“Here’s Your Mule,” Part Six – Soiled Armor

April 1, 2015June 4, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal

Your standard American History textbook will tell you that after First Bull Run, the Union realized the War was going to be a bit trickier than they’d thought, and began preparing more substantially. The South, on the other hand, felt validated in their assessment of the Yanks and suffered from overconfidence.

Both are partly true, but the pragmatic oversimplification necessary in any high school history course creates false clarities. Nothing’s ever as straightforward as we teach it, or as unequivocal as the teenage mind demands. History involves too many people and groups thereof, and people are messy and weird.

In an effort to spotlight some of that complication, I supplement the basics of Bull Run with two short video clips involving a very different military situation. I’m going to argue that First Bull Run, its unfolding, and its results, shaped the Civil War more dramatically and for far longer than its strategic importance or body count suggested.

Clip the First:

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OK, quiz time. In this excerpt, who does the Black Knight represent?

*tick*

*BUUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ* Time’s up!

The answer is… ‘The South’.

The vanity and honor culture of the South was pretty much unbearable long before First Bull Run, but their routing of the North after such build-up and so many supposed disadvantages reinforced the conviction of many Secesh that they simply could not, would not, should not lose – ever ever ever ever.

Ever.

They didn’t quit when behind. They didn’t quit when outnumbered. They didn’t quit when outgunned, outspent, outsupplied, or outlasted. Because THEY BELIEVED.

There’s something to be said for that sort of conviction. Lesson #1 in talking to a member of the opposite sex (or, you know… whoever you happen to be into) for the first time is “be confident.” You don’t need to be cocky, but if you approach them worried you’re going to look like an idiot, or say the wrong thing, or otherwise tank… guess what?

How many books would never have been written, temples never have been built, or blogs never posted if their creators let doubt win the day? (I, for one, am simply brimming with insecurity and self-loathing. Surely you’ve wondered about the constant overcompensating?) You can’t let uncertainty shape ALL of your choices.

But some refuse to let doubt shape ANY of their choices. You know those folks who try out for American Idol or other talent-based exploitations, who suck horribly but audition over and over and over and over and over, passionately proclaiming without irony that the world MUST HEAR THEIR SONG?

They believe.

As they’re dragged away in handcuffs, proclaiming they ARE the next American Idol, they still believe.

Those motivational posters about noteworthy peeps in history who failed a half-zillion times before doing something memorable? They believed.

Those momma monkeys who keep fighting the tiger even after they’re clearly losing so much blood they can’t possibly –

Well, you get the idea.

Here’s the problem with that kind of enemy: they don’t give up. I mean, I’m a big fan of all that ‘hold on tight to your dreams’ stuff, but there’s a time to make like Elsa and let it go.

But not the South.

There’s a parallel of this in the 20th century – Japan in World War II. We’d fire-bombed Tokyo, killing something like 100,000 men, women, and children, and with such intensity that ‘fire tornados’ became a thing, incinerating thousands more. Their rivers were clogged with charred corpses, but leadership still believed. Defeat was not an option, even when defeated.

Germany took a pretty severe beating before Hitler’s suicide opened the door to surrender, leaving Japan alone in the fight – but they couldn’t let themselves accept the inevitable. WE DROPPED AN ATOMIC BOMB ON THEM, and they were still, like “I dunno – seems to me we can still make this work.”

In order to end the war, Japan had to be destroyed in ways previously unconceived – ways still debated three-quarters of a century later.

Like the Black Knight, the South couldn’t be “defeated”. They had to be absolutely ruined, crippled, maimed by the North – played here by Arthur, King of the Britains.

THAT shaped the course of the Civil War. THAT shaped a large part of the country for a century AFTER the war. In case you haven’t followed the news lately, there are some still fighting parts of this war – albeit with rhetoric and political maneuvering in the name of tradition and faith.

“It’s only a flesh wound.”

Clip the Second:

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Here’s Quiz Number Two. Ready?

In this clip, who does King Arthur represent?

*tick*

*BUUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ* Time’s up!

The answer is… ‘The North’.

(Seriously, I like, JUST said that. Why would it change? If you missed that despite my having just said it, congratulations – you’re my students.)

If Bull Run left the South feeling confirmed in their invulnerability, it left the North soiling their armor at rabbits. Yes, the President and co. dug in for a real war, but the psychological impact of blowing a ‘sure thing’ – so much so that they skulked back to Washington in terror and shame – didn’t fade quickly. Add to this the grand delusions of General George B. McClellan, who led Union troops through much of the first part of the war – and we have a problem.

