General Grant and the Verdict of History: Memoir, Memory, and the Civil War

By Frank P. Varney

General Ulysses S. Grant is best remembered today as a war-winning general, and he certainly deserves credit for his efforts on behalf of the Union. But has he received too much credit at the expense of other men? Have others who fought the war with him suffered unfairly at his hands? General Grant and the Verdict of History: Memoir, Memory, and the Civil War
explores these issues.

Professor Frank P. Varney examines Grant’s relationship with three noted Civil War generals: the brash and uncompromising “Fighting Joe” Hooker; George H. Thomas, the stellar commander who earned the sobriquet “Rock of Chickamauga”; and Gouverneur Kemble Warren, who served honorably and well in every major action of the Army of the Potomac before being relieved less than two weeks before Appomattox, and only after he had played a prominent part in the major Union victory at Five Forks.

In his earlier book General Grant and the Rewriting of History, Dr. Varney studied the tempestuous relationship between Grant and Union General William S. Rosecrans. During the war, Rosecrans was considered by many of his contemporaries to be on par with Grant himself; today, he is largely forgotten. Rosecrans’s star dimmed, argues Varney, because Grant orchestrated the effort. Unbeknownst to most students of the war, Grant used his official reports, interviews with the press, and his memoirs to influence how future generations would remember the war and his part in it. Aided greatly by his two terms as president, by the clarity and eloquence of his memoirs, and in particular by the dramatic backdrop against which those memoirs were written, our historical memory has been influenced to a degree greater than many realize.

It is beyond time to return to the original sources—the letters, journals, reports, and memoirs of other witnesses and the transcripts of courts-martial— to examine Grant’s story from a fresh perspective. The results are enlightening and more than a little disturbing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Savas Beatie
• Release date: Mar 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9781611215540

Frank P. Varney

Frank Varney earned his undergraduate degree at William Paterson University and his M.A. and Ph.D. at Cornell University. He is a recently retired Distinguished Professor of U.S. and Classical History and has been the recipient of multiple teaching awards. Dr. Varney is available to take student groups to historic sites—especially Civil War battlefields—and is a frequent speaker at Civil War roundtables, historical societies, and other interested groups. He has been the keynote speaker at several veterans’ memorial dedications and has made numerous radio and TV appearances.

Book preview

Preface

History will be kind to me, for I intend to write it.¹

— Winston Churchill

This is the second volume of two. If you have not yet read the first book, do not fret. First, it is still available. Second, you do not need to have read that book to enjoy this one. If experience is any teacher—and as a teacher and historian I pretty much have to believe that—this book will upset a few people and please many others. When the first volume of this series was released, I fully expected that some people would not like it. That is what happens when you upset the apple cart of history.

Since the Civil War ended—indeed, even while it was still going on—people began forming judgments as to the relative merits of the participants. And at the same time the stories began to take shape about what happened on various battlefields. Like every other student of the conflict, having spent decades reading everything I could get my hands on about the subject I thought I knew what had happened, within certain broad limits. Admittedly there were nuances I did not fully grasp, or details I did not know. It would take people with either much better memories than mine or much larger egos to be certain that they knew everything there was to know about such a broad subject. But I was pretty sure that I had a reasonably good handle on the larger sweep of the war.

But while doing the research for the first volume—and ultimately in this volume as well—I began to realize that a great deal of what I thought I knew about the greatest and bloodiest of America’s conflicts was, in fact, not true. Generations of scholars, with no malice or intent to deceive whatsoever, had propagated a myth. One of the first statements about the study of history that I heard in graduate school was we stand on the shoulders of giants. Indeed we do. And if we did not, it would be impossible to make any headway. It is not fair to expect every historian to go back and recheck every detail in the primary sources. Legions have come before us and have left an outstanding body of work. Unfortunately, the casual assumption that we can always rely on what others have written can trip us up.

