet’s nest in the West Woods, while his trailing division under William French eventually marched off in confusion southwest into the center of the Confederate line.

Sumner believed his corps was moving north of the Rebel left, while in fact they were walking into a makeshift Confederate defense that opened fire on the Yankees from virtually every conceivable direction. The result was a slaughter-pen in which 2,300 Yanks fell in only fifteen minutes. Sumner, finally grasping his blunder, cried “By God, we must get out of this!” but the slaughter continued until what remained of both divisions fled the woods, Confederates hot on their heels.

It had taken McClellan three hours to put 15,800 men into the morning’s combat, virtually all of them arriving in drips and drabs, allowing Lee – with less than half McClellan’s numbers – to repulse each attack in turn.  It was an offensive scheme – if it can even be called that – that led men to slaughter with almost no hope of success, while Lee, fighting impressively on the defensive, was able to counter every Federal move with hasty shifts of his own.

The results were catastrophic. Casualties for both sides during the morning fighting totaled almost 13,000, a staggering number that resulted from some of the most furious combat of the war. And the fighting had just begun.

 

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