McClellan was so very good at so many things, but initiative was not one of them. When forced to fight, he would – apparently pretty well. When left up to him, however, the North was never quite ready.

This is ironic, because that was one of the things McClellan was best at – training, organizing, preparing. Heck, he couldn’t get enough of it. But when he had 100,000 men he was sure the enemy had 150,000 (when in reality it was more like 70,000). When he had positioning, surprise, and the technological edge, he was sure they had managed something to thwart him before he’d even begun.

You’d think this would mean less bloodshed, but in reality it protracted the conflict unnecessarily for months – maybe years. It drove Lincoln crazy, despite his calm veneer – at one point he wrote to McClellan asking if perhaps he could borrow the army for a time, seeing as how he wasn’t using it for anything.

Good times.

McClellan was eventually replaced by less capable but more willing men, who did horrible things bravely but badly. Better McClellan had taken the initiative so at least horrible things could have been done well, and quickly.

The name we’ll eventually remember as saving the Union was not McClellan, but Grant – Ulysses S., to be precise. We’ll skip over to him next time.

“Here’s Your Mule,” Part Five – Bull Run Goes South

March 25, 2015June 4, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal

By early afternoon on July 21st, 1861, the thrill of battle was wearing thin. Although troops on both sides had fought surprisingly well (given their ‘green’ status), few involved had really fathomed this ‘war’ thing prior to engagement. It was turning out to be far less entertaining than advertised.

After a long morning of roughly equal give and take, Union troops were beginning to push back the Confederates. Several critical lines were weakening. The handful of Northern generals with actual experience could feel the momentum shifting, and urged their boys on with renewed vigor.

And then it all turned. Dammit.

First, Confederate reinforcements arrived by train.

Through the smoke and haze of battle, the boys who would later be in blue could tell fresh troops were falling into place across the way. Those looking behind for their own reinforcements were… disappointed.

Sorry boys – we’re already all in. You’re it.

And… BY TRAIN?! It’s one thing to be whipped by Secesh, but having your butt kicked by irony is just cruel. Clearly the folks running this thing weren’t reading the same history books as my 9th graders, or they’d know the NORTH had the supposed advantage when it came to technology and transportation.

Follow the rules, people.

Second, Thomas Jackson was weird.

OK, he was already weird before the battle. A brilliant strategist, Jackson was nonetheless an unlikely leader of men. He was socially awkward, and his classes at Virginia Military Institute were notorious for their tedium.

He memorized each 90 minute lecture, and delivered it straight, without interruption. Students foolish enough to ask questions provoked only a pause before he’d begin again at the beginning – sometimes repeating the entire session the next class period if necessary. It wasn’t any more exciting the second time.

On the plus side, he received very few questions after those first few weeks. He must have been REALLY good.

Jackson was a Calvinist, and as such was no fun at all. Still suffering from the recent death of his daughter, he believed that overt mourning – like smiling – was a sign both of one’s own lack of self-control and an insult to an omnipotent God.

He knew in the core of his being that his fate had been written millennia before his birth. Nothing he or anyone else did could shake this. In battle, this meant that he moved without fear among his troops, even in the hottest melees. If this were his day to die, he would die – horseback or not, hidden or no. If it were not, nothing the enemy could do would hurt him. So… he did his duty, and thanked his god while so doing.

Always.

Jackson often held his left arm up, palm to the sky. Whether this was a spiritual gesture or an effort to balance his body’s fluids or magnetism (both common medical concerns of the day), it must have been quite a sight. Add to this his penchant for sucking on lemons (um… they’re GOOD for you) and the picture is complete – austere Thomas Jackson, riding into the storm, left arm raised and bright yellow rind showing just behind his pursed lips as he speaks voicelessly to himself or the Almighty.

It was THIS figure who confronted the men who’d begun to fall back in the face of superior firepower. Jackson didn’t yell, so his voice would have been raised only in order to be heard above the din. He told them to form a line and hold it.

This was not a revolutionary strategy. I don’t wish to get all technical, but “don’t run away” is often key to winning these sorts of things. Then again, so is “don’t get killed” – which is probably the one more on the minds of the men he’d encountered.

I don’t know if he dropped the lemon. History leaves us with so many unanswerables.

But Jackson – loveable or not – had presence. Gravitas. And the power of that confidence, that conviction, stirred up all that was noble and testosterony in men. They formed a line, and held it.