A few readers have commented that although they found the first volume of this series fascinating, they were uncomfortable with what they viewed as attacks on other historians. Why do you have to say this person was wrong, and then go and show exactly where he slipped up? Isn’t that kind of mean? To which I can only reply by saying what I tell my students. Making a statement is not enough. That only gives your opinion. You then need to back up that statement with facts. And that is what I have done. Simply stating Many historians say something does not address the magnitude of the issue. I have to give examples of what has been said, how often it has been said, and who has said it: and perhaps most importantly, why it was said. I also need to show how this constant repetition of errors has caused us to be misinformed about what really happened. And without pointing out, in quote after quote, how many historians have simply served up the same errors over and over, I will not have made an argument, let alone offered proof. At no time was I interested in attacking anyone. But if something is wrong, it is wrong. I have never asserted that those historians attempted to deceive anyone, or that they had any ulterior motive.

One of the people who came in for the strongest criticism in the first volume, and will come in for a share of it in the second volume, is Ed Bonekemper, author of several books on Ulysses S. Grant. When the first book was released, Mr. Bonekemper was the editor of one of the largest mass-market publications on the Civil War, and I was concerned as to what his reaction might be. Would he savage me in print before a huge audience? Ultimately, I decided not to be swayed by those considerations but to tell my readers what I had found; and when Bonekemper reviewed my work he was, to my relief, lavish in his praise and gracious in his acknowledgment of my critique. As historian Larry Daniel once told me, Disagreeing is how we advance the field. As long as it’s done respectfully no one should be upset.²

I met much the same reaction from other historians. (Although one whose work I was critical of apparently encouraged a graduate student to make a slashing attack in a biased review, replete with ample evidence that he had missed the entire point of the book. As a reward, that graduate student was published in a book edited by his mentor—who seems to have earned an excellent reputation by essentially writing the same things over and over again). Another historian apparently had an epiphany of sorts. A year after my book was published, after years of making the same old arguments about the battle, he published an article in which he reversed his field regarding some of the events of Chickamauga and said many of the same things I had said—without, however, any mention of my work. One historian even penned a review that he began by acknowledging that he had not actually read the book. But since he had been told that it disagreed with his own work, he was not impressed by it, and went on to write an unfavorable review of a book he admittedly had not read.

And small wonder; once an historian has invested much of his reputation in constructing a particular interpretation of history, anything that threatens to change that image might be considered a potential problem. My work, and that of others who are following the same path—David Moore, David Powell, Joseph Rose, Rob Girardi and Paula Walker, Phillip Leigh, and Diane Monroe Smith, to name only a few who are examining Grant in a new and more critical light—promises to hold up a mirror, which may be unflattering at times, not only to Grant but to historians who have relied heavily on his writings.

The greatest percentage of responses to the book have been overwhelmingly positive, however; and most of the negative responses have not been from people in the historical community, who have been generally quite supportive. One venerable historian even told me that I was doing God’s work by setting the record straight. The strongest adverse reactions have been from the folks who cherish Grant as an icon and resent any perceived attack on him. A few people said that Grant’s poor health when he wrote his memoirs excused his errors.

Although it might explain his mistakes, it does not excuse them. And of course his poor health does not explain or justify some of the things he said and did years earlier. Several online critics began their reviews with something along the lines of I haven’t read this book, and I will not. I simply cannot understand what would motivate someone to attack a great man. They branded me and my colleagues revisionist historians, as though that were an insult. Then they reviewed the book while admitting that they had not read it.

Had those people taken the trouble to read the book, they might have found that at the time I wrote it, I still greatly admired Ulysses S. Grant. I simply viewed him as someone who did not take criticism well, who was good at holding grudges, and who had his own agenda. That does not make him a bad general or a bad person. It just makes him a fallible human being, like the rest of us. My issue with him is not his generalship, or even his character: it is with the unfairly negative view he gave us of the generalship of others. The first volume examined the relationship between Grant and William S. Rosecrans. This one looks at Grant’s relationships with Joseph Hooker, George H. Thomas, and Gouverneur K. Warren.

