Streetwise Professor

Well it looks like the latest outbreak of Trump-y-steria is abating. Smelling salt, rubber sheet, adult diaper, and fainting couch salesmen hardest hit.

The source of the outbreak was, of course, Greenland. Trump made a series of blood curdling threats–curdling Euro blood, anyway. Greenland is vital to American security. Sell it to me or we invade.

The end is nigh! Nato is dead! America is a rogue state! We must surrender to China! (Tell how that is supposed to help, exactly). (Macron has been the surrenderer in chief, which I guess makes sense).

(Macron rocked Davos in aviators. Presumably because his wife rocked him upside the head again).

Scott Bessent joined in smacking around Macron for his poseur act on Greenland:

“If this is all President Macron has to do when the European, when the French budget, is in shambles, I would suggest that he focuses on other things for the French people,” Bessent said.

Then shortly after Trump torched the assembled “elite” in a Davos speech, thereby further amplifying the hysteria (as hard as that is to believe), he and Nato head Mark Rutte announced an agreement on a “framework” for Greenland. In essence, the US will gain control over relatively small parts of the island, including sites for the “Golden Dome” missile shield as well as locations for other installations that allow the US to project power into the Arctic, and crucially to constrain Chinese and Russian access there. Further, the US will obtain access to mineral resources–and China will not.

In other words, everything Trump wanted. And the price: zero.

The Art of the Deal. When will the bedwetters actually read the book?

The outcome suggests the process went something like this. Trump asked for these things, in private, sometime back. The Danes demurred. Trump asked more insistently, and publicly. The Danes continued to refuse, and the rest of the European sob sisters leapt to Denmark’s side. So Trump started to threaten publicly, and turned the threats to 11. After stalwart declarations of Never!, the Danes and the rest of the Euros folded.

Of course the usual idiots are saying “TACO” because Trump didn’t carry through on his threats. No, morons. He didn’t carry through on his threats because he didn’t have to. They worked.

They could have spared the world the drama if they had just played ball. But with them behaving like recalcitrant mules, sitting on their haunches and braying loudly, Trump felt compelled to hit them between the eyes with a 2×4. To get their attention. Which he clearly did.

The Euros have acted like the injured party throughout this contretemps. But it takes two to disagree. There would have been no threat to Nato if the Danes and Europeans had been more cooperative earlier this year, or back in 2019 when Trump first indicated that he views Greenland as vital to US security, and that Europe cannot be relied on to provide that security. (How could he ever get that idea?)

The Euros have shamelessly shirked on their sworn collective security obligations for decades. Giving in on Greenland would be a reasonable gesture of contrition and gratitude. But no. They fought their benefactor, ungrateful bastards that they are.

So Trump had to prove that the old adage (attributed to Al Capone) is true: “You can get much further with a kind word and a gun than you can with a kind word alone.” But it came to that because of the Europeans.

The Euro deployment to Greenland was performative idiocy that was totally counterproductive. It no doubt infuriated Trump. Further it showed the exact opposite of what they intended. It didn’t show their ability to defend Greenland. It showed their utter incapacity to do so.

The UK sent a troop. Not troops. One officer. The Germans sent a token deployment–for a couple of days. They had to fly a Polish commercial jet to get there. Just how, exactly, could Europe sustain any deployment, no matter how small, to defend against the Russians or whomever? Without the US, they would be starving and frozen within a few days.

And it was clear that their rhetoric at the time suggested that they were showing solidarity with Denmark and would defend the island against . . . the US. Which has defended them for 80 years.

Denmark and many Euros dismissed Trump’s warnings about growing Chinese penetration into the Arctic. “No Chinese ships have been there.”

Really? Tell Danish intelligence.

Here's the report. Definitely worth a read.https://t.co/BCos5u1X0N

— streetwiseprof (@streetwiseprof) January 22, 2026

And the Chinese are crying.

Look who's crying. Tells you all you need to know.

Cry more. Please. https://t.co/GPgZhHtz0o

— streetwiseprof (@streetwiseprof) January 22, 2026

If they didn’t care about Greenland, they wouldn’t be.

The Arctic has become the cockpit for great power rivalry. Greenland occupies the central location in that great power rivalry. This is especially true in a world of ballistic missiles with trajectories over the Arctic, and with more open water in the Arctic. Its strategic importance to the US is manifest.

Note that the US seized Greenland in the immediate aftermath of the German invasion of Denmark. It played a vital role in the war, not just as an important air base used in the Battle of the Atlantic, but as a location of weather stations that were vital throughout the war, including notably the weather forecast on which the D-Day invasion hinged. The Germans attempted to infiltrate Greenland on multiple times.

Greenland’s strategic importance to the US is greater now than it was then. And since in protecting itself the US also defends Europe, and since Europe cannot secure Greenland like the US can, it is in Europe’s interest to give the US a free hand there. Their recalcitrance and belligerency is self-defeating. They have been slitting their throats to spite Trump.

I’ve been saying “Europe.” I’ve left out Canada. That is a grave oversight. American suzerainty over Greenland bolsters Canadian security more than any other nation’s, given that nation’s huge Arctic coastline.

Yet despite this, Canada’s smarmy, execrable PM Mark Carney pledged his nation to defend Greenland . . . against the US. He (as noted in a prior post) outdid even Macron in toadying up to China pour epater les Americains. And he capped it off with a supercilious speech in Davos which declared the death of the Rule Based Order and called for a coalition of “middling nations” to operate in opposition to the great powers–and pointedly the US.

