Our Standard-Bearer; Or, The Life of General Uysses S. Grant

by Oliver Optic

Grant was solemnly in earnest. He was inspired with one great thought—the putting down of the Rebellion. His predecessors had indulged in showy reviews; balls and parties had enlivened the tedium of the waiting hours in the camp; and beauty's flashing eye had gladdened the heart of the soldier. In accordance with the traditions of the army, the ladies waited upon Lieutenant General Grant, and suggested a ball as a fitting festivity in connection with the grand review of the army of the Potomac which was proposed. Gently, but firmly, he objected, and declared that "this thing must be stopped." He was not opposed to reasonable pleasures at suitable times, but he pointed out to them the condition of the country in the throes of a death-struggle with treason, and insisted that it was no time for festivities among the army officers. He spoke of the wounded and the dying in the hospitals, and manifested such a simple and genuine sensibility, that the ladies, who were true at heart, promptly abandoned the project.

The grand review took place; yet it was not a holiday show, but a means of acquainting the general with the material of the army which was now to do the principal work in suppressing the Rebellion. It was a splendid army which marched in column before him, and the heart of the great commander was strengthened by the display, not of gilt and feathers, but of numbers, of muscle, of courage.

Although in the spring of 1864 the Rebellion had been cut in two, the sundered parts, like the fabled reptile, were still vital. The Confederacy had been weakened, but by no means overpowered. Its supplies of food had been greatly reduced, but still it maintained large armies in the field. The South, nominally struggling for what it was pleased to call liberty, was the most absolute despotism on the face of the earth, and every energy and resource of the people, willing or unwilling, was turned into the channel of its defence. "The cradle and the grave were robbed" to recruit its armies.

Terrible reverses had befallen the rebel arms, and perhaps impaired the faith of the Southern people in ultimate success; but their spirit was not broken, and still they howled about the "last ditch." Misfortune, instead of bringing thoughts of submission and peace, brought desperation, a mad and fanatical zeal, like that of a band of pirates who fight tenfold more savagely to escape the halter than to win a prize. Ill success, so far from moderating the fury of the rebel soldiers, transformed them into reckless zealots, more dangerous than ever before in the path of an army of civilized men. This is not a theory deduced from the insane protestations of rebel brawlers and newspaper writers, but from the conduct of rebel soldiers on the battle-field; a truth derived from The Wilderness, Cold Harbor, and Petersburg, not from Jeff. Davis and his co-rebel declaimers.

The experience of three years of war had demonstrated that, man for man, the North fought as well, at least, as the South. If at one time pluck and persistency seemed to predominate at the South, the table would be turned at another time. For every rebel victory there was always more than one offset in national triumphs. While everything worth holding in the West had fallen, Richmond maintained its bold front. The army of the Potomac had been tilting at it from the day it was organized; had repeatedly advanced, and as often been driven back. Thus far the national arms had failed to reach Richmond.

While the rebel capital had been the objective point of the North, the national capital had been the objective point of the South. Whenever a Confederate army, flushed with success in Virginia, crossed the Potomac, it was driven back. Lee in Pennsylvania was even more unlucky than McClellan in Virginia. Chickahominy and Malvern were paralleled by South Mountain and Antietam; Fredericksburg by Gettysburg. Between Richmond and Washington, up to the time of Grant's appointment as general-in-chief, the contest had been a "drawn game." Neither side gained any permanent advantage. When the North rushed down to Richmond, it was driven back, shattered and wasted. When the South swept around Washington, it recoiled and went back, leaving its dead, wounded, and prisoners behind. Up to this time the fighting material of both armies was not only about equal, but in generalship and officers the contending forces were well matched. The loyal nation was tired of this marching back and forth, with nothing but the waste of battle to mark the result, and the coming of Grant was hailed as the beginning of a new era.

General Lee was the ablest soldier in the Southern Confederacy, and its hope in the coming shock of battle rested on him. All the available troops of the South were sent to him, and though he was outnumbered, he had the advantage of position; he had "the inside track," which was worth more to him, in a military point of view, than the disparity in force was to Grant. Lee was not only strongly intrenched in his position at the opening of the campaign, but he had been over the ground between the Rapidan and the James time and again, till he knew every foot of ground and every strategic point. Behind him were the earthworks he had prepared in former campaigns, ready built for use.

This was the man, and this the situation, which Grant had to encounter; and he sounded with a new significance the old cry, "On to Richmond!" He agreed with those who came before him that the rebel capital must be taken, and he intended to take it, not by a series of chess-board movements, retiring when the enemy checkmated him, but by "persistent hammering." He assigned to strategy its real value; but strategy had been tried by the cunningest men in the army, and it had failed. Lee was clear-headed, quick, cool, brave, adroit. He made blunders, but so seldom that it was hardly worth while to wait for one.

Strategy, as I, Bernard Galligasken, understand it, is simply the taking advantage of the enemy's mistakes and weak points, without exposing yourself in a similar manner. Suppose two generals, in command of opposing armies, to be absolutely perfect strategists, and each incapable of making a mistake. With the forces equal in numbers, pluck, and endurance, the first general taking position could hold it, in theory, to the end of time. A reënforcement or a mistake alone can change the conditions, and give the victory to either. If Lee would kindly make a bad blunder, it would be easy to whip him; but he profited by his own blunders as well as by those of his enemy. If Grant would obligingly leave a weak point, Lee could drive him out of Virginia.