September 19, 1863—The bloodiest two days of the Civil War began as Union forces under General William Rosecrans clashed with Confederates under Braxton Bragg at the Battle of Chickamauga in northern Georgia.
By the time the battle ended, 35,000 men had been killed, wounded or missing, depleting each army by one-third. It could have been far worse for the Union—its Army of the Cumberland was saved from annihilation only by the heroic stand of perhaps the greatest unsung commander of the war on either side: General George H. Thomas.
One of the best things about writing this blog—in my opinion, anyway—is the opportunity to spotlight a person or event that deserves more notice. General Thomas is a classic example.
It was Thomas’ misfortune to be consistently underestimated, even by otherwise intelligent leaders who should have known better. Underneath his seemingly phlegmatic exterior beat a formidable intelligence joined to an indomitable heart. They didn’t call him “The Rock of Chickamauga” for nothing.
Soliders assigned even more nicknames to Thomas than the normally high number that commanders earn. One of his earliest (and most enduring) was “Slow Trot.” One explanation for this one was that Thomas urged his equestrian students at West Point to treat their much-put-upon animals more gently. The nickname also hinted at his even, unflappable temperament.
But Thomas’ size – two hundred-plus pounds in a six-feet frame that, a soldier said, “gradually expands upon you, as a mountain which you approach--testified to something else about the man—enormous force held in reserve—and God help you if he used it against you.
The most telling anecdote I ever read about Thomas—I believe it was in John Bowers’ article in Military History Quarterly in the early 1990s—is this: At West Point, some fool made the mistake of taunting the young cadet. The wretch continued this tomfoolery until the burly object of his scorn, without saying a word, suddenly got hold of his tormenter, lifted him by the ankles, and held him out the window. Word soon got around—you didn’t mess with Thomas.
In the Civil War, Thomas proved it over and over again by never losing a battle. Even Grant and Sherman, the friends and Thomas superiors who gain the lion’s share of historians’ attention, couldn’t claim the same thing.
The problem was that Thomas was the Union Army’s answer to Robert E. Lee: a slaveholding Virginian faced with the decision on where to stand in the war. Lee’s decision earned him no opprobrium from his neighbors; Thomas’ earned him nothing but that. Even his sisters wouldn't speak to him again.
Many in the North questioned his loyalty. His old classmate, Sherman, had to vouch personally for him with Lincoln. Later, the President—who, as the war went on, became an increasingly shrewder judge of ability--even struck his name from a promotion list, saying, “Let the Virginian wait.”
Over the course of the war, at Munfordville and Stones River, Thomas would save inferior commanders from their worst mistakes. He’d win important victories at Kenesaw Mountain, and, in independent command, at Franklin and Nashville, where he defeated John Bell Hood so soundly that the latter’s army ceased to exist as a fighting unit.
Particularly in the last couple of battles, Thomas’ extremely methodical approach nearly led to his removal by Grant, who had actually written a telegram replacing him before he got the news that the Virginian had given Hood a master class in command of armies.
But nowhere was Thomas’ brilliance more needed than at Chickamauga. The battle was fought amid dense woods and thick underbrush, making it hard for generals to monitor their men or the course of battle.
On the second day of battle, his commander, William Rosecrans, had become so unnerved when James Longstreet tore through an open hole in the Union line that, like General Horatio Gates at the Battle of Camden in the American Revolution, he abandoned the field of battle. Thomas not only had to cope with the steep losses in killed and wounded, but another portion of the army that had fled with Rosecrans.
The entire Confederate Army was bearing down on Thomas at this moment—an even more desperate situation than Oliver Hazard Perry had faced in the Battle of Lake Erie, when the entire British fleet on the lake had come after his flagship. His men were low on ammunition and, midway through the second day, exhausted and fearful.
Knowing that one of the Confederacy’s best generals, Longstreet, was facing him, Thomas personally rode among his enlisted men, quietly but firmly steeling them for what lay ahead. “This point must be held,” he told one of their leaders, Col. Emerson Epdycke. The latter knew what was required: “We will hold this ground, or go to heaven from it.”
On Snodgrass Hill, Thomas formed a line. Again and again, the rebels threw everything they had at him—seven times. Each time Thomas fought back until, toward the end of the day, he made an orderly retreat that allowed the Union to limp back to Chattanooga where it could lick its wounds.
Chickamauga is an Indian word for “River of Blood,” and seldom has a place so lived up to its billing. But it had also given rise to one of the greatest examples of imperturbability in the face of disaster ever witnessed by the U.S. Army.
Even Lincoln came around. His post-battle assessment had become characteristically pungent and wise. Rosecrans needed to be replaced because he had acted “confused and stunned, like a duck hit on the head.” This was in direct contrast to Thomas: “It is doubtful whether his heroism and skill, exhibited last Friday afternoon, has ever been surpassed in the world.”