Of course, he received nothing but hosannas for his rhetoric–empty though it was.

For one thing, yes, the New World Order is now the Dead World Order, but Trump didn’t kill it. He’s just been delivering an acerbic obituary, and moving forcefully to position the US in a Westphalian world contending with revisionist powers. For another, the idea that the middling nations are able, let alone willing, to be a counterweight is farcical.

What the hell is the EU but a coalition of middling nations (and piddling ones)? Its primary characteristics are weakness and indecision. They have not contributed to Nato anywhere near commensurately with their population or economic weight due to free rider problems–which will not go away.

And Canada is the most egregious free rider of all. The once proud and powerful Canadian military, which was stalwart during both World Wars, is now a complete joke.

I have obtained highly classified footage. https://t.co/ySe0ncV05S pic.twitter.com/LtYnQVh16x

— streetwiseprof (@streetwiseprof) January 20, 2026

In sum, all this drama over Greenland was completely unnecessary. And rather than being the victims of American bullying, they brought it on themselves. If they had acted in their own interests, rather than behaving like ungrateful brats hanging on to their glory days and resenting their (self-inflicted) power deficit with the US, the same result would have been achieved, to the benefit of both sides, minus the hysteria.

Trump announced that he will restore the names of ex-Confederates to U.S. Army bases. In a speech to the 82nd Airborne Division at Fort, er, Bragg he tried to make it clear that it was not an homage to the Confederacy, per se, but to the heritage of the US military: “We won a lot of battles out of those forts. It’s no time to change. And I’m superstitious. I like to keep it going, right? I’m very superstitious. We want to keep it going,” 

I always considered the name changes to be performative, PC bullshit. I ain’t superstitious, but I do honor the legacy of the hundreds of thousands of GIs who passed through those bases and associate the base names with their histories as bases rather than the individuals for whom they were named.

The main objection I have to the base names is that most of the generals they are named for were, with a few exceptions, pretty lame.

Braxton Bragg. “The most hated man in the Confederacy.” A past master at winning smashing initial successes (Perryville, Murfreesboro/Stones River, Chickamauga) then retreating (in the first two cases) or getting smashed later (the last, at Chattanooga), all the while engaged in hammer-and-tong battles with virtually all of his subordinates.

Leonidas Polk. His first name was purely aspirational, not to say false advertising. He was one of the subordinates whom Bragg battled with. He opened the war with a colossal blunder, occupying Columbus, Kentucky while that state was neutral. This opened the way for the US to move into the state and ensure its loyalty. He didn’t improve with experience. His record as a corps commander was littered with failures, and his politicking was highly destructive to the Confederate cause in the West. Elevated far beyond his capability and experience (he had resigned soon after graduating from West Point to become an Episcopalian minister, eventually rising to bishop) because of his friendship with Jefferson Davis. Killed by a shot fired by Hubert “Leatherbreeches” Dilger at Pine Mountain, Georgia. There is a small monument marking the site where he was killed. That should have been enough.

George Pickett. Largely a non-entity as a division commander. His fame stems from a disastrous attack (which was not his decision to make, though he was enthusiastic about it–before it collapsed in flame and blood) in which he was not in overall tactical command and his troops comprised less than half of the attacking force. He performed credibly during the Bermuda Hundred/Petersburg campaigns, but was in command when the Confederates suffered the crushing defeat at Five Forks. Although Sheridan probably would have overwhelmed him even if he had been present, the fact he was lunching (on shad) miles to the rear when the attack was launched was not a good look: seeing him a few days later, Lee disdainfully said “Is that man still with the army?” Ironically, he had had his best performance of the war on the previous day, at Dinwiddie Court House. After the war, he descended into bitter alcoholism.

John Bell Hood. An excellent division commander, a cipher as a corps commander, and a disaster as an army commander. The Peter Principle on steroids. Franklin and Nashville were catastrophes.

Ambrose Powell Hill. Very high variance, and another Peter Principle poster boy. Often excellent as a division commander, he bailed out Stonewall Jackson at Cedar Mountain and saved Lee at Antietam. But he rashly attacked at Mechanicsville/Beaver Dam Creek and was driven back at Second Manassas and Fredericksburg. His record as a corps commander was poor, most notably at Bristoe Station when his rash attack resulted in a bloody repulse, drawing from Lee the rebuke “Let us bury these poor men and say nothing more of it.” His corps performed well at Petersburg, but for the most part he was not exercising tactical command: his division commanders (notably William Mahone) were the stalwarts. Hill’s erratic performance was largely due to his poor health–specifically, the periodic outbreak of syphilitic symptoms. Being fatally shot during the final Union assault at Petersburg was probably a blessing.

 John Brown Gordon. Among the best of the lot after Lee–at least during the war. Rising from regimental to brigade to division to corps command, he excelled at every level. Towards the end of the war, he was Lee’s most reliable subordinate. He is the most dubious politically because of his post-war Senate career, during which he was a notorious Lost Causer. His memoir is largely fiction.

Edmund Winchester Rucker. Wait? Who? He was a minor figure whom even many of those with a pretty good knowledge of the Civil War may not recognize. He was nominated for a brigadier generalship, but the Confederate Congress never approved it. His most important service was as a brigade commander under Nathan Bedford Forrest, notably at Brice’s Cross Roads.

Robert E. Lee. No comment necessary here.

