By mid-May 1864, Washington was tense. No news had arrived from Virginia in days. When reports finally came, they were eagerly welcomed, with readers clutching newspapers emblazoned with bold “Extra” headlines. Congress even suspended its sessions for three days.
On the night of May 11, President Lincoln stepped onto the Executive Mansion balcony before a vast crowd and read a message from Ulysses S. Grant: “I have determined to fight it out on this line if it takes all summer. ” He meant it, even as Union casualties mounted to a number equal to, or greater than, the entire Confederate army under Robert E. Lee.
This is the story of two more clashes in Grant’s Overland Campaign—the Battles of North Anna and Cold Harbor. Dr. William T. G.
Morton, a pioneer in ether use, traveled to Grant’s headquarters at Belle Plain, about 40 miles down the Potomac from Washington, expecting to see a triumphant army. Instead, he witnessed scenes reminiscent of Dante’s hell. The landscape was torn and barren. In Fredericksburg, wounded men flooded the sidewalks, and every building had become a hospital.
A Union surgeon described the town as one great hospital. Wagons crammed with wounded sank into the mud, while an endless line of those able to walk trudged slowly on foot. In the capital, just sixty miles away, newspapers and citizens believed the final curtain was falling on the war, but the reality was some 35,000 casualties, with about 1,500 wounded arriving in Washington each day. Near Belle Plain and Fredericksburg, about 7,000 Confederate prisoners were held in a low area known as “Punch Bowl.
” Many were barefoot, hatless, and wore blankets cut from carpet. Captured since May 5, they embodied the Confederate soldiers’ stubborn resolve. Once captured, they were herded into ravines, guarded by artillery pieces and sentries, waiting to be sent to Northern prisons. Robert E.
Lee, now 57, knew, like most sensible Southerners, that the South could not defeat the North militarily. He had told Jefferson Davis after Gettysburg that the best hope for Southern independence lay in supporting the peace party in the North. His Army of Northern Virginia’s morale remained high, but Lee knew he had not seized the initiative. He needed more food, forage, and supplies.
With about 22,000 casualties so far in the campaign, three of his cavalry brigades were absent, and his forces had shrunk to about 40,000, facing Grant’s 73,000. Lee’s subordinate commanders were also a concern. James Longstreet had been wounded in the Wilderness, and Richard H. Anderson, though capable, was still untested in large-scale coordination.
A. P. Hill was too ill to command, so Jubal Early temporarily took over his corps. Richard S.
Ewell, commander of the Second Corps, seemed close to collapse, his erratic behavior at the Bloody Angle alarming Lee. The most significant loss was at the brigade and regimental level, with many veteran officers killed or wounded. The Army of Northern Virginia was becoming a shadow of its former self. Grant believed Lee’s army was on its last legs, but he also knew his own Army of the Potomac could not defeat a fortified Confederate army in a frontal assault.
Instead, he planned to use maneuver and constant reconnaissance to find weak points. Time was urgent—three-year enlistments were about to expire. Grant had doubts about his own commanders, particularly George G. Meade, whom he considered too cautious.
He preferred Winfield Scott Hancock’s willingness to follow orders, but he was critical of Gouverneur Warren, Horatio Wright, and Ambrose Burnside. After the bloody fighting at Spotsylvania’s “Mule Shoe” on May 12, Grant wanted another blow on May 13, but heavy rains turned roads into mud. Ambulances and prisoners choked the thoroughfares, and troops were exhausted and hungry. On May 14, a fight occurred at Myers Hill, a commanding position that allowed observation of Union movements.
Union cavalry seized it by mid-afternoon, but neither Grant nor Lee exploited the success fully. Lee, typically aggressive, planned to recapture the hill, and Jubal Early’s men succeeded in doing so. Later that evening, the Union Fifth Corps took it back, pleasing Meade and Grant, but the day was more notable for missed opportunities than decisive action. Grant failed to press his advantage, while Lee, despite knowing of Union movements, didn’t move aggressively until late afternoon.
