How to Lose the Civil War

Bill Fawcett

• Publisher: HarperCollins e-books
• Year: 2011
• ISBN:
  9780062078643
• Topic: History
• Subtopic: World History
• Index: History

"Fawcett rivals Jim Dunnigan as a general-audience military analyst."
— Publishers Weekly

An expert on historical military incompetence, Bill Fawcett now offers an engrossing, fact-filled collection that sheds light on the biggest, dumbest screw ups of the America's bloodiest conflict. How to Lose the Civil War is a fascinating compendium of battlefield blunders and strategic mistakes on both sides of the line. History and military buffs, trivia lovers, and students of the War Between the States will all be mesmerized by this amazing collection of gaffes and bungles perpetrated by idiot officers and short-sighted politicians, Union and Confederate alike— published on the 150th anniversary of the brutal conflict that changed America forever.

Chapter 1

No Rebels in D.C.

1861: The Confederacy’s Failure to Capture the Union Capital

John Helfers

One of the main goals of both sides in the Civil War (actually, it’s a main goal in just about any war throughout history) was to capture the enemy’s capital. This was particularly acute for the South. General Robert E. Lee knew that the shortages the Confederacy faced in men and equipment, especially versus the massive population and manufacturing advantages of the Union, could be nullified if he could just take Washington, D.C. This would also have the added benefit of contracting the overall war. However, since Lincoln and his cabinet also realized this, they were prepared to take whatever measures necessary to ensure that it didn’t happen.

Once the blinders came off after the First Battle of Bull Run (where the Union forces were soundly defeated) in 1861, and the Union realized it was in for a protracted fight, attention was given to the practically defenseless city of Washington, D.C. Under the command of General George B. McClellan and General John Gross Barnard, the chief engineer of the Army of the Potomac, the next eighteen months were devoted to building an incredible chain of forts and earthworks around the city. By the end of the year, nine miles of defensive perimeter encircled Washington, studded with 480 artillery pieces, including everything from twenty-four- and thirty-two-pound howitzers, twenty-four-pound siege guns, Parrott guns (a combination cast- and wrought-iron muzzle-loading cannon prone to breakage), and lighter-caliber artillery mounted on field carriages.

By the end of 1862, Washington was a heavily armed and protected fortress city. Fifty-three forts and twenty-two artillery batteries ringed the city proper, from the Potomac to the shoreline opposite Alexandria, Virginia. Barnard didn’t leave the Virginia side empty, but constructed more forts there as well.

And still Barnard and his engineers built more. By spring of 1864, Washington was pretty much impregnable. Its defenses consisted of an interconnected string of sixty-eight forts over thirty-seven miles, along with almost one hundred artillery batteries and blockhouses (a small, single-building fort), all connected by a twenty-mile network of rifle pits and trenches. Built to contain an estimated 23,000 men, the Union’s only real problem was keeping the formidable line of defenses manned, particularly toward the end of the war. Regardless of troop level, if the traditional ratio of four attackers for every defender held true, then the Confederacy would have needed to send an army of at least 60,000 to 100,000 men against the city to have a hope of conquering it. Lee could barely field the lowest number of troops, and he never approached six figures, coming the closest in 1862 with 72,500 men at Fredericksburg.

But what about earlier in the war, when the Union capital wasn’t so well fortified? One theory claims that Brigadier-General P.G.T. Beauregard should have followed up his victory against the Union at the First Battle of Bull Run and pursued the Union soldiers to Washington. This would have been an ill-advised decision from the start; no matter how gallant it sounds, the truth is that the pursuit of a defeated foe by the victorious one is the stuff of legends. Any victorious army in the nineteenth century had to rest its soldiers, resupply, and tend to its own wounded after a battle, and was never in any shape to chase after a retreating enemy. Officers killed or wounded in battle meant that units were left leaderless, and a pursuit requires a lot of organization of the remaining forces. General Joseph E. Johnston did try to cut off retreating Union troops on his right flank, but the effort ended in failure, with Brigadier Generals Milledge L. Bonham and James Longstreet arguing with each other about how best to proceed, as their brigades were supposed to be pursuing the enemy together. In the confusion, the Federal soldiers slipped away.

And even if Beauregard had been able to bring men up to pursue, they would have run into General Irvin McDowell’s three reserve brigades, which would have been ready for any assault the tired Confederates could have mustered. And even if they had somehow managed to defeat those men, they next would have come up against Washington, D.C., itself, manned by the 17,000 soldiers who had just left the field, now behind what was even then daunting defensive fortifications. Simply put, the chances of the Confederacy seizing Washington after Bull Run were nil.

