The Battle of the Wilderness (5-6 May 1864) was the opening engagement of the Overland Campaign, a major Union offensive conducted during the final year of the American Civil War (1861-1865). It saw the Union Army of the Potomac, under Ulysses S. Grant, clash with the Confederate Army of Northern Virginia, under Robert E. Lee, in a dense patch of Virginian woodlands called the Wilderness. Though neither side could claim victory after two days of bloody fighting, Grant opted to continue his offensive rather than retreat, hoping to wear Lee down and bleed the Confederacy dry.
Background
In March 1864, Lieutenant General Ulysses S. Grant was appointed general-in-chief of all Union armies. Summoned from the West, he established his headquarters within the Army of the Potomac, camped out along the Rapidan River in northern Virginia. In terms of appearance, he cut an unimposing figure. Described by one officer as being a "very ordinary" looking man, Grant was slouchy and round-shouldered, with a weathered face covered by a bristling, close-cropped beard. He was often seen with a cigar lolling from his mouth, dressed plainly in a private's uniform with the general's insignia hurriedly stitched onto the shoulders. Yet despite this humble appearance, and despite the rumors that still circulated about him in Washington – the most widespread being that he was a drunk – Grant was undoubtedly a fighter, and fighters were what the Union needed now. As he prepared for the coming campaign season – the fourth in this seemingly endless war – Grant often inspected the blue-clad veteran soldiers of the Army of the Potomac, who had all heard tales of their new general-in-chief's exploits in the western theater. They did not cheer him as he went by but watched him reverently, in silent awe.
Grant's plan, simply put, was to push south across the Rapidan River and destroy the Confederate Army of Northern Virginia, under the intrepid leadership of General Robert E. Lee. Unlike previous Union commanders, whose primary goal had been the capture of the Confederate capital of Richmond, Virginia, Grant understood that this grand prize could not be won so long as Lee's army remained in the field. He therefore instructed Major General George G. Meade – who was formally in command of the Army of the Potomac despite Grant's presence – that "wherever Lee's army shall go, you shall also go" (quoted in McPherson, 722).
The odds were certainly shaping up in Grant's favor. He greatly outnumbered his southern foe – he had 118,000 men while Lee had barely 65,000 – and had the advantage in munitions and artillery as well. His plan, however, was not without risk. His army would be rendered vulnerable twice; first during its initial crossing of the Rapidan, then again as it moved through a section of dense woodlands known as the Wilderness. Should his army become trapped in the Wilderness, Grant would be unable to effectively utilize his numerical superiority or deploy his artillery. It behooved him, then, to move through that jungle as quickly as possible, so he could fight Lee in the open fields to the south.
It was not difficult for Lee to guess Grant's intentions. From his position atop Clark's Mountain, the gray-bearded general gazed out across the vast tapestry of green fields, dark forests, and shimmering rivers that comprised the landscape of northern Virginia. In his mind's eye, he could practically see the columns of blue troops, in their endless thousands, streaming over the fords before disappearing into the shadow of the Wilderness.
Lee was tired. He had not gotten much sleep the past few nights, busy as he was readying his men for the inevitable Yankee attack. His body still ached from the aftereffects of the lumbago that had plagued him all winter. But, most importantly, he had grown weary of war; though he had won victory after victory, he had seemingly come no closer to saving the Southern Confederacy, a herculean task that rested almost entirely upon his broad, patrician shoulders.
Now, standing atop Clark's Mountain, surrounded by his corps and division commanders, Lee laid out his plan. He would allow Grant to cross the Rapidan uncontested and enter the Wilderness. Only then, once the Union soldiers had become disoriented and mired in the trees, would he attack with everything he had. For now, he ordered the Second and Third Corps – under lieutenant generals Richard S. Ewell and A. P. Hill, respectively – to watch the roads through the Wilderness. They were to delay Grant's advance but not bring on a general engagement until the First Corps under Lieutenant General James Longstreet had arrived. Longstreet's corps had just returned from action in Tennessee and was still at Gordonsville, several miles away. These orders given, Lee dispersed his officers and went to prepare for the tempest that he knew was coming.
Entering the Wilderness
On 4 May 1864, the grand Army of the Potomac sprang into action. The Yankee cavalry, under Major General Philip H. Sheridan, splashed across the Rapidan, followed closely by three infantry corps: the II Corps under Major General Winfield Scott Hancock, the V Corps under Major General Gouverneur K. Warren, and the IV Corps under Major General John Sedgwick (Major General Ambrose Burnside's IX Corps was enroute from Maryland and was soon expected to link up with the main army). In all, Grant had around 118,000 men, many of them seasoned veterans. Yet their strength would count for little if they were caught astride the river.