The algorithm for choosing these base names was clearly “pick a notable general from the state in which the base is located (even if they sucked).” Rucker wasn’t even an Alabamian (being a Tennessee native) but he became a prominent business figure in the state well after the war: there were no prominent generals from Alabama (though Gordon had started out in the “Raccoon Roughs” of the 6th Alabama) so Rucker won out because of longevity and wealth. Hood wasn’t a Texan (born in Kentucky) but he rose to fame as commander of the Texas Brigade in the Army of Northern Virginia.

Southern politics clearly played a role. There was no Fort Longstreet–even though he was far more prominent and successful than any of those above except for Lee–because he was considered a traitor for becoming a Republican, criticizing Lee, and saying that the South should reconcile itself to the loss of the war. P.G.T. Beauregard was more prominent and successful than Polk, but he was an enemy of Jefferson Davis, so no fort for you! No Fort [Joseph E.] Johnston for the same reason.

A coda on Fort Polk. It should retain its name if only because of its appearance in the famous speech by Patton: “Thirty years from now when you’re sitting by your fireside with your grandson on your knee and he asks, ‘What did you do in the great World War Two?’ You won’t have to cough and say, ‘Well, your granddaddy shoveled shit in Fort Polk.'” (In the movie version of the speech, Patton says “shoveled shit in Louisiana,” but some soldiers who heard the speech specifically recalled him saying “Fort Polk”).

Today is the 140th Anniversary of the Battle of Allatoona Pass, a small but brutal and fascinating action that occurred in the aftermath of Sherman’s Atlanta Campaign. I find the battle fascinating, and have visited the battlefield four or five times. (It’s well preserved: definitely worth a visit, at least if you are something of a nut like me :P)

I wrote an extended thread about the battle on X for those who are interested.

160 years ago today was fought the Battle of Allatoona Pass, GA. A small engagement, but a bloody and vicious one. pic.twitter.com/e93ZxSFL6o

— streetwiseprof (@streetwiseprof) October 5, 2024

If you read through to the end, you’ll see that this obscure engagement left its mark on history through music–gospel and R&B.

A Troiani painting (a print of which hangs over my fireplace) of the fighting at The Star Fort:

A map of the action:

To commemorate the 160th anniversary of what I consider to be the most remarkable feat of arms in the Civil War I am reposting my 2010 post on the battle. I also wrote an extended and heavily illustrated thread on X:

160 years ago today was fought one of the most fascinating battles of the Civil War. It is known by many names. The Battle of Atlanta. The Battle of July 22nd. Hood's Second Sortie. An extended thread follows. Extended because the complexity of the battled requires it.

— streetwiseprof (@streetwiseprof) July 22, 2024

The Battle of Atlanta was the quintessential soldier’s battle. At the end of the X thread I quote Joseph Johnston’s statement that there had been no such army as Sherman’s since Caesar’s. The Army of the Tennessee’s repulse of attacks from front flank and rear does bear some similarities to some of Caesar’s most desperate battles, notably Alesia.

The difference was that (at least by Caesar’s telling) his personal leadership was instrumental in winning: on 22 July 1864 Sherman had nothing to do with it, McPherson was killed at the outset, and with the exception of Black Jack Logan making an inspirational appearance on his black charger and directing some forces to counterattack, generals had little to do with it. It was the colonels, regimental field officers, company officers, and especially the soldiers who responded to the daunting tactical challenges.

The same was true of the Confederates. Leadership above the brigade level exerted no control on the battle.

On both sides, veterans steeled by two-and-one-half years of combat knew how to fight, and on their own hook. They proved it 160 years ago today.

You may recall my earlier post on likely Civil War ancestor (direct) Patrick Martin. A Memorial Day update is in order.

I ordered from the National Archives the service records of Patrick Martin, Co. H, 1st New York Infantry. Imagine my surprise when the records of “Patrick Martin #1” came back. Not only the “#1” but the fact that this Patrick Martin was not a deserter, but was mustered out with the regiment in June, 1863 threw me for a loop.

A little more digging disclosed that there were indeed 2 Patrick Martins. In Company H. Of the 1st New York. Who enlisted on consecutive days–7 and 8 May, 1861.

Moreover, their listed ages are almost identical: 30 for #1 and 29 for #2. #2 is the deserter–at least in the NY Adjutant General’s records. Only 1 Patrick Martin appears in the Co. H 1st NY muster roll (hence my subsequent surprise).

What are the odds?

Now, based on the 1860 Census my ancestor Patrick Martin would have been 29 in May, 1861: he is listed as 28 in the Census taken in July, 1860. So #2 is the most likely, but given the vagaries of record keeping, it’s not impossible that his age was recorded as 30 by the mustering officer. For example, if he’d been born in December, 1831 and the person enrolling him asked “what year were you born?”, upon hearing “1831” the mustering officer may well have written down “30” as his age.

So he’s most likely the deserter, but that’s not certain.

I tried to find him in the 1870 Census, and originally had no luck. I figured that as a deserter, maybe he took a powder, or laid low when the government came knocking on his door. But my inability to find him was because the census taker apparently had a hot date, or something. I eventually found a Martin Patr and a Kerr Cath in the 1870 Census. (His wife’s name in the 1860 Census was Catharine Carr, as was my great-grandfather’s mother’s name in the 1880 Census). My great-grandfather, recorded in beautiful cursive as “Francis L.” in the 1880 Census, was denoted merely as “F” in 1870. The names of Patrick’s other children were also abbreviated, but at least with more than one letter.

Gee thanks, buddy. Hope you had a good time. You wasted some of mine.

