History That Doesn't Suck - 56: The Battle of Fredericksburg and the First Campaign of Vicksburg

Episode Date: January 20, 2020

“If the world had been searched by Burnside for a location in which his army could be best defeated ... he should have selected this very spot.” This is the story of leadership turnover in the Union and total war on the field. US President Abraham Lincoln has had his fill of George B. “Little Mac” McClellan. Little Mac is getting fired. He’s being replaced by the general with the best facial-hair game in the army: Ambrose Burnsides.  But Ambrose doesn’t want command. He doesn’t think he’s the man for the job. Still, he’s going to try to be the aggressive general he knows the President wants. Ambrose plans to charge at the Confederate capital with his 120,000-strong Army of the Potomac. But he’ll have to deal with Robert E. Lee first. They’re coming to blow up the little Virginia town George Washington’s mother once called home: Fredericksburg. Meanwhile, Ulysses S. Grant is facing challenges out west in the Mississippi Valley. Can he out-navigate a politicking general and take the crucial river town of Vicksburg, Mississippi? We’ll find out. ____ Connect with us on HTDSpodcast.com and go deep into episode bibliographies and book recommendations join discussions in our Facebook community get news and discounts from The HTDS Gazette  come see a live show get HTDS merch or become an HTDS premium member for bonus episodes and other perks. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with iGaming Ontario. From the creators of the popular science show with millions of YouTube subscribers comes the MinuteEarth podcast. Every episode of the show dives deep into a science question you might not even know you had, but once you hear the answer, you'll want to share it with everyone

you know. Why do rivers curve? Why did the T-Rex have such tiny arms? And why do so many more kids need glasses now than they used to? Spoiler alert, it isn't screen time. Our team of scientists digs into the research and breaks it down into a short, entertaining explanation, jam-packed with science facts and terrible puns. Subscribe to MinuteEarth wherever you like to listen. Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor, Greg Jackson, and as in the classroom, my goal here is to make rigorously researched history come to life as your storyteller. Each episode is the result of laborious research with no agenda other than making the past come to life as you learn. If you'd like to help support this

work, receive ad-free episodes, bonus content, and other exclusive perks, I invite you to join the HTDS membership program. Sign up for a seven-day free trial today at htdspodcast.com slash membership, or click the link in the episode notes. Welcome to History That Doesn't Suck. I'm your professor, Greg Jackson, and I'd like to tell you a story. Ambrose Burnside wakes with a start. The ever-responsible Major General of the Ninth Corps had gone to bed early this November 7th, 1862 evening, perhaps with hopes of getting some much-needed rest to think through supply line issues. Instead, someone's ripped him from his sleep only moments after he nodded off. As Ambrose's eyes adjust to the dim light, he recognizes the old friend standing before him. It's General Catharinus P. Buckingham. Aging, balding, and

white-bearded, Catharinus has traveled from the U.S. capital of Washington City to Ambrose's headquarters just south of Salem, Virginia, to deliver an envelope containing urgent orders from the War Department. He now hands it to the younger general with such full and magnificent sideburns, his men name the facial hairstyle after him. Ambrose burns side, sideburns, yeah, you get it. Ambrose opens and reads the two-day-old envelopes document. General Orders, No. 182, War Department, Adjutant General's Office, Washington, November 5, 1862. By direction of the President of the United States, it is ordered that Major General McClellan be relieved from the command of the Army of the Potomac and that Major General Burnside

take the command of that army. President Lincoln has offered Ambrose command of the Army of the Potomac twice since July, and both times, he turned it down. But now the commander-in-chief isn't asking. He's ordering. Still, no. Ambrose doesn't want this command, this responsibility. He doesn't think himself able enough, and he can't do that to George McClellan. So he protests. I do not feel competent to command. I am under very great personal obligations to McClellan. But Catharinus has orders from War Secretary Edwin Mars Stanton to do his utmost to persuade his friend of some 15 years to take the job. So the old general

informs Ambrose that leaders in Washington are done with George McClellan. He's out. That much is happening no matter what. And if he, Ambrose Burnside, refuses to take command, the Army of the Potomac will be handed to another. Major General Joseph Hooker. Well, that gets Ambrose thinking twice. He considers Joseph Fightin' Joe Hooker a base political ladder climber, lacking in morals or principles. Having him in command would be even worse. Damn it. Ambrose brings his chief of staff, John Park, and assistant adjutant general,

