Forgotten

Decisive Victories

Edited by

Richard V. Barbuto and Jonathan M. House

US Army Command and General Staff College Press

US Army Combined Arms Center

Fort Leavenworth, KS

Forgotten Decisive Victories

A US Army Command and General Staff College Press Book

Published by the Army Press

Edited by

Richard V. Barbuto

and

Jonathan M. House
iv

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Barbuto, Richard V., editor. | House, Jonathan M. (Jonathan Mallory),1950- editor. | Combat Studies Institute (U.S.), issuing body.

Title: Forgotten decisive victories / edited by Richard V. Barbuto and Jonathan M. House.

Description: Fort Leavenworth, Kansas : Combat Studies Institute, 2017. | 

Includes bibliographical references and index.

Identifiers: LCCN 2017009188 | ISBN 9781940804385

Subjects: LCSH: Battles. | Military history--18th century. | Military history, Modern--19th century. | Military history, Modern--20th century. | Military art and science.

Classification: LCC D25 .F673 2017 | DDC 355.4--dc23 | SUDOC D 

110.2:V 66/7 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/201700918

US Army Command and General Staff 

College Press publications cover a wide 

variety of military topics. The views expressed 

in this publication are those of the author(s) 

and not necessarily those of the Department 

of the Army or the Department of Defense. 

The seal of the US Army Command and 

General Staff College authenticates this 

document as an official publication of the US Army Command 

and General Staff College Press. It is prohibited to use this official 

seal on any republication without the express written permission 

of the US Army Command and General Staff College Press.

Edited by

Michael L. Hogg
v

Preface

The faculty of the US Army Command and General Staff College Department of Military History is pleased to present this volume of essays on 

forgotten decisive battles in history. Our previous anthology, Great Commanders (CSI Press, 2014), examined the role and impact of the individual 

at the summit of his respective military organization. In the chapters of 

this book each author examines a battle that, in its time, altered the strategic balance between the belligerents in a lasting way. This book is not 

a rehash of Edward Creasy’s 1851 classic Fifteen Decisive Battles of the 

World, but shares with that work a value judgment concerning the impact 

of a particular engagement on world events. Although many of the battles 

described herein are less well known today even among scholars, their 

impact on the lives of the people, armies, and states involved ranged from 

significant (the Somme) to existential (Pusan Perimeter). The factors influencing the sequence and outcome of each battle are of course unique to 

each circumstance. But if we wish to emulate Otto von Bismarck’s example and “learn from the experience of others,” then I commend this volume 

to you as a window on the human domain. It is applicable equally to the 

military professional, the interested layman, and the student of humanity. 

All seek better to understand the drivers of human conflict. The study of 

such conflicts from a wide swath of human history offers the best way to 

understand those drivers of conflict and thus offers us a chance to mitigate 

their influence on our world.

Thomas E. Hanson, Ph.D.

Director, Department of Military History

Fort Leavenworth, Kansas

vii

Table of Contents

Preface...................................................................................................v

List of Figures......................................................................................ix

Map Key...............................................................................................xi

Introduction...........................................................................................1

Chapter 1: Cowpens, 1781....................................................................5

Joseph R. Fischer

Chapter 2: Cape St. Vincent, 1797......................................................25

John T. Kuehn

Chapter 3: Vitoria, 1813......................................................................39

Mark Gerges

Chapter 4: Plattsburg, 1814.................................................................61

Richard V. Barbuto

Chapter 5: Buena Vista, 1847 .............................................................81

Gregory S. Hospodor

Chapter 6: Pea Ridge, 1862 ..............................................................105

Terry Beckenbaugh

Chapter 7: The Somme, 1916 ...........................................................133

Mark M. Hull

Chapter 8: Operation ARGUMENT: “Big Week,” 1944 .................149

John M. Curatola

Chapter 9: Budapest, 1944-1945.......................................................171

Sean N. Kalic

Chapter 10: Pusan Perimeter, 1950...................................................187

Janet Valentine

ix

Table of Figures

1. Southern Theater (CSI Staff Ride Maps)

2. Morgan’s Final Placements, 17 January 1781 (CSI Staff Ride Maps)

3. British Deployment and Skirmish Line, 17 January 1781 (CSI Staff 

Ride Maps)

4. Main Line, 17 January 1781, 0740 hours (CSI Staff Ride Maps)

5. Cowpens today, showing the sloping hill that misled the British 

(Author’s photograph)