On May 15, the eleventh consecutive day of fighting, Grant cancelled all operations due to the relentless rain. One New Yorker wrote, “We are stuck in the mud up to our necks. ” On May 17, the sun finally appeared, and Grant wanted another assault, mirroring May 12 but with plans to exploit any breakthrough. At 4 a.
m. on May 18, Union artillery roared, and the Second and Sixth Corps advanced through thick fog. But this time, the Confederates had artillery protection, unlike at the Mule Shoe. Many Union attackers were splattered with decaying flesh from the May 12 battlefields.
All assaults were repulsed, costing the Union another 1,500 casualties, while Lee’s losses were minimal. Grant had attacked recklessly, without proper reconnaissance, sending men across open fields into the jaws of Lee’s fortified infantry. He misjudged the strength of Lee’s entrenchments and the Southern soldier’s will to fight. That day also brought bad news from other fronts.
The Red River Campaign under Nathaniel Banks had failed. In the Shenandoah Valley, Franz Sigel was defeated at New Market by Confederate forces, including 247 cadets from the Virginia Military Institute. Benjamin Butler had trapped his own army at Bermuda Hundred. By late Wednesday, May 18, Grant had to admit that Lee had outgeneraled him at Spotsylvania.
But instead of retreating, Grant planned to move southeast toward the North Anna River and Hanover Junction. On Thursday, May 19, the skies cleared, but both armies were exhausted. Lee saw an opportunity to flank Grant’s right wing, sending Ewell’s Second Corps on a march. But heavy rains delayed the artillery, and when Ewell attacked at Harris Farm late in the day, he found not just the “Heavies”—Maine artillerymen—but also Hancock’s II Corps, and was simply outnumbered.
By 10 p. m. , Ewell withdrew, having suffered between 600 and 900 casualties, while Union losses were around 1,600. Lee had misjudged the situation by sending Ewell with insufficient force—only 2,700 men—and he needed more reinforcements.
Ewell also erred by sending units without support and failing to use cavalry effectively. His men, rightly or wrongly, blamed him for the setback, deepening Lee’s worries about his subordinate. This battle at Harris Farm marked the first time since May 4 that a large Confederate infantry force had fought outside its earthworks, showing that Lee’s army was a formidable defensive force but no longer capable of offensive maneuvers in the open. On May 20, Grant wanted to resume his operation, while Lee tried to fend off Sheridan’s raid toward Hanover Junction.
Meanwhile, a debate unfolded between Lee and P. G. T. Beauregard, who wanted to combine forces near Richmond.
Lee opposed this, fearing that if Grant besieged him before Richmond, he would lose all maneuverability. President Davis sided with Lee, ending the dispute temporarily. Grant, seeking to draw Lee into an open-field battle, used Hancock’s II Corps as bait. But Lee moved fast, cutting the telegraph line, and Grant’s plan failed.
By Saturday, May 21, Grant and Meade set up headquarters at Massaponax Church. Photographer Timothy O’Sullivan captured the scene. Grant had forced Lee into the open, but Lee had a shorter, unobstructed route to the North Anna and would win the race. Meade proposed moving east and crossing the Pamunkey, but Grant insisted on heading straight for Lee, further straining their already deteriorating relationship.
Meade sought any opportunity to resign but knew he had none. By May 22, Lee crossed the North Anna at Chesterfield Bridge, exhausted and ill with dysentery. He made his headquarters at the Miller house near Hanover Junction. Granted, he expected Grant to cross the Pamunkey, so he allowed his men to rest.
Cartographer Jedediah Hotchkiss suggested a defensive line along the high ground between the North Anna and Little River, warning against anchoring too close to the river where the north bank was higher. Lee agreed, warning, “We do not want any more salient angles. ”
On Monday, May 23, Union troops converged on the North Anna. Warren’s Fifth Corps reached the river and, showing decisiveness, crossed at Jericho Mills, a ford 150 feet wide with steep banks.
Despite initial confusion, a pontoon bridge was laid, and Warren’s men established a bridgehead, immediately digging trenches. Meanwhile, Hancock’s II Corps found its path blocked at Chesterfield Bridge. As Confederate artillery opened fire, Lee sat on a porch drinking buttermilk when a Union shell landed near him. He calmly finished his glass, thanked the host, mounted his horse, and rode away.