Grant was, and remains, a lightning rod for controversy. One of the things I found curious was how some people criticized me for being too hard on Grant, even as others criticized me for not being tough enough. But judging by the volume and tone of the many responses I have received, most serious students of the war think I got it right. I have tried to reply to all of those letters and emails, but if I missed anyone please accept my apology—and my thanks for your support and encouragement. In fact, the book was a finalist for the prestigious Albert Castel award, which indicates that many historians and researchers found it persuasive and worthwhile.

One thing I found interesting is how many active duty or retired army officers contacted me to tell me how much they enjoyed my work, and to assure me that the politics of command still worked precisely as I described it. The highest-ranking officer who read it (as far as I know) was a lieutenant general, who then bought another copy to give as a gift to a brother officer. I have also spoken many times before groups of Civil War enthusiasts, who have been universally supportive and intrigued. Two judges (one of them a federal judge), three attorneys (two prosecutors and a defense attorney) and a Chicago homicide detective—all people who have some experience in the investigation of a case and/or the construction of an argument—have told me that they found the case I made to be compelling. As one of the judges told me, You construct a powerful circumstantial case; and I have seen men go to prison on far weaker circumstantial cases than this one.

So how did so many fine historians get some of it wrong? And how did I, and many other students of the war, come to have a flawed understanding of some of its most important personalities and events? It is actually not that complicated. Living in the information age as we do, we have repeatedly seen examples of how stories repeated over and over come to be accepted as fact. Before long we assume that we know what happened, because every book we pick up says the same thing; and some of those books are by award-winning historians of international renown. But when you begin tracing the thread back to the beginning, you might find that at the beginning the scholarship was limited to one or two sources. And when you realize that those sources had a motive to massage the truth, you begin to wonder if what you have always accepted as fact is actually true. And if you then begin looking at other sources, some of them overlooked for more than a century, you just might begin getting a different picture of what really happened. And that is when things get really interesting.

It would be unfair to criticize every historian for not going back and verifying every primary source. There simply is not sufficient time, and often the subject they were researching did not require that they dig down to the bedrock of the truth. Besides, we all thought we knew the basics. But since I was looking at certain specific events and people—and looking at them through a different lens—I dug deeper than I might otherwise have done. And what I found may surprise you as much as it surprised me.

1 Or was it Ulysses S. Grant?

2 Larry Daniel, in a phone conversation with the author, 2000.

Introduction

The truth is rarely pure, and never simple.

— Oscar Wilde

To some people, history is fixed and unchanging. What they have always known is what they choose to believe, and any challenge to that belief is somehow viewed as an attack or an insult. But, of course, history changes all the time. Historians constantly find new sources or new perspectives from which to view the past. That should be welcomed, not greeted with outrage.

Yet when it comes to historical icons, there are those who react with unreasoning fury to any challenge to their preconceived myths. As sad as it is when the general public has that response, it is even sadder when professional historians abandon their responsibility to the truth so that they can reject any new argument, often without even really listening to what it says. And people who have no difficulty believing that today’s politicians and public figures can be corrupt and flawed often have trouble believing it of certain politicians and public figures of the past, as though time and distance has somehow cleansed their reputations; or as though we need to believe that heroes used to be perfect.

Ulysses S. Grant has long been viewed as one of the finest generals in American history, the man who won the Civil War. That is true, up to a point; but he did not win the war all by himself. And it is certainly not unreasonable to examine what all of those other generals who helped win the war have to say. The current rush to defend or refurbish Grant’s reputation flies in the face of myriad truths. It is interesting that some claim that any attempt to examine Grant in the unblinking light of fact is actually a premeditated attempt to tarnish him, while those same people are willing to see any efforts to defend him—no matter how unreasonable or premeditated—as perfectly acceptable.