The 1870 Census states that Patrick was a “firefighter.” In 1860 he was a stage driver.

This all makes me wonder what efforts the military went to to track down deserters. Was it easy for one to get lost in the teeming tenements of New York City? The post-March 1863 draft dragnet, which hit New York particularly intensely (as evidenced by the July 1863 draft riots, and the high numbers of draftees in 1864-5 New York regiments) would suggest otherwise.

There was one more candidate Patrick Martin, a 30 year old August 1861 enlistee in the 37th New York (ironically in the same brigade as the 1st). But that Patrick applied for a pension in 1905, and the 1880 Census lists Catharine Kerr as a widow. So scratch him.

Perhaps some additional information will arrive with Patrick Martin #2’s service record from the National Archives. I wait with bated breath, and will report accordingly.

Today is Memorial Day. It is also the 160th anniversary of the grievous wounding of my maternal great-grandmother’s uncle, Eli Hatfield. Hatfield’s 46th Ohio Veteran Volunteer Infantry was advancing as part of the 4th Division, XV Corps, Army of the Tennessee outside Dallas, Georgia when attacked by dismounted Confederate cavalry. (On this day the 46th was attached to the third brigade of that division, though it was part of the second brigade). Fighting without earthworks* the 46th suffered 1 killed and 10 wounded, including Eli.

The main Battle of Dallas occurred the next day. The 46th suffered heavier casualties repelling the assault of Bate’s division, including regimental commander Henry Giesy.

Eli’s wound was a bad one–a minie ball to the left arm just below the shoulder joint. Too close to the torso for amputation, the 46th’s surgeon resected the shattered bone, leaving Eli’s arm dangling at his side for the remainder of his life. (My great-grandmother said he was “Uncle Eli with the dead arm.”)

The survival rate from this surgery was very low, about 10 percent. In contrast, the survival rate from amputation was around 75 percent.

This wound was the culmination of a series of misfortunes. Eli did not have a good war. He was captured at Shiloh (where the 46th held the very right flank of the Federal army–not quite the 20th Maine at Gettysburg, but their stand was crucial). He spent several months in Cahaba (Alabama) Prison, which was not quite Andersonville but wasn’t Club Reb either. Paroled and exchanged, he returned home to Ohio but did not return to his unit, claiming that his imprisonment had rendered him unfit for service. Despite notes from his doctor (seriously–they are in his service file) the army disagreed, and Eli reported to the 46th in time to participate in the assault on Tunnel Hill at the Battle of Chattanooga. He survived the grueling (but unnecessary) march through appalling weather of the XV Corps to relieve Burnside at Knoxville, and a winter in camp at Chattanooga. He fought with the 46th at Resaca and during other skirmishes in the Atlanta Campaign, before his rendezvous with a bullet at Dallas 160 years ago today.

Eli returned to Ohio after a period of convalescence in Nashville. (Just imagine the agony of the jolting wagon or ambulance ride over rough Georgia roads to the Western and Atlantic Railway, and the subsequent train rides north over rickety rails to Nashville, and then home). He lived a long and productive life. He fathered four children (one born in November, 1865, a mere 18 months after his wounding), and died in 1899.

The 1880 Census lists his occupation as “engineer.” Of what I am trying to figure out. On a railroad? For a coal mine (one of his brothers and two of his nephews worked in the mines)? Given his rural upbringing, and the fact that virtually all his family were farmers or laborers, his profession is something of a surprise, and I am curious to learn how that came about.

He is buried in a small cemetery just east of Columbus:

Eli’s brother John also served in the 46th. John’s military records state that he was 18 when he enlisted. However, he was only 16. He enlisted a month after Eli, which combined with lying about his age suggests some parental resistance to his serving.

Unlike his brother John survived 4 years of war without a scratch, and apparently without serious illness: he is recorded as present every month for these four years–his service file is quite boring compared to Eli’s. Quite remarkable considering that his service included Shiloh, the Siege of Vicksburg (where disease was as deadly as bullets), the Second Battle of Jackson, Chattanooga, Resaca, Dallas, Noonday Creek, the assault on Kennesaw Mountain, the Battle of Atlanta (22 July), Ezra Church, Griswoldsville, the March to the Sea, the March Through the Carolinas, and Bentonville, as well as nearly continuous skirmishing during the Atlanta Campaign.

After muster out, life in Ohio was apparently unappealing to John, so he settled on a farm in Valley Falls, KS, where he died in 1915. He also fathered four children. His obituary in the Valley Falls New Era read:

Comrade Hatfield was well known in this community, took an active interest in church and G. A. R. Circles, liked to hear the bugle call and to the last enjoyed the camp fire stories, at all their gatherings and has a large circle of relatives and friends who will morn his departure. The G. A. R. Post took charge of the services at the grave.

Quoted in Find a Grave.

An old soldier who faded away, and who like many others considered his military service the high point of his life.** Eli’s feelings are unrecorded, or at least I have not found any record. Objectively it was the low point. But he survived and carried on with life.

Theirs are just two Civil War stories. I am glad to know them, and to be able to tell them.

*The report of the commander of the 46th records that the regiment dug shallow entrenchments after repelling this Confederate assault.

**A paternal ancestor corresponded nostalgically with comrades from the Bavarian Army (he was from the Palatinate, which was part of Bavaria at the time) long after he had emigrated to Chicago.

Outside of relatively specialized Civil War publications (which are shrinking in number), one seldom sees reference to Major General Gouverneur K. Warren. Hence it was a pleasant surprise to see a rather lengthy article about him in The Epoch Times of all places.