The other great what-if that is always examined is whether Lee could have taken Washington if his forces had been victorious at Gettysburg. Even barring the reasons stated above regarding casualties and exhaustion (Gettysburg was three days of long, hard fighting, and the 28,000 casualties the 75,000-man Confederate Army took ensured that it couldn’t keep going), Lee could not have resumed his invasion no matter how the battle turned out—because on July 4, 1863, it rained. Not just a summer shower or cloudburst, but what became a days-long downpour that would have mired the Army of Virginia in knee-deep mud, bogged down artillery, and killed men and horses. Even if Lee had decisively crushed General George Gordon Meade in battle, there simply would have been no way he could have continued north.

There was one more try made for the city before the war would end. In 1864, Lee sent Lieutenant General Jubal Early north with 10,000 men to stop General David Hunter, who was running amok in northern Virginia. Upon hearing that Early was looking for him, Hunter retreated into West Virginia, leaving the path to the capital wide open. Early pushed across the Potomac into Maryland in early July, advancing to the suburb of Silver Spring before meeting any real resistance.

The commander of Washington’s defenses, Major General Christopher C. Augur, lacked both men and artillery—most of which had been called up to the front lines—and could only muster 9,600 men, most of which were Veteran Reserve Corps or Ohio militia who had never seen combat. Added to this was the District militia as well as detachments of government clerks, most of whom had barely touched a rifle.

On July 11, both sides met in skirmishes that were observed by President Lincoln himself. Early tested the defenses while weighing the risks of trying to penetrate the perimeter. The chance to bloody the Union’s nose and revive the morale of the South versus failing to do so, or even worse, getting cut off by Hunter’s army, had great appeal. Taking the Union capital might just have given the Confederacy its quick victory. Unfortunately, Early deliberated too long. Grant had ordered troops sent north several days earlier, and by the 11th, VI Corps, led by General Horatio G. Wright, had disembarked to reinforce the Washington line. After testing the opposition once again (and finding it considerably more firm this time), Early ordered a withdrawal, saying to his aide, “Major, we haven’t taken Washington, but we’ve scared Abe Lincoln like hell.” This wasn’t quite the case, as the president was so engrossed in watching the battle from Fort Stevens that the commanding officer had to invoke his authority as a front-line officer and order Lincoln off the observation parapet.

Early’s strike into Maryland would be the last chance the Confederacy had to raise the Stars and Bars over the Union capitol. Even if he had succeeded, it would have been more of a propaganda exercise than a true victory, as even if Early had managed to take the city, he wouldn’t have had the men to hold it for long. Whatever effect it may have had might have lasted long enough to force the North to the negotiating table, but even that is doubtful. With Sherman about to take Atlanta and Grant still pursuing Lee in the east, the Union, still on top in terms of men and equipment, most likely would have continued its war of attrition.

In the end, the idea of the Confederacy conquering the Union capital was never to be. Even when they were close enough to see it, the Rebels never had enough men or equipment to wage the overwhelming battle necessary to take the city, and not only take it, but hold it for any length of time afterward. Lee could never muster enough men to accomplish this goal without being whittled away by the Union, and by the time General Early’s men were at the outskirts of the city, it was already too late. By 1864, the fate of the Confederacy was just about sealed, leaving the what-ifs about the southern conquest of the nation’s capital to be just another cherished dream.

Chapter 2

King Cotton’s Tarnished Crown

1861: The Confederate States

Frieda A. Murray

What would happen if no cotton was furnished for three years? . . . England would topple headlong and carry the whole civilized world with her. No, you dare not make war on cotton! No power on earth dares make war upon it. Cotton is King.” From Senator James Henry Hammond of South Carolina’s speech before the United States Senate, March 4, 1858.

The South Carolinian’s bombast had some ballast under it. By the end of the 1850s cotton from the southern states accounted for 57 percent of American exports, 20 percent of the raw material for American textiles, and 70 percent of the raw material of the British textile industry. Also, the international textile industry had contributed to the creation of many financial institutions on both sides of the Atlantic.