General Bee, who was not particularly weird OR inspiring, saw this from across the way and recognized its power. Knowing he couldn’t pull it off personally, he instead pointed it out to his men: “Look! There’s Jackson, standing like a stone wall! Rally behind the Virginians!”

And a great nickname was born. SO much better than ‘Lemon Face’ Jackson.

It’s possible, of course, that Bee was cursing Jackson. At least one account suggests something closer to “Holy $%#& – there’s Jackson just… STANDING there like a stone wall! *sigh* Alright boys, go rally behind the Virginians.”

Either way, we’ll never know, as dear General Bee was shot in the head moments later. Like I said, unanswerables.

Third, the rebel yell and misplaced balls.

First Bull Run was the first time Union troops would experience one of the more bone-chilling elements of the Civil War. This was possibly Jackson’s doing as well. (Hey, once you’ve got a cool nickname, anything is possible.)

As Sherlock Holmes famously intoned, when all other options have been eliminated, whatever’s left – however unlikely – must be the answer. In wartime this means when you can’t hold and you can’t retreat, you take the only choice left – full speed ahead.

Imagine you can’t see the enemy through the smoke drifting across the battlefield. Their fire has slowed, then sputtered out. At first you wonder if they’ve finally pulled back, but no – you hear distant voices, orders relayed up and down the line. Is that clanking? They wouldn’t be – surely not…

Then you hear it. A thousand angry banshees, crying out for your – OMGWHATTHEF%$#@?!?

Bursting through the smoke comes an onrushing wave of madmen, bayonets forward, screaming and charging and HOLY MOTHER OF – RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN!!!

It was apparently quite effective. People ran away from them lots when they did this.

The Union lines broke, and they began to retreat – not quite in panic, but certainly not in ideal military order. As they began to reach the main road back to Washington, they ran into civilians, with their carriages, picnic baskets, servants, and other folderol. They’d come to watch the festivities, along with reporters and others curious about the event.

Now they were all converging on the same road at the same time with the same confused urgency. It had the makings of a bad situation.

And yet, things remained relatively calm. Disorderly, to be sure – frustrating, and volatile. But there was no panic – at first.

Then a stray cannonball, fired from god-knows-where, somehow cleared the hill shielding them from the main part of the battlefield. It made no sense that it would be there, just then, but – well, that’s how things were going, weren’t they?

The ball struck a wagon or carriage of some sort and the pieces flew. Aaaannnnnnd… that did it. NOW there was panic.

All the way to Washington, where scattered troops and civilians hours later began dragging in exhausted, delusional, and terrified, proclaiming the end of civilization as the Rebel Menace was certainly hot on their heels, eagerly devouring the handful of survivors.

Your standard American History textbook will tell you the Union realized the War was going to be a bit trickier than they’d thought, and begin preparing more substantially. The South, on the other hand, felt validated in their assessment of the Yanks and suffered from overconfidence.

These are both partly true, which is the curse of simplifying history for curricular consumption – a necessary and pragmatic evil. I’d like to supplement this interpretation next time with two clips I use in class to complicate matters.

One even has a bunny.

“Here’s Your Mule,” Part Four – On To Richmond!

March 23, 2015June 4, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal

Firing on Ft. Sumter officially started the Civil War, but Bull Run was the first time two armies clashed on purpose, each side with a (sort-of) plan. If Sumter was a preview of the unpredictability of this burgeoning kerfuffle, First Bull Run set the tone and attitude of the war – at least for a while.

It seemed simple enough, except to the people actually expected to make it happen.

After Sumter, the Union called for soldiers from the loyal states, some of whom actually sent them. Generals were often elected by their men or appointed for their political connections, so knowing what you were doing wasn’t really top priority at this stage. Men signed up eagerly for the good times to come – war was a mostly theoretical adventure, and defeating the silly South would be good times.

Plus, chicks dig soldiers. It may sound shallow – even sexist – but I know women 150 years later who still order stuff they don’t want from TV just so some buck in brown shorts will come to their door and ring their little bell.

Boys signed up because they believed women loved a man in uniform.

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Different war, same hormones.

The uniforms in question weren’t standardized at this point – the war had barely started, and whatever militias existed were still local and small. Ladies’ auxiliaries would sew outfits for their fine lads, or existing stocks were raided for garb. When the noble volunteers had input, a surprising number demonstrated an affinity for flash and bling. Unlike today, city boys used to be shallow and prone to peacocking a bit.