G. K. Warren

The article ends with a discussion of Warren’s “Unjust Fall” during the Battle of Five Forks in April, 1865, when a furious Philip Sheridan unceremoniously relieved Warren of command of the V Corps, believing that Warren was too slow in attacking.

Warren’s relief–and particularly Sheridan’s refusal to reverse it, or apologize for it after the heat of battle had passed even though his victory was complete–was indeed unjust. The part of the V Corps under Warren’s direct observation advanced into a vacuum, rather than attacking Pickett’s Confederates directly as Sheridan wanted, because of the fog of war, and in particular unfamiliarity with the Confederate dispositions due in large part to the heavily wooded terrain. It was the kind of thing that happened numerous times during the war, and which happens in every war.

But although Warren’s fate was decided on in the smoky Virginia woods on 1 April 1865, it was written long before, and was in many ways emblematic of the history and culture of the Army of the Potomac and the clash between that culture and U.S. Grant and his coterie–which prominently included Phil Sheridan.

Philip Sheridan

Warren was an engineer by training. Indeed, his greatest service in the war was his direction of two brigades to the vacant Little Round Top at Gettysburg while serving as the AoP’s Chief Engineer. After Gettysburg, he became a corps commander, first in temporary command of II Corps after W. S. Hancock’s wounding at Gettysburg, then in permanent command (until Five Forks) of the V Corps. Warren brought an engineer’s mindset–precise, deliberate, and cautious–to corps command. This drew the ire of Grant and his circle, who during the Overland Campaign and the Petersburg Campaign were repeatedly frustrated by what they perceived as Warren’s lack of aggressive spirit.

In his defense, one could say that based on experience, especially at the Wilderness and after, caution in attack was prudent, and aggressiveness foolhardy. But Grant was not alone in his frustration with Warren. Even before Grant’s arrival in Virginia, AoP Commander George Gordon Meade had been furious with Warren for failing to attack as ordered at Mine Run (in November, 1863). Meade was also harshly critical of Warren’s caution at the Wilderness on 5-7 May 1864, and tension between Warren and Meade, not to mention Warren and Grant, was pronounced throughout the balance of 1864 and into 1865.

Warren also had a touchy personality, resented criticism, and argued with his superiors constantly–Meade in particular. The intense mental and psychological stress of the brutal Overland Campaign only aggravated Warren’s (and Meade’s) tempers and mutual dislike.

Thus, Warren was skating on very thin ice when Grant’s grand offensive against Lee commenced in March, 1865. His assignment to cooperate with and support Phil Sheridan made falling through it almost inevitable.

Sheridan was everything Warren was not, and vice versa. The former was blunt and hyper-aggressive, the later high strung and sensitive, and as noted above cautious rather than offensive-minded, especially after the 11 shattering months of combat in Virginia in 1864-5. Sheridan had come originally from the western theater (brought by Grant to command, though he had not served extensively with him and had not commanded large cavalry units), and from the start clashed with the AoP establishment which he found lacking in the will to do what was necessary to win the war. (Note his confrontation with Meade in over how to deploy the cavalry the immediate aftermath of the Wilderness, which led to Grant turning him loose to raid Richmond, resulting in the death of Jeb Stuart and little else).

Whereas Warren was something of an intellectual, by army standards (the engineers were, in general), Sheridan was anything but. He finished 34th (out of 55) in his West Point class: Warren was second in his. Sheridan had been suspended for a year for threatening to bayonet an upperclassman. Warren’s conduct record was exemplary.

Sheridan had won smashing victories in the Shenandoah Valley in September-October 1864, and had wreaked destruction in the Valley afterwards–a “hard war” policy that the AoP had shrunk from since its formation. Sheridan was viewed by the AoP as something of a barbarian.

Thus, Warren represented everything that Sheridan despised, and epitomized everything Sheridan found wrong with the AoP. Sheridan was looking for a chance to get rid of him, specifically asked Grant for the permission to do so (before Five Forks), and did it at the first opportunity on a flimsy pretext–even after Warren had extricated Sheridan and his cavalry from a difficult situation at Dinwiddie Court House on 31 March.

In the box of 1 April 1865, Sheridan was clearly in the wrong. But in the large, he was in the right. Men like Gouverneur Warren were not going to win the Civil War. Hard men, relentless men–men like Sheridan, Sherman, and Grant–were, and did.

Warren was thus a tragic figure, in a war chock full of them. He was a good man, but in the wrong position. You would almost certainly find Warren to be much preferable as a companion to the brusque, relentless, and blunt (“the only good Indian I ever saw was dead”) Sheridan, and you can genuinely pity his fate. But good companions are typically not cut out to be good commanders, especially in total wars. The sons of bitches are. And Phil Sheridan was one of the Civil War’s leading sons of bitches.

I have long had a very extensive genealogy of my mother’s family, with the exception of my maternal grandmother’s father, Francis (“Frank”) L. Martin. I knew he was an Irishman from NYC (my grandmother spoke of his thick New Yawk accent) who was born in the 1860s, but finding a particular Irishman in New York City in the 1860s or 1870s is a challenge. Fortunately, a few days ago I was able to find my great-grandparents’ marriage record, which gave Frank’s parents’ names–Patrick Martin and Catherine Kerr Martin.

With that in hand, the 1860, 1870, and 1880 Censuses allowed me to identify which Patrick Martin was my ancestor.