Cotton also boosted northern wealth in other ways. It was shipped overseas in Yankee or British bottoms, mostly from northern ports. Northern, especially New York, banks provided loans for land and slaves, and northern factors provided credit, insurance, and shipping for the planters. The finished goods returned for raw cotton were manufactured in the North or overseas, not in the cotton-growing areas.

The 1850s were boom years for cotton. Its price doubled from the beginning to the end of the decade, and the land devoted to cotton, sugar, and tobacco increased to the point that food production in this agricultural region actually declined. Southern planters were convinced that these times would never end.

The panic of 1857 added to their confidence. It started when the New York branch of the Ohio Life Insurance and Trust Company, a major financial institution, collapsed due to massive embezzlement. Shortly after this, the following mangled public confidence:

• British investors decided to remove funds from American banks, raising questions about their overall soundness.

• Grain prices fell.

• Manufactured goods piled up in warehouses, leading to massive layoffs.

• Overbuilding led to widespread railroad failures.

• Land speculation programs collapsed with the railroads, ruining thousands of investors.

(Sound familiar?)

While the North and West were still dealing with the effects of this depression as late as 1861, the South was not hit nearly as hard. Grain prices fell, but cotton prices rose. In the 1840s, some southerners had worried about their region’s dependence on outsiders for banking, transport, and manufacturing. By 1858 a planter from Alabama was proclaiming, “That the North does our trading and manufacturing mostly is true, and we are willing that they should. Ours is an agricultural people, and God grant that we may continue so.”

The Confederate cabinet was composed of men who firmly believed in the power of cotton. Withholding it was their only plan to secure foreign recognition and assistance. When the navy blockaded the southern ports, Richmond called it a “paper blockade” and fully expected the British navy to appear and disperse it. They were shocked when Whitehall agreed to respect it.

To avoid the appearance of provocation, Richmond did not formally embargo the shipping of cotton. But many planters voluntarily kept the 1861 crop off the market, even those with some way of shipping it.

And thereby they played right into Federal hands. The late 1850s had produced bumper cotton crops. The planters had sent so much abroad before hostilities started that the British mills had close to a year’s supply on hand, at a time when the market for textiles was getting a bit glutted. Some mill owners, and certainly the Liverpool speculators, saw the war as a breathing space, a chance to pare down their excess. The British even had enough to send some back across the Atlantic to the New England mills.

Of course, in the spring of 1861, a lot of people on all sides thought the war would be short, even if they were hedging about the outcome. By the spring of 1862, the cotton famine predicted by the Confederacy had indeed emerged. Seventy-five percent of the Lancashire mill workers were out of work or on reduced hours. This caused a great deal of concern in Whitehall, which was augmented by McClellan’s antics in Virginia’s peninsula. Should any, or all, of the European powers intervene and get the cotton shipments restarted? Parliament debated through the end of the session, and the cabinet continued the debate, reconsidering every time word came across the ocean, through the better part of 1862.

But by then the blockade and the capture of New Orleans were definitely keeping cotton on this side of the Atlantic. You can’t call a blockade ineffective if goods don’t move.

Liverpool, which was pro-Confederate, played both sides. The speculators cleaned up on the high prices they got for stored cotton, and the Confederate commerce raiders came from Liverpool shipyards.

Another factor: western European harvests were poor in the early 1860s. Governments importing grain and meat from the North were not inclined to bite the hand that was feeding them. Moreover, the North imported a fair amount of war matériel at the beginning of the conflict—and paid for it. You don’t trade a customer who pays in cash for one that pays in futures.

Besides, in spite of the tariffs that some Lost Causeniks claim to this day were the true reason for the war, Britain exported a great deal to the United States, and there were a lot more customers in the North than in the South. The Richmond cabinet did not consider that Great Britain valued the Union as a customer and sometime ally, and did not wish, at the outset, to meddle in what they considered to be an internal squabble. And France would not aid the Confederacy, except as a backup to Britain.

In the end, the British developed other sources of cotton: Brazil, Egypt, and India. Since the southern infrastructure was a long time rebuilding, and the land was not only war-wrecked but worn-out from overplanting, this worked out well for the international textile industry. Even today India is the second-largest cotton producer in the world (China is the largest), and Egyptian cotton is the finest on this planet.

Also, during the war, the British wool and linen industries prospered.

Still, the Richmond cabinet correctly predicted that the loss of southern cotton would severely cripple the European textile industry. What went wrong?

First off, Whitehall was concerned about more than the textile industry. Britain had just finished fighting two wars, and needed to rebu...