A friend recently told me that her employer brought in a consultant to advise his staff about clarity in writing, and that the consultant used Ulysses S. Grant’s memoirs as an example of such clarity: this precisely illustrates the problem. Grant wrote well. He expressed himself clearly and eloquently, and gave the impression of honesty and balance, even in instances where what he wrote was neither honest nor balanced. He has therefore led the unwary into blind acceptance of what he said, as though he were somehow above the debates over the truth and what it might mean.

Only by dispassionately examining the past, and by giving ear to more than one voice, can we come to a balanced understanding of our own history. Grant’s memoirs, no matter how entertaining or well-written, no matter how dramatic the circumstances of their genesis, should not be allowed to stand as the sole arbiter of truth. For the sake of Grant’s enemies, for the sake of his victims—and yes, he had victims—and for the sake of historical truth, we must be willing to set aside preconceptions and consider anew, as for the very first time, just what really happened all those years ago. Let us lift the veil of the past, and by examining the documents and listening to the voices of other men and women, learn the truth. Sometimes the process can be painful. That does not, however, mean that we should turn our back on it. To those who say that to seek honest history is somehow dishonest, even immoral, I would simply say: the truth is there, if we but have the courage to look.

Chapter 1

Fighting Joe Hooker

The Context

According to one Civil War historian, As 1863 was drawing to a close, Ulysses S. Grant could look back at an unbroken series of successes, including Forts Henry and Donelson, Shiloh, Iuka, Corinth, Vicksburg, and Chattanooga. When that list is examined more closely—and with reference to other sources than just Grant’s memoirs—only Donelson and Vicksburg can be fully credited to Grant. Although the Vicksburg campaign was highly successful, Shiloh nearly ended in disaster. In the opinion of some participants, Grant, who had come very near to losing through a total lack of preparation, got too much credit for the ultimate victory. The arrival of Don Carlos Buell’s army enabled Grant to succeed on day two after his massive failure on the first day, although Grant successfully took credit for the victory. ¹

As far as the other battles on that list for which Grant has received credit, Fort Henry was taken by Federal ironclads before Grant’s infantry reached the scene, while Iuka and Corinth were won by General William S. Rosecrans with minimal assistance from Grant. Although he was the army commander in both cases, Grant was nowhere near either battlefield and contributed nothing on the tactical level. During the fighting at Iuka he was never closer than eight miles from the action and apparently inactive—and quite possibly inebriated—while during the Battle of Corinth he was more than fifty miles away and out of telegraphic contact much of the time. At Iuka, his contributions to the battle were more negative than positive in that he held General Ord’s column in place while Rosecrans and his men fought alone. As we shall see, Chattanooga was a victory in which Grant, while certainly playing a major role, took credit for events that were contrary to his original plan. But as 1863 drew to a close, Grant was looking ahead. And one of the things he saw in the immediate future was the need to establish a working relationship with Major General Joseph Hooker.²

Major General Joseph Hooker Library of Congress

Ulysses S. Grant did not like Joe Hooker very much and devalued his contribution to Union victory, as he did with William Rosecrans and other generals as well. To be sure, Fighting Joe Hooker was a controversial figure, and Grant was not alone in disliking him. But his contribution to the cause of Union victory has been minimized, in part because of Grant’s manipulation and duplicity. Grant said I regarded him as a dangerous man. He was not subordinate to his superiors. He was ambitious to the extent of caring nothing for the rights of others. His disposition was, when engaged in battle, to get detached from the main body of the army and exercise a separate command, gathering to his standard all he could of his juniors.³

Hooker’s early service was in the Eastern Theater, where he rose from division command to lead the Army of the Potomac. He had an aggressive style that was at odds with some of his compatriots in that army. During the battle of White Oak Swamp, another command impeded Hooker’s advance, and an officer of that command told him that a crossing was impossible. Hooker’s reply was Get out of the way! I have two regiments here that can go anywhere! During the battle of South Mountain he exhibited his aggressiveness yet again, and at Antietam he not only came under direct enemy fire but was wounded. This style helped him earn the nickname Fighting Joe, a nickname which he did not actually much care for and was originally bestowed on him due to a misunderstood line in a report. Once promoted to army command, he did much to revitalize the army after it had been badly handled under Ambrose Burnside’s command. Then through a combination of circumstances—some of them his mistakes and some not remotely his fault—he was soundly beaten by Robert E. Lee at Chancellorsville.⁴

