Just after 9 o’clock McClellan issued orders for General Burnside’s Ninth Corps to initiate an assault on the far right of the Rebel line. Had that assault been coordinated with Hooker’s on the Rebel left, it might have been enormously effective but, as with all of McClellan’s moves that day, thoughts of coordination appear to have been low on his list of priorities.
It was roughly 9:30 when Sumner’s mauled survivors fled the West Woods, at which time the focus of combat shifted from the Confederate left flank to its center, as French’s lone Second Corps division struck the Rebels east of the Dunker Church. Here the Rebels occupied a sunken farm road – soon to be known as “Bloody Lane” – that formed a natural trench running east down to Antietam Creek. French’s Division, numbering about 5,700, passed through the fields of farmer William Roulette, then began ascending a hill that fronted the road and the unseen enemy below.
As they crested the hill, the Yankees suddenly found themselves approximately 80 yards from the Confederate line. The Rebels, while outnumbered over 2 to 1, were nevertheless concealed and ready, and as the Yanks crossed over the crest the Rebel position exploded with a horrendous blast. At only 80 yards, they could hardly miss, and whole ranks of Federals were hurled backwards, as if struck by a hurricane.
French brought-up brigade after brigade, but the continuous fusillade from the sunken road savaged them all, until French’s entire division became stymied, taking cover along the ridgeline. Another Second Corps division under General Israel Richardson, 4,000 strong, joined the fight for the Federals, as did George Anderson’s division of 3,400 Confederates, adding fresh fuel to the fire.
It was now roughly 10:40 AM, and the rumble of artillery and musketry had risen to a deafening roar. One reporter wrote that it seemed “a savage continual thunder that cannot compare to any sound I ever heard.” Bullets filled the air. In the sunken road Colonel John Gordon of the 6th Alabama took his fifth wound of the action, shot through the cheek. He fell to the ground face-first, hat covering his face, and would have drowned in his own blood had not a stray bullet pierced his cap.
The battle in and around the sunken road raged furiously until around noon, when elements of Richardson’s Division managed to move far to the Confederate right, effectively flanking the lane. They poured in a devastating fire from the hill above, then charged, causing a panic among the Confederates which spread down the line like a contagion. The Southern position collapsed abruptly as the panicked infantrymen fled into another cornfield behind the lane, leaving “Bloody Lane” crammed with the dead and dying, from one end to the other.
There the fighting exploded anew as the Rebels tried desperately to slap together a defense, while the Yanks came at them in a series of charges. It was back-and-forth for both sides, but one thing was clear: the center of the Confederate line had been shattered, and if pushed hard, it would implode. General Richardson, grasping the situation on the field, was crying for reinforcements when struck down by a Confederate artillery shell around 1 o’clock. Just as with the wounding of Hooker, absent a driving force, the momentum of the Federal offensive simply collapsed.
At this point, the combined casualty list had climbed to an astonishing 18,500 in seven hours of the most ferocious fighting the war had ever seen (or would ever see), and precious little had been accomplished by the Federals beyond the catastrophic loss of troops. General McClellan, watching all this from his headquarters at the Pry House about a mile distant, was typically reluctant to support the one attack that might not only end the battle in his favor, but destroy Lee’s army in the process.
In fact, at Federal headquarters optimism was nowhere to be found, fear of a Rebel counterattack now the dominant concern. So, while the Army of Northern Virginia struggled on the verge of implosion, McClellan issued orders to bolster his center, concerned Lee might launch a major assault in that direction.
But why? How could McClellan have reached such a conclusion? If Lee had divisions enough to launch a major assault, after all, why had he not used some of those legions to bolster his shredded left, or his demolished center? A good question, for which there is no logical answer, either then or now. There are numerous examples of incompetence in American military history, but few of greater consequence than this.
Hence, the battle now shifted south, where Burnside was still fumbling with the attack he had been ordered to deliver hours before. Stewing over his devolving relationship with McClellan, rather than locate useable, undefended fords across Antietam Creek (which in places was quite fordable) he focused instead on Rohrbach Bridge, the one place that was defended. Ten feet wide and one hundred twenty-five feet in length, Rohrbach Bridge was one of the most defensible locations on the field.