The 1860 Census was particularly interesting. Patrick Martin was 28 years old then. I immediately thought: likely candidate for Civil War service. Using Fold3 I identified the 30 odd “Patrick Martins” who served in the Union army, and using the New York Adjutant General’s reports I was able to narrow down the candidates to one man, who was mustered into the 1st New York Volunteer Infantry (a two-year outfit) on 7 May 1861. His age in 1861?: 29. Bingo.

Now it’s possible that that Patrick is not my Patrick. But there was no other 28 year old Patrick Martin in the 1860 Census for NYC. So it’s highly likely to be a match.

And there the story gets interesting. The 1st New York was–as its regimental number indicates–raised immediately in response to Lincoln’s call for 75,000 volunteers on 15 April 1861. (Weird coincidence: Lincoln was assassinated exactly 4 years later.) Patrick’s company (“H”) was the last to be mustered.

One possibility is that Patrick was fervently patriotic and rushed to the colors at the first opportunity. But there are others. He had a wife, 3 children, and a father in his home. Was volunteering an escape from a claustrophobic family life? Or perhaps he was an early example of what William Marvel calls “Lincoln’s Mercenaries,” individuals for whom military service was the best economic opportunity available, especially if he believed (as most did) that the war would be short and glorious. (He was a stage driver by profession, according to the Census.)

If patriotic fervor was indeed Patrick’s motivation, it eventually dissipated. The 1st NY fought in the war’s first significant land battle–Big Bethel–soon after mustering, and then participated in the Peninsular Campaign and the Seven Days’ Battles. Its largest engagement was at Glendale/Frayser’s Farm, when most of its color guard was shot down.

With the rest of the Army of the Potomac, after fighting in a supporting role at Malvern Hill the 1st retired to Harrison’s Landing, where it lingered for more than a month before being ordered north to join Pope’s Army of Virginia near Washington. It was transported by train to Alexandria, and upon debarking there on 22 August 1862 Patrick Martin decided to debark from the army. He deserted.

Again possibilities abound. No doubt the realities of 13 months of active campaigning disabused Patrick of his visions of military service. The crushing of hopes during McClellan’s retreat from before Richmond certainly discouraged many soldiers in his army, especially while they lingered at Harrison’s Landing. (I will do some research to see if there was a desertion uptick at this time.).

But maybe it was the need of his large family, or genuine affection for them, that led him to take a powder when reaching the banks of the Potomac. Was there a plaintive letter (or letters) from Catherine?

All I know so far is that Patrick deserted. His post-desertion fate remains unknown to me. I have ordered his full service record from the National Archives. Perhaps that will reveal more. But based on my experience with these records, perhaps not.

It is things such as these that are grist for historical fiction, where imagination fills factual gaps. I have a slim set of facts which fit numerous alternative explanations. But whatever explanation is the correct one, this Patrick Martin’s (voluntarily) abbreviated military service casts an interesting light on the realities of social and military experience at the outset of the Civil War.

One hundred sixty years ago, the battered Union Army of the Cumberland gathered at Rossville, Georgia, near Chattanooga, Tennessee, in the aftermath of its catastrophic defeat at the Battle of Chickamauga, 18-20 September, 1863. Fortunately, logistical difficulties and the inevitable disorganization following a battle in which the victors had suffered 30 percent casualties prevented the Confederate Army of Tennessee from pressing their advantage. Consequently, the Army of the Cumberland was able to shake itself into a semblance of order at Rossville, and retreat into the defenses of Chattanooga on the 22nd.

Chickamauga was the second bloodiest battle in the Civil War, with casualties in excess of 34,000 out of roughly 125,000 men engaged. It was by far the most decisive Confederate victory west of the Appalachians, yet it was barren of strategic results. The Army of the Cumberland survived to fight another day. Besieged in its works, it neared starvation but the Lincoln administration rushed reinforcements from the Army of the Tennessee in the Mississippi River valley (under Grant and Sherman) and from the Eastern Theater (under Joseph Hooker). These forces opened a supply line, and eventually in late-November launched assaults that drove the Confederates in precipitate flight into northern Georgia.

(My grandfather’s great aunt Amanda Roberts remembered seeing trainloads of Union soldiers trundling through southeastern Ohio on their way to Chattanooga. It was an eventful summer for her. Earlier, she and her family had fled to the woods with their animals to escape John Hunt Morgan’s raiders.)

Rather than fighting the Yankees, after Chickamauga the Confederate generals fought one another. Or more accurately, Longstreet, Buckner, D. H. Hill and others fought army commander Braxton Bragg. Chickamauga was a bitter victory.

The battle was a meeting engagement fought in deep forests, which resulted in confused and confusing actions. On the first full day of action, neither side knew quite where the other was, and plunging into the woods time and again they came unexpectedly upon their adversaries, to their mutual surprise. For much of the second day, the battle took place along a relatively static line to which the Union army had withdrawn on the night of the 19th.

The actions included the attack of Cleburne’s division:

These troops are firing at my great-great grandfather, George Immel of the 92nd Ohio Volunteer Infantry, located a few hundred yards in their front. They missed! (Luckily for me. Perhaps due to the rude log breastworks that the Union troops had erected in the night. They also missed at Missionary Ridge, the entire Atlanta Campaign, the March to the Sea, and the Carolinas campaign. George returned home to sire eight children.)

Few commanders came out of the battle with burnished reputations: many saw their reputations destroyed. Union army commander William S. Rosecrans was relieved by Grant when the latter arrived in Chattanooga a few weeks after the battle. As noted before, Bragg’s management of the battle and the barren results resulted in widespread criticism throughout the South.