The army Hooker inherited from Ambrose Burnside was ineffective and demoralized. Hooker set to work rebuilding confidence, retraining where needed, and getting his men such new equipment as was available. He replaced some officers in whom he—and in some cases their men—lacked confidence. Just getting Burnside shipped out was a big step in the right direction, although he would land in the west with an independent command due to his seniority and political influence. There his ineptitude would do great harm to Rosecrans and the Army of the Cumberland during the Chickamauga campaign. To reduce the pernicious affects of malnutrition, Hooker required a more balanced diet for his troops whenever possible, rather than relying on the standard fare of hardtack and salt pork. Hooker also improved health and morale by insisting that his men clean up their camps and pay more attention to personal hygiene. Also through Hooker’s dogged efforts back pay, which had been the bane of all Union armies due to Secretary of War Edwin M. Stanton’s disinterest in it (which would lead a frustrated Rosecrans to tell Stanton that he had a screw loose somewhere) began to arrive.

Hooker also introduced Corps badges, which helped improve morale by providing a spirit of identity within a larger organization than the hometown company or regiment, and improved the ability of officers to instantly recognize units. He used tethered balloons as observation posts to keep track of enemy movements and troop dispositions, and in preparation for an offensive movement he had Gouverneur Kemble Warren, his chief topographical engineer, draw detailed maps of the relevant terrain. For the same purpose he ordered to be constructed observation towers that could be quickly assembled to provide observation points in areas where existing ones such as church steeples or hilltops were not available. But Hooker’s greatest achievement during this period might have been the revitalization of his cavalry arm. He brought together the units that had previously been deployed in penny packets, formed them into a large and cohesive striking force, and gave them a sense of purpose. Much more rigorous discipline was imposed than had been hitherto demanded. Camps of instruction were established, along with boards of examination, and officers found incompetent were replaced…Cavalrymen performed squadron and regimental drill daily, while occasional brigade drills and division reviews afforded the experience in the movement of large bodies of troops. Officers and NCOs were not exempt from demanding routine. During the evening . . . the NCOs recited cavalry tactics to the senior captain of the squadron, while the commissioned officers recited their lessons to the major. In the words of a sergeant who had served with the Army of the Potomac since Bull Run, and who would remain with it until the end of the war, Now Fighting Joe Hooker was in command, and hope again hovered over that stricken army. . . I think that the organization, morale, discipline, and efficiency of the Army of the Potomac had never been so good previously and was never any better afterward.⁵

Eventually, however, fighting would have to replace training. As had McClellan and Burnside before him, Hooker had to go into battle against Robert E. Lee and the Army of Northern Virginia. Faced by Lee across the field that had seen the Federal forces suffer a humiliating and appallingly bloody defeat at Fredericksburg when Hooker’s predecessor Ambrose Burnside attacked a strong defensive position across open ground, Hooker sought a way to force Lee out of his defenses and make him either fall back toward Richmond—abandoning the formidable line he held—or face the larger Union army in the open field. Hooker’s plan involved using one corps, under General John Sedgwick, to confront Lee across the Rappahannock River and deceive him into believing that the entire Army of the Potomac was still in position. Meanwhile the rest of the army would cross upstream and strike through a heavily-wooded region known as The Wilderness. Once they had gotten through that bottleneck and were in open country they would swing east and strike Lee’s flank and rear, forcing him to abandon his defenses and fight a much larger force on ground of Hooker’s choosing. Meanwhile the Union cavalry would operate on Lee’s line of communication, supply, and retreat. It was an excellent plan, even an ingenious one–in fact, prominent Civil War historian James I. Robertson would call it as brilliant as any conceived in the war.⁶

But it went wrong. The cavalry failed to carry out its task. Lee realized what was happening and dispatched Stonewall Jackson and his corps to meet the lead elements of the Northern army as they exited the heavy, tangled growth of the Wilderness; and Sedgwick, when summoned by Hooker, failed to drive his attack home against the rear of Lee’s army. Whether this was the result of negligence or whether Sedgwick was faced with an impossible task remains the subject of heated debate. Other things also went awry, as we shall see. But the bottom line is that Hooker’s plan failed and the Army of the Potomac was soundly defeated.