The motley crew gathered in Washington, D.C., looked like a circus drug trip gone wrong – some were in red coats, some were in blue, others in whatever they had at home. A few regiments with pride in their Scottish heritage wore kilts and poofy hats, and at least one – the Zouaves – wore bright red M.C. Hammer pants. Can you imagine their marching song?

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The plan was simple – march down to Richmond and stop the bad guys. Capture the capital of the so-called ‘Confederacy’, and we win! It’s like chess, or capture the flag. Maybe even laser tag.

President Lincoln appointed Irvin McDowell to make this happen, but McDowell was skeptical about the supposed ease of such a mission. He’d done real war before, and was concerned about trying to send men into battle based on the harassment of impatient politicians and newspapers. He was famously reassured by President Lincoln, “You are green, it is true, but they are green also; you are all green alike.”

‘Green’, in this case, meant ‘inexperienced’ – new, not yet ripe. Like a banana.

Lincoln was technically correct, although his reasoning was questionable (“maybe if EVERYONE is confused the SAME, it will go really well”). He probably knew this, and made the decision pragmatically rather than idealistically. McDowell was under no obligation to join him in that mindset.

But when the President tells you to go have a war, you go have a war.

So, in mid-July 1861, some 35,000 men gathered outside the White House ready to go. They had weapons, a few rations, and in some cases even a little bit of training. Forward….!

Finally! Here we – wait, hang on. Why are we stopped? Excuse me, sir – why are we-

Wow, that fella on the horse yells loud! And if my momma heard that language… Hey, I’m thirsty, do you have any…? Yeah, me too. I wonder if there’s a –

Oh! Here we go! March! March! March! Mar- STOP! What now?

I’m sorry, does ANYONE know why we keep – hey, berries! You ever seen berries like this, Bo? Let’s eat ‘em; we aint’ getting’ nowhere anyhow. The we gotta find some water – I’m parched.

Bo, my stomach – oh Bo I gotta go, something about them berries…

Any teacher who’s ever attempted to lead a class from their room to the school Media Center only a few turns and one staircase away knows the chaos of such travel. It takes forever, it’s loud and disorganized, and you inexplicably lose people along the way.

Imagine marching them a hundred miles, fully equipped and armed, outside on a hot day – when they’ve never been asked to do anything like this before and aren’t particularly adept at taking orders.

What a mess.

The South had spies in Washington and probably in the military as well, but they were hardly necessary for this one. Between the sound, the dust, the chaos, and the media, Barnum & Bailey would have had better luck sneaking up on Richmond.

McDowell, having set aside his concerns, had a plan. He was going to fake to the right, attack hard on the left, flank the enemy, take Richmond, war over – here come the ladies and the glory.

Unfortunately P.G.T. Beauregard, our friend from the attack on Ft. Sumter, was waiting for him just outside of Richmond. He had a plan as well, once the Yankee oppressors arrived – fake to the right, attack hard on the left, flank the enemy. Once between the army and the capital, they’d have no choice but to surrender. War over – here comes the honor and the glory (and let’s use some discretion regarding the ladies).

That ‘green’ issue prevented such complex execution, otherwise the first major battle of the Civil War might have ended up going in circles, like a giant revolving door as each side rotated around the other indefinitely.

As it turned out, the men on both sides did well, all things considered. They mostly followed orders, mostly stayed and fought, mostly fired their guns before reloading them, etc. After two days of marching – or, in the South’s case, waiting – the battle so long-anticipated was an extended hell few had conceived.

Good thing they had ‘grit’.

People were getting SHOT! IN THE BODY! Cannonballs were tearing off limbs, and bullets were splattering the brains of friends. Many bowels and bladders were emptied in those opening hours, and shame quickly gave way to survival instinct for some as this glorious adventure turned out to suck majorly. This was NOT GLORIOUS AND WHAT THE HELL THEY’RE TRYING TO KILL US ALL!

But most fought anyway. That’s the glorious part, or the unforgiveable part – depending on your perspective.

I’ve never been in real battle, but surviving accounts suggest time can work at all different speeds during such conflagrations. It will race by blurrily while events within remain crisp, in fully textured slow motion. Hours pass in seconds, seconds take hours – you get the idea.

By early afternoon of that eternal flash of a day, both sides were exhausted, running out of everything, and confusion was beginning to give way to the sudden irrational concern this might go on forever, locked in eternal half-hell.

What no one could have anticipated was that very shortly, three things were going to happen to tilt this battle in favor of the Confederate Secesh. Two of them were completely unexpected, and none of the three were particularly ‘normal’ by any common definition.

But then, that’s how this war was going so far.