Only James Longstreet and George Thomas emerged from the battle looking good–and Longstreet soon undermined that by his squabbling with Bragg, his failure to prevent the Union from opening a supply line through Lookout Valley, and the disaster of his Knoxville Campaign. Thomas went down in history as the Rock of Chickamauga for his stalwart defense of Horseshoe Ridge/Snodgrass Hill on the 20th. His defense saved the Union army from utter destruction.

It must be said that the Union defense was only made possible by the decisions of small bodies of men to rally on Horseshoe Ridge, and later Reserve Corps commander General Gordon Granger’s decision to march to the sound of the guns without orders.

Thomas’ defense overshadows some dubious decisions.

Although by reputation a cautious and deliberate general (his knickname was “Old Slow Trot”), on the 19th Thomas ordered two divisions to attack into the woods on the basis of sketchy information. One of these decisions (Baird’s) was routed, and the other (Brannan’s) was roughly handled. Rosecrans’ army was in a false position, in danger of being cut off from its base at Chattanooga: Thomas should have established a solid line to protect the army’s line of communication (the Lafayette Road) and performed reconnaissance to find out where the Confederates were rather than plunging into the unknown.

On the night of the 19th-20th, and through the morning of the 20th, Thomas constantly importuned Rosecrans to reinforce the left (which Thomas held). (He sent something like 20 couriers to Rosecrans asking for the latter to send Negley’s division to the left.)

Now, it was the case that the left had to be held to prevent Bragg from interposing his army between Rosecrans and Chattanooga. That said, Thomas had easily repelled the attacks on his direct front (due in large part to those rudimentary log works), and those Confederates (of Breckinridge’s division) who did circle around Thomas’ left were defeated in detail. Moreover, Thomas had a reserve line in Kelly Field that could have been used to extend his flank beyond the Lafayette Road.

Moreover, Thomas was myopically focused on is own situation, and ignored the truly parlous situation of the Union right, which had been hammered the day before. The far right was held by Davis’ small division, that had been handled roughly in Viniard Field. Next to Davis was Wood’s division: Buell’s brigade of that division had also been hammered there.

Thomas’ constant call for reinforcements led the mercurial Rosecrans–whose judgment was probably clouded by an extreme lack of sleep–to make hurried adjustments to his line, pulling out some units to send them to Thomas and shuffling in other troops to fill the gaps thus opened up. This led to considerable confusion, not least in Rosecrans’ understanding of his dispositions. When he received a report of a gap between Woods’ and Reynolds’ divisions (the 92nd Ohio being in Reynolds’ outfit)–a gap that did not exist, but was in fact held by Brannan’s division–Rosecrans order Wood to pull out and “support” Reynolds. This opened a gap into which tragically or fortuitously, depending on your rooting interest, Longstreet’s powerful attack of four divisions poured. The entire Union right was routed, and the detritus of the smashed units–and one relatively intact one, Harker’s brigade of Wood’s division–formed the forces on Horseshoe Ridge.

Rosecrans probably deferred to Thomas due to fatigue, and the evident psychological dominance of the latter over the former. Regardless of the cause of Rosecrans’ deference, the confusion and shifting of troops caused by Thomas’ insistence on being reinforced set the stage for disaster.

Rosecrans is of course ultimately to blame because it was his responsibility to consider the position of the entire army. But Thomas pushed a psychologically fragile commander into bad decisions.

One pet peeve. I noted earlier that Thomas’ final defense occurred on what is known as “Snodgrass Hill,” a bald spur of the wooded Horseshoe Ridge. The monuments for Harker’s brigade are all located there, and it is undisputed that the repeated volleys of Harker’s brigade (the soldiers expending 100 rounds per man) were essential to Thomas’ defense.

But whom were they shooting at? The only Confederate unit in the area, Humphrey’s brigade from the Army of Northern Virginia that Longstreet brought to Georgia, suffered few casualties, and did not report making any attacks, let alone the numerous attacks directed at Harker. It was hundreds of yards south of Snodgrass Hill, and the accounts of the attacks on Harker’s line all indicate that the Confederates made it within a few yards of it.

Years after the battle, Archibald Gracie, the son of the commander of the Confederate brigade that finally breached the Horseshoe Ridge line (also named Archibald) wrote The Truth About Chickamauga, a sometimes polemical revisionist account which disputes the placement of the monuments, and the official War Department (later Park Service) account. Gracie’s book was based on a meticulous study of the Official Records and extensive correspondence with veterans of the combat there. I have always found Gracie’s case to be persuasive, but every modern account repeats the official version. The otherwise excellent Maps of Chickamauga, for example, has Harker’s brigade firing those tens of thousands of rounds at Humphrey’s distant (and stationary) troops.

Gracie more plausibly placed Harker’s brigade on what is referred to as “Hill One” of Horseshoe Ridge. That makes much more sense for many reasons.

Gracie is an interesting character. He survived the sinking of the Titanic, and wrote a book about it, though he died from the effects of the ordeal before it was published. Gracie Mansion in New York is named for one of his forebears (also Archibald). His father was killed at Petersburg.

Postscript: I edited this post to change the references to “Opdyke’s brigade” to “Harker’s brigade.” Opdyke commanded the 125th Ohio in Harker’s brigade.