Among other charges leveled at Hooker after Chancellorsville is that he lost his nerve when Lee reacted more quickly to his movements than the Union commander had expected, which led him to withdraw his troops into the Wilderness rather than force his way out onto clear ground where his greater numbers might have been decisive. While this is a legitimate criticism of his decision (if not the reason for it), it should be noted that Hooker explained his withdrawal on the nature of the ground which precluded his columns from fully deploying for battle: hence his decision to stand on the defensive. Certainly there is some logic to his claim, given the difficulty of battling his way through the enemy lines with his troops on narrow roads with no room to deploy, and with his columns separated by several miles of heavily-wooded terrain. The terrain was certainly too dense to move through in any sort of formation. Veterans of the battle complained that in attempting to push through tangled branches and vines, faces and hands were cut, and uniforms and knapsacks were torn. Obviously any sort of deployment in fighting formation was next to impossible. This factor alone went a long way toward neutralizing his advantage in numbers and artillery. His troops would have been required to drive back the rebel lines while operating on a very narrow front, then attempt to deploy under heavy fire. It might have been possible, but it would certainly have been difficult, bloody, and fraught with risk.⁷

Hooker’s attempt to get on Lee’s rear was foiled by Lee’s prompt reaction and the heavy undergrowth, which prevented Hooker’s columns from deploying. He therefore attempted to stand on the defensive while Sedgwick advanced to strike Lee from the rear; he failed due to Howard’s neglect of his right, and Sedgwick’s lack of aggression. The failure of the two to obey orders contributed greatly to Hooker’s defeat.

Even Major General Abner Doubleday, who disagreed with Hooker’s decision to withdraw and dig in, admitted that, After all, a defensive battle in such a country is not a bad thing. It should also be remembered that Hooker had fresh in his mind the debacle at Fredericksburg, and may have entertained some hope that Lee would attack his entrenched troops. It is certainly possible that Hooker hoped that Lee might dash his troops against the Army of the Potomac as it stood on the defensive, with Hooker using interior lines to shift reserves from one threatened point to another as John Sedgwick’s 6th Corps moved against the rear of Lee’s army. If Lee could be forced to turn and face Sedgwick, Hooker might then throw his strong reserve at Lee’s exhausted force, drive it from the field, and win a decisive victory. Doubleday intimates that this might have been the plan, as when he notes that Hooker held a formidable force in reserve, and quotes a 3rd Corps staff colonel who confirmed that Hooker did intend to use his reserve force as soon as the enemy were utterly exhausted. Hooker ordered Sedgwick, who had been left in place opposite the Confederate positions at Fredericksburg, to attack Lee, but Sedgwick failed to generate a threat sufficient to force Lee to pull back from Hooker’s front. Another blow to the plan came when Hooker was badly concussed and rendered all but insensible by a cannon shot which struck the pillar he was leaning on at his headquarters. Doubleday said that Hooker, having been injured and in great pain, was hardly accountable for his want of decision at this time.⁸

Perhaps the greatest contribution to the Federal defeat was the failure of 11th Corps commander Major General Oliver Otis Howard to follow direct and repeated orders to be prepared for an attack against his exposed right flank. As Doubleday noted, Hooker had sent a very specific message to Howard warning him We have good reason to suppose that the enemy is moving to your right, and ordering him to prepare to meet an attack from that direction. Although Doubleday felt that Hooker (whom he did not like)