Union Combined Operations in the Civil War

Introduction

Introduction Craig L. Symonds D espite the number of operational studies on the campaigns of the American Civil War, the subject of combined or joint operations is one that has been largely overlooked. Only one book devotes itself to the subject, Rowena’s Reed’s Combined Operations in the Civil War, first published in 1978 and reprinted in 1993, and it is flawed by Reed’s infatuation with what she deems the strategic genius of George B. McClellan, whom she describes as ‘‘a thoroughly ‘modern’ young soldier of seemingly inexhaustible energy and talent.’’ One of the most notable things about McClellan was that he apparently had the kind of personality that made perfectly reasonable people fall under the spell of his charm. Evidently his ability to cast this spell continued after his death, for there is no other explanation for Reed’s startling conclusion that ‘‘had McClellan’s brilliant strategy been fully implemented, it would have ended the Civil War in 1862.’’ Of course, it is worth noting that if the Civil War had ended in 1862, slavery would have remained intact, leaving its solution to another time and perhaps another war. Because of her sympathy for McClellan, Reed accepts her hero’s argument that it was interference from the central government , and in particular meddling by Winfield Scott, Henry Halleck, and others—including Abraham Lincoln—that prevented Little Mac from achieving this brilliant strategic accomplishment. Though Reed makes a number of valuable points, they are overwhelmed by her determination to portray McClellan as the military genius of the war. Other than this one volume, there is no full-scale study of Union combined operations.1 Contemporaries as well as historians were guilty of overlooking the role of combined arms. The tactical manual used by all but a handful of the West Point graduates who fought in the Civil War was William Hardee’s Tactics, which did not even mention joint operations, and the most widely read text on strategy, Antoine Henri Jomini’s The Art of War, noted only that such operations were ‘‘rare’’ and ‘‘among the most difficult in war.’’2 Another problem was that there was virtually no protocol for effecting the efficient cooperation of army and navy forces. The Navy Department and the War Department were completely separate from each other; almost like a 2 Introduction boundary, there was a bright line separating Neptune’s domain from that of Mars. Officers of one service were under no obligation to accept orders from an officer of another, regardless of the difference in their rank. They could choose to cooperate, of course, but such cooperation was entirely at their discretion ; and because each service tended to be jealous of its independence, requests for support had to be couched deferentially, and could be easily (though almost always politely) refused. Because army and navy leaders were unwilling to subordinate their own service goals to the greater goal of Union victory, Union forces experienced a number of lost opportunities. Successful combined operations were therefore not only more often the exception than the rule, they were also subject to misunderstanding, confusion, and subsequent bickering. According to the Constitution, the only person in the Union government who had direct command authority over both the army and the navy was the president of the United States. It was, of course, impractical for Lincoln to act as the on-scene commander in chief for all combined operations, but an instructive example of how effective combined operations might have been with a single commander in charge occurred in the spring of 1862 when Lincoln visited Hampton Roads, Virginia. The vast army that McClellan had assembled and successfully transported to Fort Monroe had stalled on the lower peninsula in front of the Yorktown fortifications, and Lincoln hoped to prod his reluctant general into action. He took along both Edwin Stanton, secretary of war, and Salmon P. Chase, secretary of the treasury, and they traveled by sea on the small revenue cutter Miami. It was Lincoln’s first voyage on Neptune’s element, and almost the moment the Miami entered the Chesapeake Bay, he fell victim to seasickness. He spent most of the trip stretched out on a locker in the ship’s tiny cabin.3 Once the Miami arrived in Hampton Roads, Lincoln transferred to the much larger, and more stable, steam frigate Minnesota, where he met the navy’s squadron commander, Flag Officer Louis M. Goldsborough. From the deck...