Antietam - Planning and Politics II
The second meeting of the AotP's leadership was much more orderly than the first. Instead of an impromptu collection of generals on horseback quickly hashing out a plan of action, the entirety of the leadership was called to the "Pry Farm House," a building that McClellan had repurposed to become the army's new field headquarters.
General McClellan had carefully composed himself before calling in his subordinates, but the man had been in quite a state of excitement for the Battle of Little Antietam Creek. The attack had been very much contrary to McClellan's normal modus operandi and the man had started experiencing second thoughts almost immediately. From his commanding position on South Mountain, unusually close to the fighting, the general could see nearly the entire day's action with his own eyes and found the result deeply unsettling - reportedly, the usually composed Pennsylvanian General was driven to deeply emotional fits by witnessing the gruesome killing during the initial assaults on the rebel line, and nearly collapsed when he realizing how close the IX Corps was to having its flank turned.* The near disaster heavily rattled the meticulous general and likely influenced his decision-making on the next day. He also couldn't resist the urge to micromanage his subordinates, ignoring his decision to maintain the 'Wing' system and personally messaging Corps commanders to give orders and demand updates.
Note: It's likely this incident that firmly cemented Yates as a 'bumbling, reckless political appointee' in McClellan's mind, and the first recorded impression of the man given by the Pennsylvanian. Whatever his rationale was for keeping Yates as a Corps commander during McClellan's reorganization of the AotP we cannot know - in his memoirs George claimed that it was political pressure from the Radical Republicans that kept him in office, similar to how Generals Fremont and Butler achieved undue prominence with destructive consequences, but this is likely anachronistic; while his father was a reasonably prominent lawyer with abolitionist tendencies, Yates had only really entered Washington's radar via his self-publicized victory at Chantilly (a move that somewhat contradicts traditional narratives about the future president, who always depicted himself as someone whom power and responsibility were thrust upon) and became the quintessential RR darling after Antietam, not before. Given the highly politicized atmosphere in Washington at the time, however, it's possible McClellan may have felt restrained in his ability to appoint and replace generals as he pleased, and enduring a political general as a Corps commander was probably a compromise endured in order to push for concessions somewhere else.
Still, the day had ended in victory, the rebels driven behind the Antietam river and their attack on Maryland stingingly rebuked. His frayed nerves aside, McClellan was feeling quite satisfied with himself, and wasted no time wiring a telegram to the capital proclaiming "no greater victory having been seen in the western hemisphere since the time of Washington" and assuring the president that "the rebel invasion of Maryland had been thoroughly thwarted." It didn't take long for the normal rationalizing to set in, however. McClellan clung to his underdog status with pathological persistence, and the day's clean victory only seemed to have egged on his sense of delusionally paranoid caution. The infamous 'Stonewall' Jackson served as the perfect object of his obsession, the man living rent-free in the heads of much of the Union, and McClellan - egged on by his Pinkerton aide - became convinced that the man had broken off his siege of Harper's Ferry only to link up with a phantom Confederate reserve and was prepared to launch a devastating attack on the morrow.
His generals balked, however. If the previous successes on the campaign only served to stoke the trio's confidence and ambition, the day's taste of blood lit a fire that could not be smothered. Metaphorical battle lines were drawn between the remaining generals - Mansfield and Burnside obviously being unable to attend. Kearny and Hooker pushed for an aggressive double envelopment to double-down on their momentum and deal a crushing blow to Lee's forces, while Franklin and Porter backed McClellan's stated desire to consolidate the army before deciding on a new course of action. The matter was complicated by the uneven allocation of fighting - Kearny and Franklin hadn't seen any combat whatsoever and their Corps were almost completely fresh, while Yates was reportedly rattled by both the close call with McLaws, as well as the death/wounding of Mansfield and Burnside on the daring flanking attack that he had most likely pushed for them to take.
Sumner would attempt to propose a compromise. The Antietam presented a formidable natural barrier, and he argued that the army should rest its battered Corps behind it and rely solely on the northern thrust meant to bypass the river, one which would be conducted with the majority of the AotP's strength. In the end, however, Yates elected to support the full-commit plan, even if it meant pushing his battered Corps through a contested river crossing (a task few military leaders would await without trepidation) and his decision would carry the support of Alpheus Williams, Mansfield's replacement and acting commander of the XII Corps.
With the significant majority of his Corps leaders in consensus about maintaining aggressive momentum, McClellan caved to the pressure, likely still concerned about his uncertain political position and no doubt paranoid about Lincoln seizing the opportunity to see him replaced. Although disaster at Harpy's Ferry had been averted at the last moment, the debacle was a poignant reminder of how much political interference the general endured from Washington. McClellan's caution may well have also warred with his originally expressed desire for a decisive victory to swiftly end the Civil War - and more personally, it would cement his reputation as a hero so badly tarnished by the Peninsular Campaign. The thought of being able to roundly avenge his humiliations on both the South and his domestic enemies must have been extremely seductive.
For all these reasons, George McClellan reluctantly conceded to the proposed plan, pressured and tempted in equal amounts towards enacting a battle plan that warred against all his professional instincts (the only allotted reserve was Porter's Corps who still hadn't properly caught up with the rest of the army - it's hard to imagine someone like McClellan agreeing to it at anything but gunpoint). Theoretically, this wasn't much different from the battle on the Little Antietam - but the second day's fighting was going to be on a much larger scale, and thus the demand for central coordination was significantly higher.