Lewis Richman, into the conversation. Given these circumstances, yes, he'll do it. Ambrose reluctantly accepts. Now they have to break the rough news to George McClellan. They depart to do so immediately. Joined by military aides, the two Union generals and their amazing facial hair descend the stairs from Ambrose's upper story bedroom, exit the small frame house, ride horses through a snowstorm up to Salem, and take a train another few miles to Rectortown. It's hours of travel, but they make it to George McClellan's headquarters that same night, around 11 p.m. Catharinus knocks on the commander's tent pole. There he is, George B. McClellan, a.k.a. Little Mac, or still to others, Young Napoleon.

He's right in the middle of writing to his wife, but welcomes Generals Catharinus Buckingham and Ambrose Burnside in. Ugh, did I mention they're all friends? This is so awkward. They'll later disagree on the details of how much small talk is or isn't happening, but the important thing is that Katharines hands the second envelope he brought from Washington City to Little Mac. Like Ambrose six or more hours ago, the dark-featured, handsome, mustachioed commander of the Army of the Potomac opens it and reads. Reads that he's been fired by the President of

the United States. Damn. How will he react? Well, Burnside, I turn the command over to you. Little Mac calmly answers with his eyes fixed on Ambrose. Wow, looks like he's going to play the part of the stoic. Catharinus and Ambrose say their goodbyes to him and depart, leaving young Napoleon to return to writing that letter to his wife. You know he's going to mention what just happened. Let's take a peek over the decommissioned commander's shoulder and see what he tells her about this. Poor Byrne feels dreadfully, almost crazy. I am sorry for him, and he never showed himself a better man or truer friend than now. Of course, I was much surprised, but as I read the order in the presence of General Buckingham, I am sure that not a muscle quivered, nor was the slightest expression of feeling

visible on my face, which he watched closely. They shall not have that triumph. They have made a great mistake. Alas for my poor country. I know in my innermost heart she never had a truer servant. Wow. Even after rejection, Little Mac remains more convinced of his own talents than some of the most overconfident first round American Idol rejections. Meanwhile, his replacement is full of self-doubt. Can Ambrose Burnside really handle the Army of the Potomac? Or will this be just as he fears? A disaster? That's what we're going to find out today as the sideburns sport in general leads his 120,000 strong army to assault Fredericksburg, Virginia with the hope of pushing on and taking the Confederate capital of Richmond.

It's a hard-fought, total war battle as the full might of the Union Army of the Potomac and the Confederate Army of Northern Virginia clash. The conflict will ravage the town George Washington's mother, Mary Ball, once called home. From here, we'll briefly head out west to catch up with Ulysses S. Grant, where the self-aggrandizing John McLernand is trying to set up his own independent Union army. Can Ulysses keep the influential, interloping politician-turned-general in check? And can Ulysses and William Tecumseh Sherman take Vicksburg, Mississippi while they're at it? We shall see. Or hear, as the case may be. Here we go. Little Mac is finally out of command.

It's the end of an era. I mentioned his getting fired oh so briefly at the end of episode 52, but now you've heard how it really went down. And truth be told, if the cocksure young Napoleon were a little more self-aware, he might have seen his termination coming. I mean, the President of the United States only personally reviewed the Army of the Potomac in early October. Never a good sign when the boss drops everything to look over your work. Lincoln then sent messages urging Little Mac to take the fight to Robert E. Lee throughout the rest of the month. The gangly President's October 13th letter pointedly called out Little Mac. My dear sir, you remember my speaking to you of what I called your overcautiousness.

Are you not overcautious when you assume that you cannot do what the enemy is doing? Ouch. Still, Little Mac didn't move, and soon thereafter, he informed Lincoln that his cavalry horses were too fatigued to pursue Bobby Lee. Honest Abe was quite displeased. He telegrammed back this little gem. I have just read your dispatch about sore-tongued and fatigued horses. Will you pardon me for asking what the horses of your army have done since the Battle of Antietam that fatigue anything? And that, ladies and gents, might be the most sarcastic two sentences ever penned or uttered by a U.S. president.