By 6:30 p. m. , Union troops had cleared the north bank. Lee’s son, Rooney, misinformed his father that the Union force south of the river at Jericho Mills was only two cavalry brigades, so Cadmus Wilcox prepared to attack.
At 6 p. m. , he discovered it was Warren’s entire Fifth Corps. In the battle of Jericho Mills, Confederate assaults, though determined, broke against Union entrenchments.
A. P. Hill, recovered enough to return, brought up support, but Warren skillfully parried the attacks. However, with no communication from Meade or Grant, Warren didn’t exploit his advantage and instead fortified his lines.
Still, the day was good for Grant: Hancock secured Chesterfield Bridge, and Warren repulsed Lee’s Third Corps. Warren took particular satisfaction, as A. P. Hill had once courted his future wife.
That night, Lee and his subordinates decided to protect Hanover Junction. Martin Luther Smith, Lee’s chief engineer, reorganized the line into an inverted “V,” with its apex anchored on the steep riverbanks, making it unassailable. The legs were drawn back from the river, so Grant would think the Confederates had retreated. This formation would split Grant’s force into three parts—Hancock on the right, Warren and Wright on the left, and Burnside in the middle—separated by the river, unable to support one another.
It was a brilliant trap. On Tuesday, May 24, the sun rose like a disc of molten copper. Lee hoped Grant would attack, saying, “If I can strike one more blow, I will defeat him. ” But he remained ill, hiding his dysentery, and traveled by ambulance.
During his rounds, he encountered A. P. Hill and harshly berated him for allowing the Union to cross at Jericho Mills: “Why did you not throw your whole force on them and drive them back as Jackson would have done? ” Hill, quick-tempered, held his tongue.
Meanwhile, Grant, convinced Lee was retreating, ordered his army to pursue. In fact, Grant had swallowed the bait. His men were advancing into Lee’s trap. As Burnside’s corps shifted, the Union line now had a six-mile gap, and any flank reinforcement would require crossing the river twice.
Grant had just handed the offensive initiative to Lee. At 3 p. m. , a Union brigade under James H.
Ledlie reconnoitered southward, and Hancock’s II Corps, 24,000 strong, marched directly toward 30,000 Confederates from Lee’s First and Second Corps. It was a golden opportunity for Lee. But fate intervened, as it had at Chancellorsville and the Wilderness. Lee, suffering from severe dysentery and exhaustion, was confined to his tent.
Frustrated, he told an aide, “We must strike them a blow. We must never let them pass us again. We must strike them a blow. ” But without his firm leadership, his subordinates—Anderson, Ewell, and Hill—were all unreliable.
By 5 p. m. , Hancock learned of his peril and withdrew to fortify. Another “what if” for the Confederacy.
On May 25, Grant finally understood Lee’s position and, for the third time in his campaign, admitted he had been beaten. Both armies had lost about 2,500 men at North Anna, and both commanders were frustrated, each claiming victory. On the night of May 26, Grant moved again, southeast across the Pamunkey, a route Meade had originally proposed and now pointed out with pride. Grant also formally merged Burnside’s IX Corps into the Army of the Potomac, solving administrative issues.
By 3 a. m. on May 27, the Union army was north of the North Anna, heading east and then southeast. Lee’s men remained positive, and Lee, despite his illness, was as inventive as ever, but he worried about his corps commanders.
Despite the near disaster, Grant remained positive. He had maneuvered Lee away from Spotsylvania’s earthworks, and his army was now within a day’s march of Richmond. He ignored the heavy casualties, committed to destroying Lee’s army. More significantly, from North Anna, Grant interpreted Lee’s failure to attack on May 24 as a loss of courage.
On May 26, he wrote to Henry Halleck in Washington: “Lee’s army is really whipped. ” The man from Galena, Illinois, was convinced that a decisive victory was imminent—just days away, about 9–10 miles east of Richmond, at a dusty crossroads called Cold Harbor. Meade, however, was miserable. His wife’s sisters had Confederate ties, and two of her nephews had been killed by Union forces.