Grant must have let out a sigh of relief, then, once the entirety of his army was safely across. All that remained was for them to make it through the Wilderness before Lee had a chance to stop them. The Wilderness, to borrow historian Bruce Catton's description, was
A mean and gloomy woodland, a dozen miles wide by half as deep, lying silent and forbidding along the southern bank of the [Rapidan] river. Its virgin timber had been cut down years ago…and a tangled second growth had sprung up – stunted pines, innumerable small saplings, dense underbrush, here and there a larger tree, vines and creepers trailing every which way through the dead scrub pines with interlaced spiky branches; there were very few places in which a man could see as far as twenty yards.
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After a full day's march, each of the three Union corps hunkered down, setting up camp beneath the gnarled and twisted trees – Warren's corps at the Wilderness Tavern, Hancock's near Chancellorsville. As dusk gave way to night, the men gathered around their flickering campfires speaking in low, hushed voices. For they knew that they were camped out on the site of the Battle of Chancellorsville, where, almost exactly a year before, they had been soundly defeated, 17,000 of their comrades falling dead or wounded.
The recent rainstorms had, in fact, washed these corpses from their shallow graves, and all along the route, the Federal troops had come across bleached skeletons, partially dressed in their moldering uniforms, the empty sockets of their skulls staring out at nothing. One Union soldier prodded a skeleton with his foot, glumly telling his friends, "This is what you are all coming to, and some of you will start toward it tomorrow" (quoted in Foote, 150). This was certainly a cursed and haunted place, and the Union men whispered that only a devil would choose to fight here. Lee may not have been a devil, but he had chosen this as his battlefield, and tomorrow, thousands of freshly made corpses would join the old ones to rot in the soil of the Wilderness, where no sunlight would ever reach them.
First Day: 5 May
Morning came, and the Union soldiers were on the march again. Warren's V Corps moved south, toward the Orange Turnpike, with Sedwick's IV Corps following close behind. Hancock, gritting his teeth through the pain as his old Gettysburg wound flared up again, swung his II Corps around to the left in the direction of the Orange Plank Road. The men had only been marching for about an hour when, close to 7 a.m., groups of Confederate infantry were spotted on the turnpike. General Meade, in his capacity as army commander, was notified and, believing the rebel force could be no larger than a division, ordered Warren to clear them off. And so, three of Warren's divisions pushed through the woods, stumbling through thickets and clusters of saplings, until one of them – under Brigadier General Charles Griffin – stepped out onto a clearing called Saunders Field. Here, they came face to face with not merely a Confederate division, but the entire Second Corps of the Army of Northern Virginia, strongly entrenched behind earthworks. The Yankees had walked right into Lee's trap.
Immediately, the Confederates let loose a volley, their bullets thwacking into the flesh and bone of the startled Union troops. Unperturbed, the Yankees came on, advancing against the rebel entrenchments. The bluecoats put up a fierce fight – a brigade of Virginians was routed, its brigadier killed, leaving the rebel line in danger of collapse. The Confederate situation was saved by Brigadier General John B. Gordon, who rushed forward with his brigade of screaming Georgians and pushed the Yankees back.
Gradually, the fight began to intensify as the other Union divisions arrived on the field. But due to the denseness of the forest, as well as a lack of visibility once the smoke had become trapped beneath the canopy of trees, they were unable to form a coherent battle line. As such, individual Union regiments were left to launch isolated attacks, unsupported by their fellows. Scores of Yankee troops fell to rebel bullets that seemed to fly out of nowhere, while entire companies were captured after blundering straight into enemy lines. Small fires broke out amongst the dry brush that soon turned into mighty conflagrations. As the battle developed, it became chaotic and disordered, men firing blindly into the dark trees ahead of them. It was as if, one soldier would recall, it was "a battle of invisibles with invisibles" (quoted in Foote, 155).
As Warren – and eventually Sedgwick – grappled with Ewell's Second Corps at Saunders Field, a second, no less desperate fight had broken out a few miles away. The Confederate Third Corps, under A. P. Hill, was spotted advancing up the Plank Road, moving toward the spot where it converged with Brock Road; should the rebels take control of this crossroads, they could cut the entire Union army in half. Grant acted fast and hurried over a 6,000-man division under Brigadier General George Getty to hold the crossroads.
Getty arrived not a moment too soon, trading fire with Hill's men as they emerged from the tree line. It was ugly, bitter fighting – men fired at each other from as close as 50 paces, and the air became so filled with bullets that the soldiers were forced to crouch or lie down, lest they almost certainly be shot. Getty held out long enough for the II Corps to arrive, evening the odds. Veterans all, Hancock's men "swept into the littered woods like a tornado", forcing the rebels back (Catton, 74). It was only with the onset of darkness that both parts of the battle – at Saunders Field and the Plank Road – came to a halt. Exhausted, men fell asleep where they were standing, as the gloom of the Wilderness swallowed them whole.