Yet little Mac was much surprised at getting fired. Wow. Maybe he's one of those doesn't-get-sarcasm types? Oh well. So as the Democrats bemoan young Napoleon's firing as being political, and the Republicans call it strong leadership, I know, textbook partisan politics, poor Ambrose Burnside takes command of the roughly 120,000-strong Army of the Potomac. He officially replaced his Little Mac on November 9th, only two days after General Catharines Buckingham awoke him to deliver the news. It's late enough in the year that many might think it's time to make winter's camp and pick up fighting in the spring, but Ambrose knows that won't do, not when Lincoln's elevated him

to this role specifically because Little Mac was overly cautious, slow, and timid. The president, the public, and the media all expect results. Fast. So the newly christened commander hashes out a plan to move post-haste on the Confederate capital of Richmond. Here's his idea. Starting at his headquarters in Warrington, Virginia. Think 50 miles west-southwest of Washington, D.C. Ambrose proposes that his army will make some feigning movements, then beeline at 40 miles south-southeast to Falmouth, which lay on the north side of Virginia's Rappahannock River. The army will next cross this waterway, entering Fredericksburg.

For this to work, though, Washington leadership will need to send pontoons, which are basically boats on which a temporary bridge can be built. This will be crucial. Otherwise, Ambrose's men will be stuck at Falmouth. As long as this is done, the army of the Potomac can take Fredericksburg, then quickly descend the last 60 miles south to sack the CSA's capital. The war could be over by Christmas. Ambrose sends this bold plan up the chain to Henry Oldbrain's Halleck. The double-chinned general-in-chief heads out to Warrington to discuss this plan with Ambrose on a snowy November 12th. Now, the Lincoln administration had already given its blessing to a different path for moving on Richmond back when Little Mac was in command. That path is longer, slower. It doesn't involve any pontoon bridges.

Old brains would prefer that Ambrose stick with that, but it's kind of hard to say no when the super sideburn general who doesn't even want this command is being aggressive, specifically because that's the expectation. So back in Washington City two days later, November 14th, Old Brain telegraphs Ambrose with Lincoln's tepid approval. Quote, he thinks that your plan will succeed if you move rapidly. Otherwise, not. Close quote. Not exactly a glowing recommendation, but if you're going to do this, best get a move on, Ambrose. He quickly reorganizes his army of seven corps into three grand divisions, each consisting of two corps with the 7,000 reserves,

and, confident that he can count on those pontoon bridges, gets the army of the Potomac marching out the very next day. These troops hightail it to Falmouth. Despite rain, severe fatigue, and harassing fire from cavalry led by a Confederate general most likely to be mistaken for a Renaissance cosplayer, Jeb Stuart, Ambrose's advanced corps makes the 40-mile trek in two days. The rest of his 120,000 soldiers are there within four. Robert E. Lee, or Bobby, as his friends call him, is quite surprised at this rapid movement.

Hell yes, you got this, Ambrose. There's just one problem. There isn't a pontoon bridge in sight. Here's the deal. Old Brains issued the order for the pontoons, but didn't really specify the urgency of the order. When engineer and captain Ira Spalins issued the order for the pontoons, but didn't really specify the urgency of the order. When engineer and captain Ira Spalding got the order, he didn't know he needed to send those immediately. He thought this was more of a, yes, I will take the $1 credit and forgo prime shipping situation. A number of other high-ranking types were directly or indirectly tied into these conversations. General Daniel P. Woodbury, even the Wizard of Railroads Herman Haupt. But the long and short is that Ambrose Burnside moved

decisively with faith in bureaucrats who spectacularly miscommunicated and completely dropped the ball. Now he'll just have to wait for those precious, buoyant pontoons. And while he waits, the federal advantage over Bobby Lee is quickly fading. The Confederate commander has time to get to Fredericksburg and call in reinforcements. Bobby Lee himself arrives at Fredericksburg on November 20th, followed by forces under his dependable old warhorse, General James Longstreet on the 23rd. Of course, Thomas Stonewall Jackson and his men, way out in the Shenandoah Valley, strike their usual superhuman pace and charge a furious 175 miles in a mere 12 days.

