General Burnside did not overrate the magnificent courage and sublime self-sacrifice of his army, whose contempt of death that day on the open plains about Fredericksburg seemed to strike the electric chain wherewith we all are bound, and a thrill of admiration swept down the line of Lee’s army for four miles whilst yet the battle raged; but General Burnside did underrate the strength of the positions which, without inspection or information, he rashly assailed, and he did underrate the valor of the men who held those positions. The appalling magnitude of his mistake was soon apparent, alike to his officers and his men, and yet column after column of that devoted army advanced, without a halting step, to the carnival of death, over a plain swept by the ceaseless and terrible fire of protected infantry and artillery—a plain of which General E. P. Alexander, in command of the Confederate artillery, posted on the heights, remarked the evening before, that “not a chicken could live there when his guns were opened.”
No honors awaited the daring of these heroes that day; no despatch could give their names to the plaudits of their admiring countrymen, their advance was uncheered by the hope of emolument or fame; their death would be unnoticed, and yet they marched to their doom with unblanched cheeks and unfaltering tread.
Pause a moment and picture those serried ranks as they marched undismayed with grim precision and intrepid step to certain death, and, very many, to unknown graves, and tell me whether heroism did not have its holocaust, and patriotism and courage their grand coronation on these plains about Fredericksburg; and tell me whether a nation’s gratitude and meed of honor to these unknelled, uncoffined and unknown heroes, who thus gave up their lives for their country, in obedience to orders, should be measured by the accident of victory or defeat, or by the unclouded grandeur of the sacrifice they cheerfully made. Tell me whether the majestic memorial, which that splendid old veteran, General Butterfield, proposes to erect on the plains of Fredericksburg, to perpetuate the fame of the Fifth corps, will not commemorate a higher type of heroism than any similar memorial to that corps on the heights about Gettysburg! Tell me whether there was not more courage and more manhood required to assail Marye’s Heights than to hold Cemetery Hill!
The charge of Pickett’s Division at Gettysburg was far grander, even with its dreadful recoil, than was the defence of the stone wall at Fredericksburg; and the heroes of the former deserve more of their country than do the latter.
Napoleon, after the battle of Austerlitz, addressing his army, said: “Soldiers, it will be enough for one of you to say, ‘I was at the battle of Austerlitz,’ for your countrymen to say, ‘There is a brave man.’”
Impartial history will record that the Union soldiers who fought at Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville, the Wilderness and at Spotsylvania Courthouse were not only brave men, but that their valor on those immortal fields decorated the Stars and Stripes with imperishable glory. And no American army of the future, composed of those who wore the blue and the gray, or their descendants, will ever permit that glory to be tarnished!
It was the brilliant prowess of the Confederate army on the battlefields of Spotsylvania that shed such dazzling lustre on the Union arms at Gettysburg. If we should blot out the battlefields of Spotsylvania, we should rob Gettysburg of all its glory; we should filch from General Grant half his fame as a great commander, and should obscure to the future student of the art of war Grant’s invincible pertinacity and his sagacious and successful policy of concentration and attrition, which alone explains and vindicates his famous march of eighty miles from Culpeper Courthouse to Petersburg, with a loss of tens of thousands of his brave troops, when he might have transferred his army by transports to the shadow of the Confederate capital without the loss of a man.
Grant knew that the destruction of Lee’s army, and not the capture of Richmond, was the profoundest strategy. The Army of the Potomac, under the consummate leadership of General Grant, won infinitely more prestige at Appomattox, where eight thousand worn-out Confederates laid down their arms, than the German army, under its great field-marshal, Von Moltke, won at Sedan, where the French Emperor, Louis Napoleon, and 86,000 French soldiers, neither footsore nor hungry, surrendered, and for the plain reason that no such conflicts as those in Spotsylvania lay across the march of Von Moltke to Sedan. The march to Appomattox was over the battlefields of Spotsylvania, and Appomattox was only the culmination of the courage and carnage of those fields.
It was the conspicuous characteristic of both the Union and Confederate armies that their courage was alike invincible; defeat could not quench it; it shone with additional splendor amid the gloom of disaster, and no soldier on either side need blush to have borne a part in any one of the great battles of the Civil war, whatever fortune may have decreed as to its temporary result.
It is noteworthy, above almost any other events of history, that the two most memorable and momentous struggles in which the Anglo-Saxon race has embarked, both closed on the soil of Virginia, a century apart, by the surrender of one Anglo-Saxon army to an army of the same race, and without the loss of prestige on either side.