Rebels at the Gate: Lee and McClellan on the Front Line of a Nation Divided (15 page)

To discourage eavesdroppers, a way was needed to code the messages sent by wire. Stager accomplished this by developing a simple but ingenious cipher. Fittingly, McClellan's code name was “Mecca.” Morris was “Venice,” and General Scott “Baghdad.” Washington was “Nimrod;” Wheeling, “Peter;” Grafton, “Lot;” and so forth. It was the first telegraphic cipher ever used by an army in war.
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The telegraph men had no problem keeping up with their general. McClellan did not join Rosecrans in Buckhannon until July 2; the laggard pace was blamed on delays in securing transportation. “I am bothered half to death in getting up supplies,” he informed Nelly, “unless where I am in person everything seems to go wrong.” He remained at Buckhannon for three more days, refusing to give way to impatience. It was a lesson learned from Winfield Scott—“not to move until I know that everything is ready, and then to move with the utmost rapidity and energy.”
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Meanwhile, patrols explored the countryside. Among them was the first three-year volunteer cavalry unit in the field, a squad of Pennsylvanians known as the “Ringgold cavalry.” The Ringgolds carried huge old flintlock horse pistols. For the first time, those weapons were loaded and primed. First, a small handful of powder was poured in and sealed with newspaper. “On top of this we put eight or ten chunks of lead,” recalled trooper John Elwood. “This would fill the gun about one-half the length of the barrel, and, when filled to the muzzle with brick dust, we were ready for the fight.” Elwood's pistol went off accidentally, knocking him to the ground with a fearful roar. Stunned, he arose to find a hole in the earth “large enough to bury a good sized dog.”
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“I doubt whether the rebels will fight,” McClellan informed Nelly. “It is possible they may, but I begin to think my successes will be due to manoeuvers, & that I shall have no brilliant victories to record.” He assured General Scott that “no prospect of a brilliant victory” would induce him to fight when he might outwit Garnett: “I will not throw these raw men of mine into the teeth of artillery and intrenchments if it is possible to avoid it.”

He hoped instead to pull a “Cerro Gordo,” duplicating Scott's brilliant flanking movement in the Mexican War. McClellan would send Morris's brigade to “amuse” Garnett at Laurel Hill—making him think the main attack would come there—while he took three brigades and swept around the Confederate left flank at Rich Mountain. He would then march into Beverly, cutting off Garnett's retreat. The Rebels would be captured or destroyed.
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A sweltering Independence Day found McClellan reviewing the troops at Buckhannon. Citizens gawked as regiment after regiment passed the bareheaded young general in parade. “Lordy!” exclaimed one mountaineer. “I didn't know there was so many folkses in the world.”
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McClellan's review of Garnett's numbers was also growing. Magnifying enemy strength would become one of his signature traits. He now estimated that the Rebel general had some ten thousand soldiers—eight thousand at Laurel Hill and two thousand at Rich Mountain. In reality, Garnett possessed half that number. Only 1,300 Confederates were dug in at Rich Mountain; Garnett's total strength would never exceed 5,300 men. While McClellan moved against a Rich Mountain force he outnumbered more than five to one, General Morris was about evenly matched at Laurel Hill.

Had Garnett the numbers McClellan believed, what might keep him from taking the offensive? If he counterattacked and defeated Morris, a race for the railroad would take place at McClellan's rear. “I confess I feel apprehensive unless our force could equal theirs,” offered the soft-spoken Morris to his commander.
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McClellan's reply was terse. “I am not a little surprised that you feel the defense of Philippi so hazardous and dangerous an operation. If four thousand (nearly) of our men…are not enough to hold the place against any force these people can bring against it, I think we had better all go home at once.” He grudgingly sent reinforcements with a warning not to ask for more. McClellan's disdain spilled out in a letter to Nelly: “I have not a Brig Genl worth his
salt—Morris is a timid old woman—Rosecranz a silly fussy goose—Schleich knows nothing,” he complained.
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On July 5, McClellan's know-nothing brigadier, politician Newton Schleich of Ohio, sent fifty men on an unauthorized expedition to Middle Fork Bridge, a covered span midway between Buckhannon and the Rebels at Camp Garnett. When that party lost six men in a firefight the next day, McClellan was livid. General Schleich, Democratic leader in the Ohio Senate, was relieved of command. McClellan's advance guard cleared Middle Fork Bridge on the morning of July 7. “I got my pants and bootlegs riddled with bullets,” wrote Confederate Captain John Higginbotham of the skirmish, “but without serious injury in fact ‘no meat hurt.'” Not one to shy from a fight, the youthful Higginbotham would prove to be a magnet for Yankee lead.
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As McClellan's troops neared the Confederates at Camp Garnett, Lt. Colonel John Pegram arrived at that post with the remainder of his Twentieth Virginia Infantry and took command. Pegram was twenty-nine years old, born of a distinguished tidewater Virginia family, short, goateed, haughty, and handsome. At West Point, J.E.B. Stuart had called him “the best-hearted fellow I ever knew,” which perhaps explained Cadet Pegram's first-year collection of more than one hundred demerits. He was said to be the first U.S. Army officer on active duty to offer his sword to Virginia.
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Pegram knew next to nothing about Rich Mountain, but a civilian named Jedediah Hotchkiss had recently learned much. Born at Windsor, New York, in 1828, he had moved to Virginia's Shenandoah Valley as a teacher. Hotchkiss was a gifted cartographer. He could walk over a tract once and map it with astounding accuracy. For nearly a week, the bearded professor had been shooting angles and taking elevations around Camp Garnett.
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While this talented mapmaker surveyed the laurel thickets of Rich Mountain, General George McClellan surveyed his own chances for winning laurels there. The rugged terrain gave him pause. “There were few regions,” he fretted, “more difficult for the operations of large bodies of troops.”
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McClellan's tone became less confident. “I realize now the dreadful responsibility on me—the lives of my men—the reputation of the country & the success of our cause,” he confided to Nelly. “I shall feel my way & be very cautious for I recognize the fact that everything requires success in my first operations.” To General Scott he wired, “Enemy said to be entrenched in force in my front. Cannot rely on reports. Will not learn what I have met until the advance guard comes in contact. I will be prepared to fight whatever is in front of me.”
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On July 9, the young general led three brigades to within sight of Camp Garnett. “We came over the hills with all the pomp and circumstance of glorious war,” wrote Lt. Colonel John Beatty, “infantry, cavalry, artillery, and hundreds of army wagons; the whole stretching along the mountain road for miles.” The army bivouacked on Roaring Creek flats, just west of the Rebel camp. “These mountain passes must be ugly things to go through when in possession of an enemy,” wrote John Beatty as he steeled himself for battle. “I endeavor to picture to myself all its terrors, so that I may not be surprised and dumbfounded when the shock comes.” A loud clap of thunder cut short his musings. And then another soft rumbling. “There it goes again!” Beatty jotted in his diary. It was the sound of distant cannon fire.
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Sixteen miles north, the artillery banged away in front of Garnett's defenses at Camp Laurel Hill. Confederates there held the second turnpike pass. The coveted crossings at Rich Mountain and Laurel Hill were gateways to the heart of Virginia. If the Federals were to claim Western Virginia for the Union and push on toward Richmond, those gates must be secured.