While thanking God for news that his wife Anna has given birth to their beautiful new daughter, how thankful I am to our kind Heavenly Father, he writes, Stonewall's pace never slackens. His forces are at Fredericksburg by December 4th. By this point, Bobby Lee has some 75,000 troops preparing to defend the town and miles of riverbank. So much for Ambrose's plan to cross the Rappahannock and catch the Confederates unprepared. To be fair, we can't let Ambrose's groundbreaking beard game lull us into

giving him a complete pass. One of his Grand Division commanders, Major General Edwin Sumner, suggested allowing his forces to ford the river shortly after they arrived at Falmouth. Fearing continued rain would leave them stuck on the other side of the Rappahannock, though, Ambrose refused. Another bold move could have been made in late November. The pontoons began arriving on November 24th, with most of them rolling in on wagons by the 27th. Still risky, but he could have tried crossing at this point. Okay, so he didn't come up with an amazing plan B on the spot. What should Ambrose do now, though? Perhaps the wise move is not to move.

Just make Winters camp. But the pressure to attack is still on. Whether it's fair or not, and it's not, if Ambrose doesn't do anything, he'll be branded another Little Mac. Despite the fact that a little caution and patience might actually be the better course of action here, the people want to see decisive action. Even sagacious Lincoln falls prey to this line of thinking. He meets Ambrose for a chat on November 26th, right as those pontoons are showing up. But no better plan comes from that meeting.

Days pass. Ambrose continues to waffle and feel pressure. Pressure from the American people, from the media, and despite Lincoln's reassurances that he doesn't want a premature battle from the president. After all, his emancipation proclamation goes into effect in only another month. Let's not pretend that's not factoring into Lincoln's or Ambrose's mental calculus. The union wants a fresh win. And its self-doubting, pressured commander of the Army of the Potomac means to make that happen. Want to learn how you can make smarter decisions with your money? Well, I've got the podcast for you.

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We're Jen. And Jenny. From Ancient History Fangirl. We tell you true stories and tall tales of the ancient world. Sometimes we do it tipsy. Sometimes we have amazing guests on our show. Historians like Barry Strauss, podcasters like Liv Albert, Mike Duncan, and authors like Joanne Harris and Ben Aronovich. We take you to the top of Hadrian's Wall to watch

the Roman Empire fall at the end of the world. We walk the catacombs beneath the Temple of the Feathered Serpent under Teotihuacan. We walk the sacred spirals of the Nazca Lines in search of ancient secrets. And we explore mythology from ancient cultures around the world. Come find us at ancienthistoryfangirl.com or wherever you get your podcasts. After more than a week of searching for a location where his army can use their pontoons to cross the Rappahannock in safety, Ambrose finally accepts that just isn't possible. If he's going to do this, he'll have to lay out his bridge amid Confederate fire. The Union commander also makes a brazen choice about where. Convinced that Bobby Lee will expect

him to cross above or below the town, Ambrose decides to place some pontoon bridges in what curiously seems the most vulnerable point, right in front of Fredericksburg itself. It's now 3 a.m. December 11, 1862. Federal engineers pull pontoons from their wagons to the frigid Rappahannock's edge and shove them into the icy water. They next anchor these long, narrow boats. With enough in place, they begin laying out planks and driving nails into them, crafting the beginning of six separate bridges, three going straight at the town and three others at a separate location just down the river.

It's not long, though, before vigilant Confederates take action. At 4 a.m., they fire two signal guns. As Confederate artillery officer Edward Porter Alexander tells us, putting our 60,000 men in motion for their positions and letting the enemy's 120,000 know that we were ready for them. Edward isn't kidding about being ready. It's a foggy, freezing morning, but once daylight breaks and federal engineers are close enough to Fredericksburg for the Confederates to make

out their silhouettes, William Barksdale's Mississippi sharpshooters start picking them up. Things only become more difficult for the Union as the fog melts before the rising sun, taking away the closest thing its engineers had for cover against the 1,800 Mississippi rifles aimed at them. Those brave enough to continue construction on the bridges right in front of Fredericksburg drop like flies. It's not even 11 in the morning yet, and 50 New Yorkers are sprawled across these half-built bridges, some wounded, others dead. Engineers downriver are seeing less resistance and having more success, but Ambrose is not willing to shuttle his entire army across that singular point. As noon approaches, he instead decides to take things to the next level. He orders his artillery

to fire on the town. I'll let Confederate artillery officer Edward Porter Alexander describe the scene. He ordered that every gun within range should be turned upon the town and should throw fiery shells into it as fast as they could do it. In front was the three-mile line of angry blazing guns firing through the white clouds of smoke and almost shaking the earth with their roar. Over and in the town, the white winkings of the bursting shells reminded one of a countless swarm of fireflies. Several buildings were set on fire, and their black smoke rose in remarkably slender, straight, and tall columns for 200 feet. In other words, Union artillery is nearly leveling Fredericksburg.

