Lee and His Men at Gettysburg: The Death of a Nation by Clifford Dowdey Page B
Authors: Clifford Dowdey
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the river.
Even the raiders under Imboden, borrowed for the occasion and ordered to close in from the west, had not appeared.
Jenkins’s raiders, another unit that General Lee had pried loose from President Davis’s scattered detachments for the invasion, were north with Ewell, and Lee placed little trust in them. They had reported at only half their paper strength, 1,800 effectives showing up. Leading the invasion into Pennsylvania, the lightly disciplined riders had not behaved like veteran cavalry. They were accustomed to long rides, swift strokes, and quick loot, and neither by nature nor training were they fitted for reconnaissance.
With a potential support of more than 12,000 troopers, the largest cavalry force ever at his disposal, Lee spent a dismal Monday hoping for the sight of one unit of them, while Hill’s infantry, substituting for the horsemen, pushed eastward through the rough mountain passes. Two divisions of Long-street’s corps prepared to follow the next day. The three-brigade division of George Pickett would wait at Chambersburg as a rear guard until some cavalry showed up from somewhere.
During the anxious hours General Lee kept his thoughts to himself. His report, written later, revealed nothing of his mental torment. Characteristically without the use of a single “I,” he wrote simply: “In the absence of the cavalry, it was impossible to ascertain his [the enemy’s] intentions … [and] … it was determined to concentrate the army east of the mountains.”
Although he communicated his troubles to no one, the general was manifestly under great strain. He could not stay in his tent. He walked up and down in the picnic grove, powerful and erect, his handsome face clouded. This was one of the few times during the war when Lee’s effort to keep self-control was apparent.
During the afternoon he was visited by one of Longstreet’s division commanders, General John B. Hood. An immense blond man of thirty-two, Hood, a West Pointer, was a Texan by adoption and a very literal-minded man of action. The presence of General Hood shook Lee out of his brooding. With his innate consideration of others and of the commanding general’s duty to give assurance to his men, Lee managed a smile and said half humorously: “Ah, General, the enemy is a long time in finding us; if he does not succeed soon, we will go in search for him.”
Then he prepared to leave Chambersburg with two of Longstreet’s divisions the next day. Pickett’s weakened division, as rear guard, would comprise the only approximation of a line of communication with home.
The next day, Tuesday, June 30, would mark a full week since Stuart had disappeared, and the commanding general could wait no longer for his cavalry.
That night his camp chest was packed for the trip through the circuitous mountain pass that led to the turnpike village of Cashtown and, eight miles beyond, the unimportant crossroads town of Gettysburg.
“All Is Vanity.…”
T HE TWO troopers on detached duty who chanced to encounter Captain Smith at a river crossing were accurate in reporting General Stuart’s cavalry back in Prince William County, southwest of Washington, on Saturday, June 27. The two cavalrymen would have disturbed the commanding general even more deeply if their report had included the sorry condition of men and mounts.
On the 27th the command was forced to halt while the horses grazed and the attenuated men supplied themselves from captured Union sutlers’ stores. At this moment Hooker’s army was in Maryland with the corps pointed toward South Mountain.
Even this early in the campaign Jeb Stuart was failing in his mission, with apparent unawareness of his failure. Judg?ing from his reports, his mind was sharp and his conscience was clear.
In the details of his actions Stuart showed his usual vigor and initiative. He seems never to have considered that his success in details was totally unrelated to his major assignment:
Even the raiders under Imboden, borrowed for the occasion and ordered to close in from the west, had not appeared.
Jenkins’s raiders, another unit that General Lee had pried loose from President Davis’s scattered detachments for the invasion, were north with Ewell, and Lee placed little trust in them. They had reported at only half their paper strength, 1,800 effectives showing up. Leading the invasion into Pennsylvania, the lightly disciplined riders had not behaved like veteran cavalry. They were accustomed to long rides, swift strokes, and quick loot, and neither by nature nor training were they fitted for reconnaissance.
With a potential support of more than 12,000 troopers, the largest cavalry force ever at his disposal, Lee spent a dismal Monday hoping for the sight of one unit of them, while Hill’s infantry, substituting for the horsemen, pushed eastward through the rough mountain passes. Two divisions of Long-street’s corps prepared to follow the next day. The three-brigade division of George Pickett would wait at Chambersburg as a rear guard until some cavalry showed up from somewhere.
During the anxious hours General Lee kept his thoughts to himself. His report, written later, revealed nothing of his mental torment. Characteristically without the use of a single “I,” he wrote simply: “In the absence of the cavalry, it was impossible to ascertain his [the enemy’s] intentions … [and] … it was determined to concentrate the army east of the mountains.”
Although he communicated his troubles to no one, the general was manifestly under great strain. He could not stay in his tent. He walked up and down in the picnic grove, powerful and erect, his handsome face clouded. This was one of the few times during the war when Lee’s effort to keep self-control was apparent.
During the afternoon he was visited by one of Longstreet’s division commanders, General John B. Hood. An immense blond man of thirty-two, Hood, a West Pointer, was a Texan by adoption and a very literal-minded man of action. The presence of General Hood shook Lee out of his brooding. With his innate consideration of others and of the commanding general’s duty to give assurance to his men, Lee managed a smile and said half humorously: “Ah, General, the enemy is a long time in finding us; if he does not succeed soon, we will go in search for him.”
Then he prepared to leave Chambersburg with two of Longstreet’s divisions the next day. Pickett’s weakened division, as rear guard, would comprise the only approximation of a line of communication with home.
The next day, Tuesday, June 30, would mark a full week since Stuart had disappeared, and the commanding general could wait no longer for his cavalry.
That night his camp chest was packed for the trip through the circuitous mountain pass that led to the turnpike village of Cashtown and, eight miles beyond, the unimportant crossroads town of Gettysburg.
“All Is Vanity.…”
T HE TWO troopers on detached duty who chanced to encounter Captain Smith at a river crossing were accurate in reporting General Stuart’s cavalry back in Prince William County, southwest of Washington, on Saturday, June 27. The two cavalrymen would have disturbed the commanding general even more deeply if their report had included the sorry condition of men and mounts.
On the 27th the command was forced to halt while the horses grazed and the attenuated men supplied themselves from captured Union sutlers’ stores. At this moment Hooker’s army was in Maryland with the corps pointed toward South Mountain.
Even this early in the campaign Jeb Stuart was failing in his mission, with apparent unawareness of his failure. Judg?ing from his reports, his mind was sharp and his conscience was clear.
In the details of his actions Stuart showed his usual vigor and initiative. He seems never to have considered that his success in details was totally unrelated to his major assignment:
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