When battle-hardened Confederate soldiers splashed through the cool waters of the Potomac River on their way into Maryland on Sept. 4, 1862, the fortunes of war now seemed in their favor. Only a few months earlier, the infant Southern republic for which they fought seemed doomed. In the western theater, Union forces had seized control of a sizeable portion of Confederate territory. In the East, a mighty Union army under George B. McClellan had been perched on the outskirts of Richmond, ready to gain control of the Confederate national capital.
By September, however, the situation had changed dramatically. The new Confederate commander in Virginia, Robert E. Lee, had not only driven McClellan’s legions from Richmond, but he had crushed another army under John Pope at the Second Battle of Manassas near Washington in late August. For the first time since the war’s beginning, Virginia was virtually clear of any Federal presence.
Confederate President Jefferson Davis then devised a bold plan that would continue to take pressure off of Virginia, as well as Tennessee, by ordering offensive operations into Maryland and Kentucky. Lee concurred with Davis, knowing that a move into Maryland and possibly Pennsylvania would bring desperately needed supplies to the Confederates while allowing Virginia farmers to gather their harvests unmolested.
The presence of Confederate forces north of the Potomac, combined with an incursion in Kentucky, could help secure foreign recognition of the Confederacy by Great Britain and France. In addition, it was hoped that by taking the war north, Confederate sympathizers would be strong enough to induce the two states to join the new government.
With Confederate troops marching into Maryland, news of the invasion caused near panic in the North. President Abraham Lincoln fully understood the gravity of the situation and the potential consequences of failing to stop the forays. Pope was thoroughly disgraced after the recent debacle at Manassas, so the president turned to the man who had disappointed him earlier—McClellan. Technically, McClellan never had been removed from command. His army simply had been borrowed, division by division, by Pope at Manassas. Now a speedy recovery of the beaten Federals was imperative.
Despite his earlier failures on the battlefield, “Little Mac” was a brilliant organizer, skilled trainer of soldiers, and beloved by the men in the ranks. Most of Lincoln’s Cabinet thought it would be a mistake to put him back in charge, but the president argued there was “no man in the Army who can...lick these troops into shape half as well as he.” Lincoln then restored him to command of all forces around Washington with orders to confront Lee and drive him back into Virginia.
As word of McClellan’s reinstatement spread rapidly throughout the Federal ranks, more Confederate forces moved into Maryland, making it to Frederick by Sept. 6. Lee now considered advancing on Harrisburg, Penn., slicing the east-west railroad links to the Northeast, followed by a move on Philadelphia.
Lee’s bold initiative, however, had two significant problems—a startling increase in Confederate straggling and desertion, and threats to his rear-guard. The Rebel army had always suffered from straggling, but as it moved into Maryland, the problem reached alarming proportions. Calling it “one great embarrassment,” Lee complained to Davis that “Our ranks are very much diminished—I fear from a third to one-half of the original numbers.”
Some men who straggled or deserted were combat-weary, having survived the brutal Seven Days Battles and Second Manassas. A goodly number had no shoes, and they refused to march farther on bare feet. Others did not approve of invading the land of another sovereign state, arguing that was what the South was defending against. As a result, Lee mustered barely 40,000 men in Maryland. By contrast, McClellan had twice that number.
Lee’s other problem seemed nearly as serious. In addition to the presence of McClellan’s large army near Washington, Federal forces still occupied Martinsburg and Harpers Ferry in Lee’s rear. These small but troublesome garrisons could delay or block a Confederate escape route, and were a threat to the Rebel supply line.
Lee decided the two outposts had to be removed, and on Sept. 12, he divided his army into several detachments to capture them. He sent James Longstreet’s corps to Hagerstown, while ordering Thomas “Stonewall” Jackson and his corps to capture Harpers Ferry. Before Rebel troops arrived, however, the Federals evacuated Martinsburg.
Lee’s plan was typically bold, and if his good fortune held, he hoped for another brilliant victory. The quick capture of Harpers Ferry would yield 12,000 prisoners and abundant ordnance that the Confederates needed badly. Dividing his army into so many elements with a large Union force within striking distance was risky, but Lee assumed his enemy would take longer to recover from Second Manassas. In reality, he misjudged on all counts.
Taking Harpers Ferry was more difficult than anticipated. The rugged topography forced Jackson to divide his corps into three columns. Although greatly outnumbered, the Federals refused to surrender despite a furious shelling from Jackson’s artillery. Finally, on Sept. 15, with their commander mortally wounded and with little hope of relief, the garrison gave in. The ordnance, small arms, and wagons the Confederates seized were invaluable, but it easily could have had disastrous results for Lee.
The delay in capturing Harpers Ferry disrupted Lee’s timetable and put his divided force at grave risk. Lee learned McClellan had begun an advance toward western Maryland sooner than expected. He was unaware that the Union commander had been handed a gift—a mislaid copy of Lee’s detailed campaign plan (General Order 191) that had been found by two Union soldiers. Little Mac now knew the Rebel army was dispersed, and it could be defeated in detail. Yet he waited 16 hours before taking advantage of the lost orders, a delay that probably saved Lee from disaster.
McClellan finally put his troops in motion the night of 13 September, sending two army corps to punch through the only remaining barrier protecting the Confederate Army: South Mountain at Turner’s, Fox’s, and Crampton’s gaps. Informed that his Order 191 had been discovered by the Federals, Lee realized the precariousness of his situation, and began thinking about returning to Virginia.