Edward assures us that there are no civilian casualties, though low is probably the better word for it. Most of Fredericksburg's 5,000 residents have already fled. More left this morning and are now hiding in the woods. Still, the site is horrific. This is one of the first times either side has unabashedly laid waste to a town and risked striking civilians, including women and children. Up on the high ground, witnessing the bombardment, Bobby Lee expresses his shock at such tactics. These people delight to destroy the weak and those who can make no defense. It just suits them. Understandably, the emotional wound of seeing this is making Bob lash out, but he's wrong about a number of his foe, his countrymen.

Many Union soldiers are just as sickened at the sight of devastation befalling the town whose streets the divided nation's founding father, George Washington, once walked. His mother, Mary Ball Washington, passed away in her Fredericksburg home, for God's sake. This kind of shock won't register in the future, after everyone gets used to it though. As the Civil War approaches the end of its second year, we're witnessing its shift from being a gentleman's war that tries to exclude civilians to one of total war. Another display of the conflict's escalated, grittier fighting comes when the bombardment ends at 2.30 that afternoon. The Federals now do what

our Confederate chronicler, Edward, believes, quote, they should have done at first, before daylight in the morning. They ran two or three regiments down in the pontoon boats and rowed across. Close quote. Hundreds of Massachusetts, Michigan, and New York soldiers sweep through the town, combating the Mississippian sharpshooters in the streets and homes of Fredericksburg as federal engineers finish bridges, allowing still more troops to cross and join the action. Fighting continues until daylight expires as the Confederates in town are finally forced to retreat. Ambrose could push his far larger army across the bridges the same night. He doesn't.

He's rethinking his strategy instead. Valuable time is lost as Bobby Lee continues to prepare his seven-mile-long defensive lines. The majority of the Army of the Potomac finally crosses the bridges the next day. The first Northerners into Fredericksburg survey the incredible damage. Having little to do as the rest of their over 100,000 brothers-in-arms cross, some devolve to thieving and plundering, then outright vandalism. They take food, destroy books, shatter glassware, and smashed valuable furniture and expensive pianos. Ambrose's provost marshal tries to put an end to this by whipping any troops he catches with his riding crop, but little comfort this will bring the people of Fredericksburg.

These actions and still more at other battlefields to come will haunt southern perceptions of northerners, those damn Yankees as they're coming to be called in the CSA for generations to come. The real battle will take place the next day, but first, let me verbally paint a picture of the geography that's about to become a battlefield. The Rappahannock is a long, southeast-flowing river that ultimately empties into the Chesapeake Bay, and Fredericksburg lays on its southwest bank, crossing from the northeast side. Almost east side given how the river flows here, Ambrose's pontoon bridges are grouped into two areas, one set that crosses directly into Fredericksburg, and another crossing a few miles

farther downstream and south-southeast of the town. Both points have elevations that offer a defensive high ground to Bobby Lee's army of northern Virginia. Of special note is a ridge that lays just west of Fredericksburg called Marie's Heights. Keep that one in mind. It'll be crucial later. Okay, so river, town, two points where the Union crossed yesterday, and the Confederacy's defensive ridges. Got that picture in your head? All right then. I'll tell you what happens at the lower crossing first. Then we'll head upriver to hear about the other.

Let the carnage begin. It's now 8.30 in the morning, December 13th. A nearly impenetrable fog makes it hard for Yanks and rebels alike to see much of anything. Making good use of this lack of visibility, Ambrose orders the Grand Division commander, General William Franklin, who's at the crossing below Fredericksburg, to move out with his men. They'll cross Richmond Road and a rail line that runs parallel to the river, under the fog's cover before advancing on the Confederate defenses in the wooded hills, perhaps a mile or so out. But a 24-year-old Confederate major serving under Jeb Stuart now surprises the Federal

soldiers with artillery fire. He only has two guns, one of which is quickly taken out, yet somehow keeps the boys in blue tied down with his 12 pounder as Union artillery fails to hit him. It is glorious to see such courage in one so young, Bobby Lee remarks as he watches this play out. This entire Union force is kept at bay for an hour until their young foe runs out of ammo and is forced to retreat. Union artillery now shifts to attacking the Confederate position on Tree-Covered Prospect Hill. An artillery duel ensues from about 11