Second Day: 6 May
The sun had barely begun to rise when, at around 5 a.m., the ambient sounds of rustling leaves and bubbling streams were replaced by the clatter of rifle fire and the shouts of soldiers. The noise, gradually increasing in its intensity, reminded one observer of a "boy running with a stick pressed against a paling fence, faster and faster, until it swelled into a continuous rattling roar" (quoted in Foote, 167). At Saunders Field, Warren and Sedgewick had renewed the attack, though this was only a holding action, designed to pin Ewell's beleaguered corps in place.
The main stage of today's show was to be at Plank Road, where Hancock's veterans were to drive Hill's tired troops off the field for good and all. Indeed, as the blue troops rushed forward, sweeping over fallen foliage and broken corpses, the rebels gave ground, popping off nervous shots as they hurriedly fell back. "We are driving them, sir!" shouted a jubilant Hancock to a staff officer. "Tell General Meade we are driving them most beautifully!" (quoted in Foote, 168).
It was, alas, a premature pronouncement. To be sure, Hill's corps had buckled under the weight of Hancock's assault and was in the process of retreating. But they had not retreated far when they were met by reinforcements, a Texas Brigade from the First Corps – Longstreet had arrived at last. General Lee, seeing salvation in the burly frames of these Texans, waved his hat, shouting, "Hurrah for Texas!" Then, in an uncharacteristic burst of enthusiasm, he spurred his horse, as if he meant to personally lead the Texans into battle. But the Texans, unwilling to risk losing their beloved general, refused to go forward unless he moved to the safety of the rear, a condition to which Lee assented.
By 10 a.m., Longstreet had gotten most of his men into position. He launched a counterattack that stopped the Yankee assault cold in its tracks and stabilized this part of the battlefield. But Longstreet was not yet finished. As his main body kept the Yankees occupied, he ordered his aide, Lieutenant Colonel Moxley Sorrel, to take three brigades and attack Hancock's exposed flank. Sorrel struck at 11 a.m., his men rushing forward, the shrill rebel yell resounding from their throats. For the most part, Hancock's veteran troops turned and ran; most of them were nearing the end of their enlistments and dared not risk their lives with their dreams of home so close to becoming reality.
The flanking maneuver was a great success; even Hancock would later be forced to admit that Longstreet "rolled me up like a wet blanket" (quoted in Foote, 177). Yet the big, burly Georgian was still not finished. Having knocked Hancock off balance, he now meant to finish him with another grand countercharge. But as he was readying his men for the next phase of his attack, Longstreet and his staff were hit with a hail of bullets – not from the enemy, but from their own men, who mistook them for the enemy. Several of his officers were killed, and Longstreet himself was seriously wounded when a bullet passed through his neck and lodged in his shoulder. As he was being borne off the battlefield in a stretcher, a rumor passed down the line that he had been killed. Using the last of his strength, the pain-addled Longstreet lifted his hat to show that he was still alive, leading to a chorus of cheers from his men. Though Longstreet would ultimately survive his wounds, he would be knocked out of the war for the next few months, depriving Lee of one of his most capable lieutenants at one of the most critical junctures of the war.
Yet Lee could not think about that now – what mattered was finishing what Longstreet had started. The charge got off to a late start at about 4:15 p.m. By then, Hancock had rallied his panicked troops and had been reinforced by Burnside, whose well-rested troops finally arrived on the battlefield after hours of wandering around lost in the woods. The Confederate charge, desperate and fierce though it was, broke like a wave on rocks once it hit Hancock's earthworks and was ultimately repulsed.
The final action of the day took place at Saunders Field, where General Gordon – whose Georgians had pushed back the initial Union assault the day before – launched an attack against Warren and Sedgwick's unprotected flank. Gordon managed to inflict nearly 1,000 casualties, allowing the Confederacy to get in the last word before the fall of darkness once again put an end to the fighting. As the sound of gunfire died away, the forest fires still raged, consuming both the dead as well as the wounded who, helpless to crawl away, had been abandoned by their comrades to burn alive.
Aftermath
The next morning, 7 May, Lee hunkered down, in preparation for another attack. Yet as morning gave way to afternoon, it was clear no attack was coming. Indeed, Grant had already packed up and marched away. The Battle of the Wilderness was over. The Union had lost over 17,600 killed, wounded, or captured, while the Confederates had lost around 7,800 casualties. To Lee, it seemed to have been another glorious victory – until he learned of Grant's destination.
In the past, Union generals who had suffered such a defeat had retreated across the nearest river to lick their wounds. Not so with Grant. Instead, he sidestepped Lee's army and continued pushing south, as if the horrific Battle of the Wilderness had been little more than a temporary distraction. "If you see the President," Grant told a reporter who was on his way back to Washington, "tell him, from me, that whatever happens, there will be no turning back" (quoted in Foote, 186).
Lee, with the safety of his capital at stake, had no choice but to follow. The two armies would clash once more at the equally bloody Battle of Spotsylvania Court House (8-21 May), continuing what would prove to be the deadliest and most consequential campaign of the war.