Tomorrow (Sunday, 17 September 2023) is the 161st anniversary of the Battle of Antietam (or Sharpsburg to those daring enough to admit Confederate leanings). I have spent the days leading up to the anniversary reading D. Scott Hartwig’s massive account of the battle and its aftermath, I Dread the Thought of the Place. It is almost certain to be the definitive account of the battle for years to come.

Antietam is a battle with many moving parts, many of them moving simultaneously. Hartwig does a masterful job of describing each part down to the regimental and sometimes company level, and crucially, helping the reader understand what was going on elsewhere in the battle when X was happening at location Y.

Antietam was the bloodiest single day in American history. Perhaps the most impactful part of the book is how it gives some sense of how much carnage occurred in short periods of time in small spaces. Many paragraphs in the book describe the killing or wounding of several individual soldiers–often by name–in a single company or regiment in a period of a few minutes. The serial slaughter of color guards is particularly notable in this regard. Although of course nothing can possibly convey the shock of such violence experienced by the participants, the book individualizes the combat and its human consequences in a way that allows us to glimpse, at least distantly, how intense and concentrated the violence was.

One thing that the book makes abundantly clear is the often decisive role played by artillery in the battle. Stephen D. Lee, a Confederate artillery battalion commander at the battle, called Antietam “artillery hell.” It was for Lee, given the pounding that his batteries took on the Dunker Church Plateau. But it was an artillery hell especially for infantry on both sides who were pounded by guns that had unobstructed fields of fire seldom found on Civil War battlefields. Hartwig shows that artillery played a more decisive role at Antietam than at any other battle of the Civil War, including Gettysburg. Before reading the book, I did not appreciate role of Confederate artillery in stymying Burnside’s assault on the Lower Bridge.

The book is also remarkable in its integration of the entire vertical of the battle, from the commanding generals down through each echelon to the lowest private. It describes the actions of each, and is judicious in its judgments on the command decisions at every level of command, from the captains of companies; to the field officers of regiments, to the brigade, division and corps (or wing) commanders; and finally to army commanders McClellan and Lee. These judgments are well reasoned, and often surprising: I can’t say that I’ve ever seen anyone write favorably of Samuel Sturgis, as Hartwig does! Some come in for praise–such as Hooker. Others, not so much. The acerbic D. H. Hill would certainly take issue with Hartwig’s critical assessment of his generalship. The book’s treatment of Edwin Sumner is particularly brutal, but completely warranted given the brutality that Sumner’s soldiers experienced as the result of his blundering.

Hartwig does not shy from criticizing icons, notably Stonewall Jackson. And he comes to the defense of the often-maligned, most notably Ambrose Burnside, whose generalship at the Lower Bridge (sarcastically called Burnside’s Bridge by posterity) Hartwig treats with understanding of the challenges posed by terrain, bad staff work (notably by the Army of the Potomac’s Topographical Engineers), and equivocal orders issued by AoP commander McClellan. Hartwig makes it painfully clear that McClellan did Burnside dirty in his final report on the campaign, unjustly and counterfactually putting blame on Burnside (who by that time was discredited by the disaster at Fredericksburg) in order to distract from his own failings.

The book could have used some more careful editing. There are numerous who/whom mixups. At times left and right flanks are also mixed up, which led me to have to re-read a few descriptions, map in hand. I caught at least one curious name mistake. Union brigade commander Colonel William Howard Irwin suddenly became Colonel Irvin, and remained so for the rest of the book. Although perhaps the shade of Colonel Irwin is grateful, as his rather appalling–and perhaps drunken–incompetence (that led to the butchering of the 7th Maine) can be laid at someone else’s gravestone.

I therefore heartily recommend I Dread the Thought of the Place. But be warned!: it weighs in at a massive 790 pages (and 4.25 pounds). It is not for the faint of heart or anyone looking for an introduction to the battle.

Reading the book brought home how Civil War scholarship has developed and improved in the 50 plus years that I have been devouring books on the subject. When I first went to Antietam on my own, in 1978, the standard work was James V. Murfin’s A Gleam of Bayonets, published in 1968. It was a good, say, 20,000 foot view of the battle. Stephen Sears’ 1994 A Landscape Turned Red was more detailed, giving a say 10,000 foot view of the engagement. In subsequent years, microhistories focusing on specific parts of the battle have appeared: these give you a drone’s eye view of particular actions.

Examples include David Welker’s The Cornfield and two volumes by Marion V. Armstrong on the disastrous attack of Sedgwick’s Division–one focusing on the Union side of the action, the other on the Confederate side. John Micheal Priest’s Antietam: A Soldier’s Battle focuses (as the title suggests) on the action from the perspective of those with muskets in their hands. The Brigades of Antietam and The Artillery of Antietam describe the actions of each brigade and battery in some detail. Ezra Carman’s early detailed history has been republished, including as Visual Antietam (in 3 volumes, edited by Brad Butkovich). Then there are tour guides, like Carol Reardon’s and Tom Vossler’s A Field Guide to Antietam or Ted Ballard’s Staff Ride Guide: Battle of Antietam. Moreover, there are two excellent compendiums of maps, Bradley Gottfried’s The Maps of Antietam and Brad Butkovich’s The Antietam Battlefield Atlas. (Although the maps in I Dread the Thought of the Place are good, I strongly recommend reading it with either Gottfried or Butkovich in hand.)

Thus, there is an abundance of choices to those who want to take a deep dive into Antietam. But D. Scott Hartwig’s book is pretty much one stop shopping. It tells the fascinating story of America’s bloodiest single day of battle in incredible detail. It represents a new standard in battle history.