until 12 noon. Convinced the Rebs' position must be weakened, William Franklin now sends infantry divisions under George Meade and John Gibbon to take the hill. Unfortunately for them, William is wrong. The Confederates aren't broken. They're just operating under the tactical genius of Stonewall Jackson. Sporting a new jacket and hat, both of which were way overdue, Stonewall is more than ready for the federal attack. The old Virginia Military Institute professor is dug in on Prospect Hill. It's only 65 feet high, but he's placed his men in four lines

a mile deep to compensate. Stonewall waits until the Federals are about 500 yards out, then unleashes his artillery on them, ripping holes in their lines. Around 1 p.m., the Pennsylvanians under George Meade fix bayonets and charge into a triangular formation of trees, expecting a fight. But no. They stumbled into a hole in the Confederate lines. George's men take advantage of this situation. They sneak up on Confederate defenses, literally shooting some soldiers in their backs, including Brigadier General Maxie Gregg. The South Carolinian dies from the wound days later. But their luck doesn't last. Steel blue-eyed, bearded stone walls, deep lines of defenses

were built for this very sort of scenario. He merely orders forward reinforcements who quickly give chase to the Pennsylvanians while letting loose their terrifying rebel yell. Both Union divisions take flight, fleeing the horror of Confederate rifle fire in the woods, only to be greeted by Confederate artillery as they dash past the rail line and the road. Having suffered roughly 5,000 casualties here already, the Union effort to break Bobby Lee's army at this crossing is over. Wow.

Perhaps Ambrose's army is faring better upriver? Let's go find out. Ambrose's Grand Division, under the command of General Edwin Sumner, is in Fredericksburg. And Ambrose has tasked Ed under the command of General Edwin Sumner is in Fredericksburg, and Ambrose has tasked Edwin with taking out the Confederates holding Marie's Heights, which, as you'll recall, is a steeply sloped ridge just west of the destroyed little town. This will require Union troops to pass through a 5-foot deep, 15-foot wide, partly water-filled canal ditch, then march across 500 yards of almost completely open plain. At this point, the sunken telegraph road and its thick, solid, four foot tall stone wall enables Confederates to stand two to three men deep while still protected.

Finally, Confederate artillery sits even higher up the hill. Unfortunately for the Union, they can't see with the naked eye just how well protected this position is. Major General William French's division is the first sent to attack. Just before noon, they move through the streets of Fredericksburg, toward the canal, then toward the open field. Once there, General James Longstreet's artillery opened fire. Holes are torn in their lines, yet they continue to advance. As they finally come within some proximity of the stone wall, though, they learn what Union scouts could not, that the wall is manned by thousands of Confederate riflemen. With almost continuous machine gun-like fire, the rebels cut the divisions down.

Men fall by the hundreds. Those who survive only do so by laying in a depression in the field. This systematic killing of Union troops simply repeats itself as Ambrose, either not learning or unwilling to admit defeat, continues to send more units from both Edwin Sumner's and Joseph Hooker's Grand Divisions. William Hancock, Oliver O. Howard, Samuel Sturgis, George Getty, Andrew Humphreys, they and so many others lead their men to their deaths by the thousands until nightfall. Not a single Union man of the 14 brigades involved in this slaughter get within 50 yards of the stone wall at Telegraph Road. In the matter of a single afternoon, the fighting at Marie's Heights

results in roughly 8,000 Union casualties. The Confederates suffered less than 2,000, though one in particular is quite noteworthy, General Thomas Cobb. The Georgian commander was one of the principal architects and signers of the Confederate Declaration of Independence. That night and the next day, December 14th, the cries of the Union wounded, laying like a sea of death on the open field,

rend the air. Calls for help, water, loved ones. Neither Federal nor Confederate dares to venture out to help. Apart from Sergeant Richard Kirkland, that is. This South Carolinian Confederate alone risks his life by going onto the field to give water to Confederate and Union soldiers alike. Union troops cheer him on once they realize Richard is performing what we might call the first truly good deed we've witnessed since coming to Fredericksburg. This ends the battle. After Ambrose's men talk him out of personally leading a suicide mission charge up the hill,

he agrees to throw in the towel and instead leads his army in a retreat back across the Rappahannock on December 15th. Between the fighting at Marie's Heights and below the town, Bobby Lee's 75,000-strong Army of Northern Virginia suffered 5,309 casualties. It did so while inflicting a staggering 12,653 casualties on the Union's 120,000-man Army of the Potomac. Wounded Union soldiers flood into Washington, D.C. Author Walt Whitman travels from New York to the Capitol to see if he can help. He writes a letter home, stating, quote, I go around from one case to another. I do not feel that I do much good to these wounded and dying, but I cannot leave them. Close quote.