6. Counterattack, 0745-0750 hours (CSI Staff Ride Maps)

7. British Naval Victories, 1797 (Author’s drawing)

8. The Battle of Cape St. Vincent (Author’s drawing based upon a sketch 

found in Roger Knight, The Pursuit of Victory: The Life and Achievement 

of Horatio Nelson. New York: Basic Books, 2005, p. 224)

9. Overview Map of the 1813 Campaign (Author’s drawing)

10. Battle Map, Phase 1 (Author’s drawing)

11. Battle Map, Phase 2 (Author’s drawing)

12. Battle Map, Phase 3 (Author’s drawing)

13. Lake Champlain Region (Author’s drawing)

14. The Battle of Plattsburgh (Author’s drawing)

15. The Mexican War (US Army Center of Military History map)

16. The Northern Theater of Operations (US Army Center of Military 

History map)

17. Buena Vista Early Morning (US Army Center of Military History map)

18. Buena Vista Late Morning (US Army Center of Military History map)

19. Action on 7 March 1862 (Author’s Drawing)

20. Action on 8 March 1862 (Author’s Drawing)

21. The Somme Battlefield (Author’s drawing)

22. German Front Line Position on the Somme (Bundesarchiv, photo 

Bild 183-R34776)

23. P51 Ranges (Richard Davis, Bombing the European Axis Powers. 

Maxwell AFB, AL: Air University Press, 2006, map 36)
x

24. P47 Ranges (Richard Davis, Bombing the European Axis Powers. 

Maxwell AFB, AL: Air University Press, 2006, map 37)

25. Main USAAF targets 20-26 February 1944 (Wesley Craven and 

James Cate, The Army Air Forces in World War II. Vol. 3, Europe: 

Argument to VE Day, January 1944 to May 1945, For the USAF 

Historical Division. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1951, p. 34)

26. German Front Lines, October – December 1944 (Author’s drawing)

27. Attila Fortified Lines of Defense, October 1944 (Author’s drawing)

28. Red Army Lines of Advance, November 1944 – January 1945 

(Author’s drawing)

29. Soviet Siege and German Breakout, January – February 1945 

(Author’s drawing)

30. Lieutenant General Walton H. Walker, CG, US Eighth Army (left), 

and Major General William F. Dean, CG, 24th Infantry Division, 

examine a map near the front lines, somewhere in Korea, July, 1950. (US 

Army Signal Corps, US Army Heritage and Education Center Digital 

Collections, http://cdm16635.contentdm.oclc.org/cdm/singleitem/

collection/p16635coll27/id/158/rec/3)

31. Pusan Perimeter (solid line) (US Army Center of Military History)
xi

Map Key

X

XX

XXX

XXXX

Company

Battalion

Regiment

Brigade

Division

Corps

Army

Unit sizes:

Force I Force II

Infantry

Cavalry

Artillery

I

III

Unit types:

1

Introduction

Christopher R. Gabel

The phrase “decisive victory” is frequently used but seldom defined. 

Taken literally, a “decisive victory” would be the victory that irrevocably 

decides the outcome of a war. However, wars, like all human phenomena, 

rarely proceed in so neat and linear a manner as to allow the historian to 

draw a straight line from the “decisive victory” to the ultimate outcome 

of a conflict. Instead, “decisive victory” is usually taken to mean a victory that foreshadowed or contributed significantly to the war’s eventual 

outcome, or played a major role in shaping the postwar geopolitical landscape. It is this broader definition that the editors employed in selecting the 

“decisive victories” represented in this volume.

Further, this collection tries to bring attention to lesser-known victories that merit classification as “decisive.” Often our society, historians 

included, tends to focus its attention upon a handful of dramatic, high-profile battles at the expense of other military activity of equal or greater 

significance. There was more to the Civil War than Gettysburg, a battle often called “decisive” but which, strategically, actually decided very little. 

Likewise, the famous American assault at OMAHA Beach did not in itself 

decide the outcome of World War II in Europe. Thus the battles selected 

for this volume were not only decisive in the broader definition of the 

term, but also tend to be less well known to a literary American audience, 

military and civilian alike.

This collection opens with the battle of Cowpens in the war of the 

American Revolution. Although a small affair in terms of the numbers 

involved, Cowpens frustrated the British strategy for pacifying the Southern states and propelled events toward the surrender of a British army 

at Yorktown, the climactic action of the war which tends to obscure the 

events leading up to it.

Next is the battle of Cape Saint Vincent, a naval engagement in the 

wars of the French Revolution which in many ways was just as decisive 

as the far more famous battle of Trafalgar which came eight years later. 

Like Trafalgar, Cape Saint Vincent was a British victory that thwarted an 

attempt by France and her allies to wrest control of the seas from the Royal 

Navy. It also proved to be a turning point of sorts in Britain’s heretofore 

unsuccessful war against the French Republic.