The Grand Army of the Potomac had been a cauldron of internal politicking and tension since the war started, and an astute observer might well have been able to guess it would be on the morrow that it would finally erupt.
***
The generals of the Confederacy also convened with the end of the day's fighting, meeting together in an apartment Lee's subordinates had been offered by a sympathetic local in Sharpsburg. The willing collaborator would prove the exception rather than the rule, however. A significant part of the rationale for the Maryland campaign was that the eponymous state would rise up for the Confederacy should a southern army move to liberate them. With the aid of the locals, Lee would be able to replenish both his battered army's supplies and ranks, but the silent streets and weary stares from the population of Sharpsburg must have served to underline the dire turn their initially promising invasion had taken.
It was not an encouraging situation. Lee had beaten the Union back in two separate campaigns despite being outnumbered, but there was a key difference between the Virginian campaigns and their present circumstances. Then, the Confederates had been able to bewilder and intimidate their opponents through audacious gambles and daring attacks despite being outnumbered. Now, however, the Army of Northern Virginia braced for their enemy's next move, grimly digging what breastworks they could and preparing for another day of fighting. The Confederate army's strength had waned considerably from the time of the Peninsular Campaign, and while historians debate over their exact numbers at the time, it's estimated they laid somewhere between 30 to 35 thousand men, many of them exhausted from the fighting and marching undergone in the past few months.
Robert E. Lee was in a grim mood that night as he listened to his commanders debate over their plan of action. His gamble of splitting his army up to seize crucial supplies and encourage an indigenous Marylander rebellion had failed, and the price was paid during the Battle on the Little Antietam, something that no doubt weighed heavily on the general who was prone towards fits of self-recrimination for failures real and perceived (Lee would suffer a near nervous breakdown after the conclusion of the Maryland campaign and be forced into medical leave for over a month after in North Carolina). Now, he had to make a fateful decision: whether it was time to admit the invasion a failure and withdraw, or attempt to defeat the Yankees in a pitched battle now that the entire army was assembled.
It was a striking turn from the initial optimism that the campaign had started out with, but a logical conclusion to the first day's fighting. The Union had been prevented from overwhelming the Confederates piecemeal, but the cost in supplies, lives, and morale was significant. General Longstreet, whose Corps had been on the receiving end of the vicious northern assault, was firmly of the opinion that the army had to cut their losses before an even worse catastrophe was suffered. Exact Union numbers were unclear, but scouts could pick up movement well into the night and particularly pessimistic placed their numbers at nearly, or even over, two times that of the rebel force. Should the southerners dig in their heels in
enemy territory, Longstreet unapologetically emphasized, they faced defeat the likes of which could sink any prospects of winning the war.
'Stonewall' Jackson unsurprisingly formed the opposition. His men, although surely exhausted by the eleven-mile march they'd undergone to link up with the rest of the army, were as of yet fresh - and Jackson wasn't the kind of man who gave up strong positions without a drop of blood spilled. He was undoubtedly also frustrated over the aborted siege on Harpy's Ferry, whose garrison had provided a feeble and incompetent resistance, and no doubt would've surrendered given another day or two of bombardment. Tall odds were no stranger for the native West Virginian, and he argued that to abandon the situation as hopeless was to invite defeatism in the ranks and encourage a fierce Yankee pursuit. In this stance he was bolstered by J.E.B. Stuart, who spoiled for a fight himself and wanted to redeem his cavalry for their inability to stall the Yankees long enough to properly reform the splintered rebel army before they were set upon.
Lee seriously considered withdrawing. While famous for his aggressive actions, the general judiciously chose his targets and always picked fights for a
reason, not for their own sake. To him, the coming day's battle stank of playing to the enemy's tune and accepting an unwise engagement, something his military instincts revolted against. Yet there wasn't really a better place to pick a fight either, not unless he was willing to withdraw all the way back to Virginia, defeating the entire purpose of the campaign.
That last point proved the sticker. General Lee hadn't invaded Maryland on a lark, and all the reasons that had encouraged him to make such an aggressive, risky maneuver still applied. President Jefferson strongly believed that delivering a major defeat to the Union on their own soil would prove the key needed to convince European powers to acknowledge the Confederacy, just like the battle of Saratoga a century ago had earned America foreign recognition. Lee most likely held a more realistic attitude towards the matter, but there was still hope that a major victory in Maryland could sway the hearts of the Unionist slave states, empower the Copperheads in the upcoming midterm elections, and further demoralize the already shaken North, reeling from their back to back defeats. The grand strategy of the South was never to dictate terms in Philadelphia, but to exhaust enough of the Union that they'd be willing to let the southern states go. Conversely, suffering a decisive defeat by the Yankees would scutter all these possibilities and encourage the northerners to press ever harder. From a purely tactical standpoint, Lee probably agreed with Longstreet that they should call the campaign off and return to the Confederacy to replenish their depleted army, but as the overall commander, the Virginian had to take into account the broader strategic context - in which the costs of withdrawal were far higher than a disappointing anticlimax.
In the end, despite considerable agonizing over the decision, Lee chose to stand his ground in Sharpsburg and meet the Union attack on the next morning. Jackson would lead his footsore soldiers to take up positions in the north, where the main thrust was expected to land, while Longstreet's battered Corps would anchor the right flank as well as cover the river crossings. Outnumbered and off balance, the Army of Northern Virginia nonetheless settled down for a second day of fighting, seemingly unable or unwilling to accept the real possibility that they might be courting disaster.