Fredericksburg was nothing short of a disaster for the Union. Of course, Ambrose Burnside takes the fall for this loss up north. Many Yankees would have agreed with the Confederate officer who said, quote, If the world had been searched by Burnside for a location in which his army could be best defeated and where an attack should not have been made, he should have selected this very spot. But you know, I feel for Ambrose. Washington bureaucrats didn't get him those pontoons on time. No Union man could have known just how strong

Confederate defenses were at Marie's Heights, and decisions by some of his subordinates, such as General William Franklin at the crossing down river from the town, were questionable. But even if we put all those considerations aside, perhaps leaders and the American public should listen when someone like Ambrose says, I'm not command material. Unfortunately for nearly 13,000 federal soldiers and the Union war effort, no one did. A few weeks later, in January 1863, Ambrose leads his army to another point on the Rappahannock River, called Banks Ford, with hopes of still charging down to Richmond. He wants to salvage his

reputation. Instead, his army gets stuck in thick mud caused by torrential rain. And I kid you not, Confederates put up signs along the river reading, quote, Yanks, if you can't place your pontoons yourself, we will send help. Close quote. Damn, that's some quality razzing right there. And this does him in. After his mud march, as it's called, Ambrose and his handsome sideburns are relieved of command of the army of the Potomac. It will now go to the very man he hoped to keep it from, the politically maneuvering general, Joseph Hooker. Poor Ambrose. Poor everyone, frankly. But we're not done. After all, Virginia isn't the only theater of war in

late 1862. We need to head out west to the Mississippi Valley, where our old friend Ulysses S. Grant is navigating a politic in general while making a move on Vicksburg, Mississippi. Of course, to follow all of this, we need to go back a few months and catch up with Ulysses. So, here we go. Rewind. It's been a while since those of us who are of age sat down with Ulysses Grant for cigars and whiskey. Don't drink or smoke, kids, and stay in school. But to remind you, we last left the chain-smoking pugnacious general at Corinth, Mississippi in episode 50. Following the Union's successful capture of that critical railroad junction in May 1862, Henry Oldbrain's Halleck gets tapped by the president to serve as general-in-chief, and

Ulysses' unconditional surrender Grant receives command of the Department of Tennessee. Things have continued well enough since then. Between October 3rd and 4th, one of Grant's rising star subordinates, General William Rosecrans, beats back the Confederates in the Second Battle of Corinth as they try

to take it back. The next logical step, then, is for Ulysses to make a move on Vicksburg, Mississippi. Thanks to Union Admiral David Farragut capturing his old hometown of New Orleans last April, as we also heard about in episode 50, Vicksburg is the last Confederate holdout along the Mississippi River. Its fall would fully reopen this vital waterway to Union trade and military needs. It would also, as Ulysses S. Grant biographer Ron Chernow later put it, quote, slice the Confederacy in two, separating Eastern soldiers from Western supplies, close quote. But Ulysses has a problem beyond the usual gig of fighting rebels,

and that problem is named John McLernand. Dark-featured and bearded, John is highly intelligent and capable. He's also considered by many to be an egotistical a**hole. Sorry for such language, but I really couldn't think of a stronger word to use. Yet, as a Kentucky-born, Springfield, Illinois transplant, lawyer, and former Democratic U.S. Congressman for Lincoln's home district, the now Brigadier General John McLernand nonetheless has the presidency here. They've simply crossed paths in about five ways too many for it to be otherwise. So in the fall of 1862, John approaches Lincoln with a proposal. He wants the independent command of troops out west so he can go capture Vicksburg. And just to be clear, when I say independent, I mean he will not have to answer to Ulysses S. Grant. Self-aggrandizing John wants the glory all to himself. For the record, this Illinois Democrat has thrown Ulysses under