Burnside’s Corps contained 12,500 men. The Confederates had a mere 400 defending the bridge. But these Rebels were all skilled marksmen in concealed positions within 100 yards of the bridge, and there was ample artillery in supporting positions.
Burnside’s initial plan was to demonstrate, while a full division (Rodman’s) waded the creek downstream to flank the Rebel defenders. That division was misdirected, however, and would not locate a suitable ford for hours. Meanwhile, several attempts to assault the bridge directly were shot to pieces by the Confederate sharpshooters, accomplishing nothing beyond scattering more Federal dead and wounded across the field. Finally, agreeing to a prize case of whiskey, a New York regiment surged across the bridge and sent the few Confederate defenders scurrying uphill.
Once again, despite all his sluggishness and indecision, the route to victory lay open for McClellan. A hard strike uphill toward the village of Sharpsburg might sweep away the entire Confederate right and, if the road leading from Sharpsburg to the Potomac seized, cut the Rebels off from their only avenue of retreat. But firm, resolute action was something McClellan and many of his officers had demonstrated time and again they were incapable of achieving. McClellan had already secured first prize in this pathetic contest, but Burnside would post a fine showing.
It would not be until 3:00 o’clock before the Ninth Corps began its advance uphill toward Sharpsburg, 8,500 strong supported by ample artillery. Opposing them were 2,800 men under South Carolinian David Jones, although word was then widespread among the Rebels that A.P Hill’s Division was marching hard to their support, up on the road from Harper’s Ferry. The Yankees advanced in grand order, and in heavy fighting pushed the outnumbered Confederates back into the streets of Sharpsburg. As Yanks rushed into the village, the Rebel right – just as had its left and center before – virtually ceased to exist.
It was just then when A.P. Hill’s Division arrived on the Harper’s Ferry Road and, as luck would have it, on the left flank of Burnside’s assault. They had marched 17 miles in eight hours and were exhausted, but Hill – intuitively and instantly grasping the dire situation – immediately hurled them into action. Caught by surprise, and flanked as they were, the Yankees fought on, Burnside pleading for reinforcements all the while, just as Hooker, Sumner, and Richardson had pleaded before – all to no avail.
McClellan’s mind was still dancing with images of an enormous Confederate counterstroke. Hence his reply to Burnside: “Tell him if he cannot hold his ground, then the bridge, to the last man! – always the bridge! If the bridge is lost, all is lost!” The Ninth Corps had come close to driving a decisive nail through the Army of Northern Virginia late that afternoon, but all for naught. There would be no reinforcements, and by late afternoon Burnside’s Corps had been pushed back to where it had started.
The following day both armies licked their wounds while eyeing one another across a grotesque landscape of ruined fields and smoking woods, shattered men scattered about the savaged terrain like so many fallen leaves. Lee was expecting another attack, but McClellan had not the courage, so that night the Rebels withdrew under cover of darkness, across the Potomac to Virginia.
The battle was over, but the cost had been staggering. The Federals reported 12,401 casualties, the Confederates 10,316, for a combined count of 22,717, the bloodiest single day in American military history. Lee fought brilliantly on the defensive, while McClellan wasted opportunity after opportunity, sacrificing his men in “driblets” in a performance – given the discovery of Special Order, No. 191 – that can only be described as painfully inept.
Today the hamlet of Sharpsburg remains largely unchanged, crowning the rolling hills of pastoral Western Maryland, some of the most scenic country in America. Each December the National Park Service – in conjunction with Antietam National Battlefield, many local organizations, and thousands of volunteers – puts on a drive-through “Memorial Illumination” where 23,000 candles are placed across the battlefield where soldiers are believed to have fallen. The nighttime drive is, to say the least, a sobering experience.
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. Of Valley Forge to Monmouth military historian J.R. Holden-Rhodes writes, “With superb research and supportive analysis, Jim Stempel has crafted another stellar work…Highly recommended.” For a full preview, pricing, and reviews, visit Amazon here or visit Jim Stempel's website to see all of his books, reviews, articles, biography, and interviews.