His own son, George, was serving as his aide. On May 27, Ewell also fell ill with dysentery, and on May 29, despite his objections, his Second Corps was formally given to the blunt, sarcastic Jubal Early. On May 30, Grant received reinforcements: the XVIII Corps, about 16,000 men under William F. Smith, pulled from Butler’s army at Bermuda Hundred.
Grant now had five corps to Lee’s three, with thousands more on the way. Since May 5, five of Lee’s generals had been killed and nine wounded, and many regiments were led by lower-ranking officers. Lee pleaded with Beauregard for help, writing, “If you cannot determine what troops you can send, the War Department cannot. The result of your delay will be disaster.
” President Davis intervened, and 7,000 men under Robert F. Hoke began moving to join Lee. Both armies converged on Cold Harbor. For Lee, it was vital to block the path of Smith’s XVIII Corps.
For Grant, seizing the crossroads would give him a direct line to his supply base and a route to outflank Lee’s right, potentially opening the way to Richmond. On Tuesday, May 31, Confederate cavalry under Fitzhugh Lee initially seized the crossroads but, lacking infantry support, were pushed out by Union cavalry. Lee ordered his First Corps to retake it, and both sides rushed reinforcements to the area. By June 1, the Union VI and XVIII Corps were in position.
That afternoon, Meade and Grant ordered six federal divisions to attack Anderson’s four divisions, but the assaults were repulsed, costing Grant 2,000 casualties, though they captured some 750 Confederates. Grant intended a massive assault on June 2 with all five corps to begin at first light. But poor maps and darkness stretched Hancock’s march from 9 to 15 miles, and his corps didn’t arrive until 6:30 a. m.
Grant postponed the attack until June 3, giving Lee’s men twenty-four extra hours to dig in. By Friday morning, Lee’s line stretched seven miles, from Totopotomoy Creek to the Chickahominy River, engineered with a zigzag layout that allowed interlocking fire. The men knew what they would face behind the earthworks, and their mood was dark. On June 3, 1864, the plan was criminally simple.
Warren’s V Corps and Burnside’s IX Corps would pin down Lee’s left, while Hancock’s II, Wright’s VI, and Smith’s XVIII Corps would deliver the main assault. Neither Meade nor Grant reconnoitered the ground or knew the real Confederate strength. The rain stopped before dawn, and at 4:30 a. m.
, under dense fog, bugles sounded. About 50,000 men advanced across a two-mile front. The Confederate fire was so intense that it reportedly shook windows in Richmond, nine or ten miles away. Captain Asa Bartlett of the 12th New Hampshire wrote, “That terrible storm of lead and iron seemed like a volcanic eruption rather than a battle.
” Incredibly, men of Barrow and Gibbons’ divisions hit the weakest point of Lee’s line, actually breaking through, but without support, they were thrown back within half an hour. Along the entire line, Union soldiers fell to the ground, either hit or hugging the earth for safety. Confederate Brigadier General Evander Law said, “I had seen the horrors of Fredericksburg and Second Manassas, but nothing surpassed this. ” It wasn’t war; it was butchery.
By 5:30 a. m. , just one hour after it began, the assault of 50,000 men was over. Approximately 7,000 Union soldiers were casualties, most in the first fifteen minutes—the fastest killing rate of the entire Civil War.
Confederate losses were about 1,500. The repulse was so shocking that many Confederates expected another attack. It was the first battle Lee fought in Virginia without his direct supervision. At about 7 a.
m. , Meade and Grant, in the rear, learned of the disaster. Meade sent Grant a note asking for his opinion on continuing the assaults. Grant replied to suspend them if they failed, but if successful, push hard.
Meade then ordered new attacks. Soldiers, aware of what awaited, were seen writing their names on slips of paper and pinning them to their uniforms for identification. Captain Thomas E. Parker of the 12th New Hampshire swore, “I will not lead my regiment in another such attack if Jesus Christ himself ordered it.
” Corps commanders voiced objections. William Smith bluntly told Meade, “This order I refuse to obey. ” Ordinary soldiers didn’t refuse openly; they simply didn’t move. By noon, Grant, visiting the three corps headquarters, finally understood the extent of the slaughter and cancelled all further attacks for the day.