Stubborn defensive stands by the Rebels delayed McClellan’s advance through South Mountain long enough to allow Lee to concentrate his scattered army on high ground at Sharpsburg near Antietam Creek, which flowed into the nearby Potomac River. Lee had Longstreet’s command hold the center and right wing of the line, while Stonewall Jackson’s men, just up from Harpers Ferry, anchored the left. Lee and his army, numbering barely 30,000 soldiers, now watched the growing
Federal host gather on the east side of Antietam Creek on Sept. 15 and 16, as McClellan prepared to drive the Rebels from Maryland.
The Union commander’s plan was to attack the Confederate left in force, and when the situation looked favorable on that sector, move against the Rebel right, forcing Lee back to the banks of the Potomac where he would be crushed. But Little Mac took his time. Throughout Sept. 16, he had his engineers lay out the lines his men would occupy prior to attacking. He posted artillery on the heights east of Antietam Creek, all the while perfecting his plans for a grand assault.
While McClellan posted and planned, Lee rushed every available soldier to the line at Sharpsburg. Even with these additional Rebel troops, the Federal army held a nearly three-to-one advantage. An unsettling silence lay over the landscape the evening of Sept. 16. Perhaps it was the drizzling rain that chilled the bones of almost every soldier there. Or maybe it was the realization that for many men on both sides this would be their last night on Earth.
17 September dawned gray and foggy, and with first light, Joe Hooker’s I Corps launched a powerful attack down the Hagerstown Turnpike on the far right Union flank heading straight for Jackson’s line. The Confederates were waiting, bristling with infantry and artillery. The battle raged back and forth at the West Woods, around Dunker Church, and in Miller’s cornfield. When Hooker’s corps was used up and withdrew, McClellan sent in another corps under Joseph Mansfield. The Federals surged forward only to be driven back by desperate Rebel counterattacks. Both sides were taking horrendous casualties. When Lee asked John Bell Hood where his Confederate division was, Hood replied, “They are lying in the field where you sent them.”
As the fighting on the Union right subsided, combat spilled over to the center of the line. One Union division after another plowed piecemeal into the enemy line only to be driven back. Finally, Israel Richardson’s division managed to flank the Confederates, delivering deadly enfilading fire into the enemy line. The Confederate center verged on collapse, but when Richardson went down with a mortal wound and Lee was able to send his few reserves to stem the breach, the Union Army’s opportunity vanished. Had McClellan committed his substantial store of reserve troops, even one division, Lee’s army might well have been destroyed.
With Lee’s center and left flank reeling, and barely holding on from the morning’s attacks, the action now shifted to the Confederate right. Ambrose Burnside’s IX Corps was to strike Lee in the morning to coincide with Hooker’s assault on the Confederate left, but McClellan did not order their advance until 10 a.m., long after the initial Union attack. Furthermore, Burnside had failed to adequately scout potential fords at Antietam Creek, and seemed consumed with the idea of crossing a narrow stone bridge. McClellan urged him to attack on a wider front, but Burnside tried to storm the span all morning without success and with heavy casualties, despite a small Confederate force opposing him.
Finally, by early afternoon, Burnside’s men pushed across the bridge in one quick thrust. Burnside then spent nearly two hours reorganizing his corps for the final assault, just enough time to save Lee once again. Finally, at 4 p.m., he pushed forward and quickly drove the Rebels back, gaining the high ground on the edge of Sharpsburg. Lee threw in every available man in the line to hold back the assault.
With victory within their grasp, Burnside’s men did not observe the approach of Rebels from the south. A.P. Hill’s division had been left behind to secure Harpers Ferry, but when the Confederate general learned of the battle raging 17 miles away, he left his post and sent his men sprinting toward the sound of combat. Of 5,000 troops who started, only 3,000 made it to Sharpsburg. Exhausted as they were, Hill’s men slammed into the Union left flank screaming the “rebel yell.” Stunned by this sudden and vicious attack, the Federals retreated to the banks of the Antietam. By the end of the terrible day, Lee had stabilized his lines, having pulled his left well back.
As though in open contempt of McClellan, Lee remained in his tenuous position throughout 18 September, salvaging a moral victory out of a nearly lost battle and mismanaged campaign. McClellan had two fresh infantry corps and plenty of unused cavalry that probably could have overwhelmed the battered Rebel army. Yet Little Mac remained idle all day; and during the night, Lee skillfully withdrew his men across the Potomac unmolested. Lee’s gamble against disaster and McClellan’s refusal to press his advantage remain a puzzle.
Scholars have long debated the relative importance of Civil War campaigns. If one can be considered the turning point, Antietam is a strong candidate. No other campaign had the political, diplomatic, and military elements aligned so favorably for the South. Yet Lee’s retreat after the battle, along with a failed invasion in Kentucky, changed the course of the war. Great Britain backed off on recognizing the Confederacy. President Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation, transforming the struggle to a total war for Union and freedom.
Antietam remains the bloodiest day in American history. The ghastly losses are almost incomprehensible today. Of the total 22,000 casualties, nearly 6,000 were killed or mortally wounded, roughly the equivalent of the total American losses in Iraq and Afghanistan over a ten-year period.
A young Confederate officer, who survived Antietam, had been eager to go to war at first. Stunned by what he had just experienced, however, he concluded that “War is a dreadful thing…. It is revolting to humanity. ...Oh, my God, can’t this cruel strife be brought to an end.”
Sadly, the Civil War dragged on for another 2½ years. The Maryland campaign, with its appalling conclusion at Antietam, was a missed opportunity to end it all. Now a new kind of war began to emerge, one of ruthless, grinding attrition, in which catchwords like glory and honor seemed ill-fitted. The slaughter along Antietam Creek had seen to that.
Rico says another battle he's happy to have missed, except as a reenactor...
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