On July 7, nearly four thousand Federal troops under General Morris had marched from Philippi on the Beverly-Fairmont Road to a hamlet named Belington, two miles west of Laurel Hill. Dr. William Fletcher, fife major of the Sixth Indiana Infantry, had
crept between the lines to sketch the layout of Confederate defenses. Armed with that intelligence, General Morris pushed forward. Over the next four days, his troops grappled at arm's length with Garnett's army at Laurel Hill.

Morris was only to
amuse
the Rebels, awaiting McClellan's flank movement at Rich Mountain. But the Federal troops at Laurel Hill proved difficult to restrain. “A few dozen of us, who had been swapping shots with the enemies' skirmishers, grew tired of the resultless battle,” recalled the Ninth Indiana's Ambrose Bierce, “and by a common impulse—and I think without orders or officers—ran forward into the woods and attacked the Confederate works. We did well enough considering the hopeless folly of the movement, but we came out of the woods faster than we went in—a good deal.”
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Even a clergyman got into the act. Sergeant Copp, parson of the Ninth Indiana Regiment, was in the midst of a Sunday sermon at Belington when brisk firing broke out in the woods nearby. The parson dropped his Bible, snapped up a rifle, and led his congregation in a charge.

After two days of skirmishing, the Federals won a hotly contested point known as Girard Hill, named for the first Indiana soldier to fall upon its crest. On July 10, Morris planted artillery within range of Garnett's camp and opened fire.
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They “shot cannon balls, case shot and canister at us for near ten hours,” recalled Confederate James Hall. “We were sheltered from them, however, by the large trees in the woods.” Isaac Hermann of the First Georgia Regiment stood guard at Camp Laurel Hill during this fire. Nervously, Hermann collared an officer making the rounds. “Colonel,” he implored, “am I placed here as a target to be shot at by those fellows yonder?”

“Take your beat in the ditch,” was the reply, “and when you see the smoke, tuck your head below the breastworks.” Hermann did so, watching for the smoke of the gun. He learned that the sound took eight seconds to reach him, followed about four seconds later by arrival of the ball—allowing time to hunker down. But
the discovery gave small comfort. “I was very willing when relief came, for the other fellow to take my place,” recalled Hermann.
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The spirited action at Laurel Hill induced General Garnett to believe that McClellan's main force was before him. Lt. Col. Pegram's optimistic dispatches from Rich Mountain intimated the same. Garnett prepared to meet the enemy with cold steel. To Lee he wrote, “My only apprehension is that by the guidance of Union men of the neighborhood they may get in my rear by some path unknown to me.”
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“
There was…not the slightest possible hint of softness or mildness, not a lineament of beauty remaining, to relieve the harsh, horrid, distorted, agonized faces of the dead of Rich Mountain.”

—W.D. Bickham,
Cincinnati Daily Commercial

General McClellan's regimental bands struck up melodies that drifted over Roaring Creek to the Confederates at Rich Mountain. From the trenches of Camp Garnett, the “Hampden-Sydney Boys” answered in song. But fellow Americans also made ready for war. The general hastily scribbled a note to Nelly on July 10: “The enemy are in sight & I am sending out a strong armed reconnaissance to feel him & see what he is. I have been looking at the camps with my glass—they are strongly entrenched….”
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Lieutenant Orlando Poe led the reconnaissance with that crack German regiment, the Ninth Ohio Infantry. The Germans swept forward in crisp lines, driving back enemy pickets until compelled by withering fire to take shelter in a timber barricade about three hundred yards from the Confederate works. Accompanied by Colonel Frederick Lander, Poe began to examine the defenses with a glass. Rifle and cannonballs cracked through the brush as he
nervously jotted notes. Poe looked up incredulously as Lander strolled down the road for a closer view. Gunfire slacked off briefly as the fearless colonel doffed his cap and bowed to the enemy.
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