Still, at 2 p. m. , he telegraphed Washington claiming his army was strongly entrenched near the enemy. Meade, perhaps deluded, wrote his wife that the battle was a draw with no decisive results.
What followed was inhumane. For the wounded trapped in the no-man’s land between the lines, where sharpshooters hit anything that moved, there was no ceasefire or truce. Grant knew that asking for one would be an admission of defeat, so he didn’t. For three days, the wounded cried out for water and loved ones while both armies fired and shelled.
One severely wounded soldier used his pocketknife to kill himself; another survived by sucking morning dew from grass. Under the blazing sun, many died, their bodies turning black and bloated. The smell was a waking nightmare, and the wind blew it back into Union lines. Only on Tuesday, June 7, at 6 p.
m. , were burial details allowed between the lines. In the meantime, one dead Union soldier still clutched a bloodstained diary in his hands. Its last line read: “June 3, Cold Harbor.
I was killed. ”
With an army half the size of his opponent’s, Lee’s fortified men had inflicted a crushing defeat on Grant, who had said just eight days earlier that Lee’s army was whipped. Grant accepted responsibility, telling a staff member, “I regret this assault more than any one I have ever ordered. ” For the rest of his life, he wouldn’t allow the battle to be mentioned in his presence.
Unlike Meade, Grant was never called before the Joint Committee on the Conduct of the War to account for Cold Harbor. In his 51-page report as general-in-chief, he devoted just one page to the sixteen days from the Pamunkey to the James, a period with 14,000 casualties. In his memoirs, he covered those 16 days in 16 pages, with only four pages on June 3. Cold Harbor was a massive misjudgment of the enemy by Grant.
Meade’s lack of enthusiasm for taking personal responsibility for operations Grant planned broadly meant that neither commander truly controlled the details. Their failure cost thousands of ordinary soldiers their lives. Ironically, on the very day of Cold Harbor, President Lincoln told a visiting New York delegation, “My previous high estimate of General Grant has been confirmed and increased. ” The public had not been told the full human toll of Grant’s spring campaign.
The harsh criticism continued. Captain Bartlett called it “the greatest and most awful massacre of the war. ” Major General Francis Barlow wrote, “My men are terribly depressed and afraid to attack earthworks again. ” Brigadier General Marsena Patrick denounced “this murderous and foolish system of attack.
” The official report of Brigadier General Emory Upton was a single cold sentence, and in a letter to his sister, he wrote he was disgusted with the generalship displayed and that men had been sacrificed. Meade, in a letter to his wife, wrote, “I think Grant has had his eyes opened, and is willing to admit now that Virginia and Lee’s army is not Tennessee and Bragg’s army. ” On June 8, he also punished a reporter, Edward Crapsey of the Philadelphia Inquirer, for falsely writing that Meade had advised retreat. Crapsey was paraded around camp on a mule with a sign reading “Libeler of the Press,” and for about six months afterward, Meade’s name was barely mentioned in press reports except in relation to defeat.
After Cold Harbor, Grant and Meade pulled their army into a defensive horseshoe position. Tactically, Lee had won every engagement, but Grant held the strategic initiative despite appalling losses. On the night of June 12, he again moved his army southeast toward the James River and Petersburg, a place Lee had warned about earlier: “We must destroy this army of Grant’s before he gets to the James River. If he gets there, it will become a siege, and then it will be merely a question of time.
” Though Lee had stopped Grant four times, he had only bought time. On June 10, photographer Matthew Brady visited the army, just a week after Cold Harbor. He took a series of solemn portraits of Grant, Meade, Hancock, and their staffs. These were men of a different army than the one that had crossed the Rapidan on May 4–5.
The Wilderness, Spotsylvania, North Anna, and Cold Harbor had decimated the officers and men. Union brigades were led by lieutenant colonels, regiments by captains, and companies by lieutenants and sergeants. Grant had inflicted about 30,000 casualties on the Confederates, but his own army had suffered 54,926 casualties in one month—half the losses the Army of the Potomac had incurred in the entire war to that point. Hancock remarked that his old II Corps had been buried between the Rapidan and the James.
But Grant didn’t look at the graves; he looked forward, moving forward.