the bus more than a few times in the past. John was behind the drinking charges that almost derailed the hard-fighting general when the war first started. John's also taken credit for more than a few of Ulysses' accomplishments on the battlefield. Basically, General McLaren sees General Grant as a base drunk and will gladly step on or smear him. Now, Lincoln doesn't realize what a great general Ulysses is at this point, and appeasing John is a great opportunity to ingratiate himself with the Democrats. So the president acquiesces to his fellow Illinoisan and gives him authority to raise his own independent, not-under-Grant band of troops to lay siege to Vicksburg. to his fellow Illinoisan and gives him authority to raise his own independent, not under grant, band of troops to lay siege to Vicksburg. John starts recruiting immediately and sending these

men to gather about 100 miles west of Corinth in Memphis, Tennessee. Ulysses pissed. He feels disrespected and furthermore, this Ohioan leader of men firmly holds that two commanders on the same field are always one too many. So he makes a sly move of his own. He writes to General-in-Chief Henry Halleck, requesting clarity on his command. He is the commander in the West, is he not? Now Henry and Ulysses are a far cry from BFFs, but as a fairly snooty West Point grad, Old Brains is no fan of the mostly self-educated John McLaren either.

He's picking up what Ulysses is putting down and telegraphs back. You have command of all the troops sent to your department and have permission to fight the enemy when you please. Ah, did you catch that subtle key word in that response? Sent. If Ulysses has command of all troops sent to his district, regardless of who raised them, how, and so forth, well, that means old brains just gave him permission to undercut John before John can undercut him. Ulysses instructs his actual BFF, William Tecumseh Sherman, or Cump, as he is called by his friends, to head down to Memphis, take John's recruits, and add them to his

own army. Cump does so on December 19th. John arrives in Memphis just over a week later, thoroughly embarrassed and outraged to find his army missing. Now, Kump isn't just taking these men for a hike through the beautiful Delta National Forest. They're going to take Vicksburg without that selfish John McLaren. The plan is this. Kump will move down to Chickasaw Bayou and hit Vicksburg from its north, while David Porter of episode 50 fame strikes the Mississippi River town with his gunboats. At the same time, Ulysses is going to attack the

state's capital, Jackson. Laying only 50 miles or so east of Vicksburg, this will force the rebels to fight a two-front battle. It's a solid plan. Unfortunately for them, Nathan Bedford Forrest and Earl Van Doren's Confederate cavalry are going to complicate things considerably. We met Nathan back at Shiloh in episode 48. Raised in poverty, this backwoods planter and slave trader with a thick goatee and full hair strikes fear into the hearts of Union men with his unparalleled skill in the saddle. Forrest and his 2,000 men ride hard through the region, ripping up at least 50 miles of railroad, cutting telegraph lines, and destroying material while also injuring or killing 2,000 Union troops. Meanwhile, mustachioed Earl Van Dorn and his 3,500 men brilliantly and brazenly destroy a Union supply depot at Holly Springs.

They capture 1,500 boys in blue while putting rations and rail cars to flame. Cut off from his supply line, Ulysses can no longer support Kump. He's forced to retreat. Worse still for the dynamic duo, those cut telegraph lines mean that Ulysses can't get word to Kump that he isn't going to make it. So T'Kumpsa has no idea that he's missing his wingman as he transports his 31,000 men into the Yazoo River on December 26th. After three days, he too is forced to retreat. The Union suffers nearly 1,800 casualties, while Confederate losses barely break 200.

Ulysses may have managed to outmaneuver self-centered John McLernan, but Nathan Bedford Forrest and Earl Van Dorn have effectively stopped him from taking Vicksburg for the time being. Northerners are despondent. As 1862 gives way to 1863, I'm sure abolitionists and Republicans would like to celebrate the Emancipation Proclamation taking effect. But Ambrose Burnside's loss at Fredericksburg and these further setbacks in the Mississippi Valley really put a damper on the mood. Yet the Confederates can hardly celebrate either. Even with a big win at Fredericksburg, the harsh reality is that the Union has the means to outfit more men and continue to come at them. This civil war is now approaching its third year, bringing with it famine, a military draft on both

sides, and more political division. But we'll have to wait until next time to hear those stories. History That Doesn't Suck is created and hosted by me, Greg Jackson. Researching and writing, Greg Jackson and C.L. Salazar. Production and sound design, Josh Beatty of J.B. Audio Design. Musical score, composed and performed by Greg Jackson and Diana Averill. For a bibliography of all primary and secondary sources consulted in writing this episode, visit historythatdoesntsuck.com. Join me in two weeks

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