The battle of Vitoria takes us to the closing campaigns in the Napoleonic wars. Overshadowed by the massive coalition offensives in central 
2

Europe, Vitoria irrevocably shattered Napoleon’s ambitions in Spain, effectively shutting down a theater of war that had flamed for seven years.

Coming in the year after Vitoria, the battle of Plattsburg in the War of 

1812 had no practical impact on the Napoleonic wars, but it was of monumental importance to the young American republic. Plattsburg is doubly 

obscure—overshadowed by the subsequent battle of New Orleans, in a 

war that is itself largely forgotten. And yet, had the Americans not prevailed at Plattsburg, the US-Canadian border would likely be much farther 

south than it is today.

Moving forward to the Mexican War, the American campaign from 

Vera Cruz to Mexico City and its “halls of Montezuma” generally holds 

the limelight, but it was the lesser-known Battle of Buena Vista that secured America’s occupation of today’s southwestern United States. The 

battle had a reverse effect on Mexican nationalism—Buena Vista was 

Mexico’s best chance to cement a weak sense of nationhood, which might 

dramatically have altered the subsequent history of that nation.

The American Civil War is best known for the great battles fought east 

of the Appalachians. However, a strong case can be made for the assertion 

that the Union won the war in the western theaters. The battle of Pea Ridge 

in 1862 saved Missouri for the Union, making possible later victories in 

the Mississippi valley and beyond.

The idea of identifying a “decisive victory” in World War I seems almost 

counterintuitive, given that conflict’s reputation for stalemate and futility. 

The 1916 battle of the Somme, widely regarded as one of the most pointless 

episodes in that conflict’s tragic history, did in fact serve as a sort of turning 

point in that war. It was at the Somme that military professionals began to 

recognize the horrific inadequacy of prevailing methods of war, and thereafter began tentatively to explore various tactical, technical, and technological 

innovations that finally brought the war to a close two years later.

World War II, generally regarded as a war of mobility and maneuver, 

also witnessed the maturation of war in three dimensions. The American 

strategic bombing campaign against Germany is sometimes dismissed as 

being cost-inefficient, if not downright counterproductive and immoral. 

Yet there was clearly a decisive “victory” in this protracted campaign—

Operation ARGUMENT (also known as “Big Week”) in which American 

airpower broke the back of the Luftwaffe, providing air superiority for the 

Allied campaigns that crushed Nazi Germany in 1944 and 1945.

In the closing months of World War II, the battle of Budapest raged 

largely unnoticed, then or now, by the western Allies. The Soviet victory in 
3

this battle stripped away the last vestiges of the Nazi empire in south-central Europe, robbed the Germans of desperately-needed resources for their 

last-ditch defense of the homeland, and shaped the fate of Hungary for the 

next half-century.

The final chapter in this collection assesses the Korean War battle for 

the Pusan perimeter, fought in 1950 before the more famous amphibious 

landing at Inchon. The UN defense of Pusan prevented the obliteration of 

South Korea, with enormous implications for the subsequent history of 

the region. The victory at Pusan also preserved the American strategy of 

“Containment,” which ultimately contributed to the successful conclusion 

of the Cold War nearly four decades later.

Each chapter in this book originated as a public lecture delivered at 

the Dole Institute of Politics, located on the campus of the University of 

Kansas. The lecture series, titled “Decisive Battles,” was part of an on-going effort by the US Army Command and General Staff College’s Department of Military History to broaden the understanding of military history 

among the general public. It is the intent of this volume to do the same for 

an audience both civilian and military.

5

Chapter 1

Cowpens, 17 January 1781

Joseph R. Fischer

In the early morning hours of 17 January 1781, a small army of patriot 

militia and hardened Continental regulars under the command of Brigadier General Daniel Morgan occupied positions on a cow pasture known 

to locals as Hannah’s Cowpens in the backcountry of western South Carolina, not far from the North Carolina border. The morning was cold. Men 

blew on their hands and shifted back and forth to stay warm. Morgan had 

occupied the area the day before, taking advantage of the time to feed his 

men and get them a night’s sleep. He and his subordinates had walked the 

ground, carefully noting every fold and rise, while formulating plans to 

match men with terrain. Across the evening and well into the night officers 

briefed their soldiers on their roles in the day to come. Morgan himself 

walked the campfires talking of expectations and reminding men of loves 

and lovers at home whose fates they would protect come morning.