By the time the battle ended, 35,000 men had been killed, wounded or missing, depleting each army by one-third. It could have been far worse for the Union—its Army of the Cumberland was saved from annihilation only by the heroic stand of perhaps the greatest unsung commander of the war on either side: General George H. Thomas.
One of the best things about writing this blog—in my opinion, anyway—is the opportunity to spotlight a person or event that deserves more notice. General Thomas is a classic example.
It was Thomas’ misfortune to be consistently underestimated, even by otherwise intelligent leaders who should have known better. Underneath his seemingly phlegmatic exterior beat a formidable intelligence joined to an indomitable heart. They didn’t call him “The Rock of Chickamauga” for nothing.
Soliders assigned even more nicknames to Thomas than the normally high number that commanders earn. One of his earliest (and most enduring) was “Slow Trot.” One explanation for this one was that Thomas urged his equestrian students at West Point to treat their much-put-upon animals more gently. The nickname also hinted at his even, unflappable temperament.
But Thomas’ size – two hundred-plus pounds in a six-feet frame that, a soldier said, “gradually expands upon you, as a mountain which you approach--testified to something else about the man—enormous force held in reserve—and God help you if he used it against you.
The most telling anecdote I ever read about Thomas—I believe it was in John Bowers’ article in Military History Quarterly in the early 1990s—is this: At West Point, some fool made the mistake of taunting the young cadet. The wretch continued this tomfoolery until the burly object of his scorn, without saying a word, suddenly got hold of his tormenter, lifted him by the ankles, and held him out the window. Word soon got around—you didn’t mess with Thomas.
In the Civil War, Thomas proved it over and over again by never losing a battle. Even Grant and Sherman, the friends and Thomas superiors who gain the lion’s share of historians’ attention, couldn’t claim the same thing.
The problem was that Thomas was the Union Army’s answer to Robert E. Lee: a slaveholding Virginian faced with the decision on where to stand in the war. Lee’s decision earned him no opprobrium from his neighbors; Thomas’ earned him nothing but that. Even his sisters wouldn't speak to him again.
Many in the North questioned his loyalty. His old classmate, Sherman, had to vouch personally for him with Lincoln. Later, the President—who, as the war went on, became an increasingly shrewder judge of ability--even struck his name from a promotion list, saying, “Let the Virginian wait.”
Over the course of the war, at Munfordville and Stones River, Thomas would save inferior commanders from their worst mistakes. He’d win important victories at Kenesaw Mountain, and, in independent command, at Franklin and Nashville, where he defeated John Bell Hood so soundly that the latter’s army ceased to exist as a fighting unit.
Particularly in the last couple of battles, Thomas’ extremely methodical approach nearly led to his removal by Grant, who had actually written a telegram replacing him before he got the news that the Virginian had given Hood a master class in command of armies.
But nowhere was Thomas’ brilliance more needed than at Chickamauga. The battle was fought amid dense woods and thick underbrush, making it hard for generals to monitor their men or the course of battle.
On the second day of battle, his commander, William Rosecrans, had become so unnerved when James Longstreet tore through an open hole in the Union line that, like General Horatio Gates at the Battle of Camden in the American Revolution, he abandoned the field of battle. Thomas not only had to cope with the steep losses in killed and wounded, but another portion of the army that had fled with Rosecrans.
The entire Confederate Army was bearing down on Thomas at this moment—an even more desperate situation than Oliver Hazard Perry had faced in the Battle of Lake Erie, when the entire British fleet on the lake had come after his flagship. His men were low on ammunition and, midway through the second day, exhausted and fearful.
Knowing that one of the Confederacy’s best generals, Longstreet, was facing him, Thomas personally rode among his enlisted men, quietly but firmly steeling them for what lay ahead. “This point must be held,” he told one of their leaders, Col. Emerson Epdycke. The latter knew what was required: “We will hold this ground, or go to heaven from it.”
On Snodgrass Hill, Thomas formed a line. Again and again, the rebels threw everything they had at him—seven times. Each time Thomas fought back until, toward the end of the day, he made an orderly retreat that allowed the Union to limp back to Chattanooga where it could lick its wounds.
Chickamauga is an Indian word for “River of Blood,” and seldom has a place so lived up to its billing. But it had also given rise to one of the greatest examples of imperturbability in the face of disaster ever witnessed by the U.S. Army.
Even Lincoln came around. His post-battle assessment had become characteristically pungent and wise. Rosecrans needed to be replaced because he had acted “confused and stunned, like a duck hit on the head.” This was in direct contrast to Thomas: “It is doubtful whether his heroism and skill, exhibited last Friday afternoon, has ever been surpassed in the world.”
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