About an hour after dawn, British infantry and dragoons, along with a 

small detachment of artillery (with two three-pound cannon) appeared out 

of the woods in front of Morgan’s soldiers, moving from column to line 

in preparation for combat. Their commander, Lieutenant Colonel Banaster Tarleton, had relentlessly driven his men over the preceding two days 

hoping to catch Morgan before he could cross the Broad River to safety.1 It 

appeared as he formed his men that Tarleton had gotten his wish, Cowpens 

being five miles short of the now flooded river. Tarleton had trapped his 

prey against an obstacle not easily crossed. All that remained was to push 

his foe with musket and bayonet.

Less than an hour later, the Battle of Cowpens would be complete, the 

guns silent. Dead and dying men littered the battlefield. Hundreds more 

had become prisoners of war. One of the two armies had disappeared as a 

fighting force but this would be no Camden, for the dead and dying largely 

wore the red and green of either British infantry or dragoons.2 Morgan’s 

tactical genius at Cowpens brought the destruction of a British army and 

effectively ended pacification efforts in the South. Furthermore, it set the 

conditions for Lord Charles Cornwallis to eventually bring his army to 

Yorktown, Virginia, and surrender.

By the start of 1781 the War for American Independence, an insurgency, had lingered on for nearly six years with neither side enjoying an 

advantage significant enough to bring decision. Great Britain had begun 
6

the war seeing the conflict as essentially a law enforcement operation. 

However, lacking the means to address what it saw as a criminal element, 

London employed the leverage it had available in the form of its armed 

forces.3 Conventional armies are seldom good tools for law enforcement. 

Not only did the early campaign around Boston fail, but as a result, with 

the colonial governments soon in the hands of proponents of rebellion, the 

revolution spread deeper into the colonial psyche.

Militarily the fortunes of each side had waxed and waned since 1775. 

British forces controlled New York’s excellent harbor for most of the war 

as at one time or another they would control each of the major seaports 

along the eastern seaboard. For a time, Philadelphia, the political capital of 

the rebellious colonies, lived under the colors of the Union Jack. Yet, the 

tactical defeats of Washington’s army seldom gained more than possession 

of a battlefield and with the passing of armies, control over much of the 

colonial landscape slipped into rebel hands, in part due to the impact of 

colonial militia in defeating British pacification efforts.4 With the French 

entry into the war in 1778 following British defeat at Saratoga the preceding year, Britain’s leaders struggled to find a better strategy to achieve a 

decision in what had become a costly war. They settled on a plan to shift 

the war to the southern colonies believing they could clear each colony in 

its turn of rebel military power, hold the colony with a bare-bones force 

of British regulars amply supplemented by loyalist militia, and then build 

back a working colonial political apparatus loyal to Great Britain.

Why move the war to the South? A number of reasons, some factual, 

some based on dubious assumptions, suggested such a move. France’s entry into the war rendered Britain’s valuable Caribbean sugar islands vulnerable to French naval power. Consolidating British strength, both naval 

and land, in the south would make protecting the islands easier while still 

allowing a prosecution of the war northward through Georgia and the Carolinas. Furthermore, a number of sources suggested the presence of large 

numbers of loyalists in the country waiting only for a consistent British 

presence to provide the loyalist militia units necessary for pacification to 

occur. The Carlisle Commission of 1778 suggested as much as did large 

numbers of loyalist refugees now living in Great Britain.

British forces under General Sir Henry Clinton reinvaded the southern colonies in December 1778, taking first Savannah, Georgia, and then 

moving on to Charleston, South Carolina, in May of 1780. At Charleston, 

an American army surrendered, with militia accepting parole and regulars 

being taken into captivity. In August another American army, this time 

under Horatio Gates, disintegrated, shattered at the hands Clinton’s subor-
7

dinate, Lord Charles Cornwallis. The situation looked bleak for the patriot 

cause. No Continental army of any capability existed south of Virginia; 

resistance was reduced to the action of patriot militia and irregulars. British forces seemed well on their way toward making their strategy of clear, 

hold, and build work.

The role of patriot militia cannot be overestimated. In October 1780, 

back country militia achieved a small victory at Kings Mountain, dealing 

a set-back to British efforts to recruit the Loyalist militia so necessary 

for pacification. George Washington, ever aware of the need for a regular 

army presence in the South, dispatched his trusted subordinate, Nathanael 

Greene, to Charlotte to resurrect a Continental army from whatever he 

Figure 1. The Southern Theatre
8

could cobble together. Soon to join him was Morgan, assigned to serve as 

Greene’s second in command. Greene understood that Cornwallis’ forces 

easily surpassed his own, rendering a major engagement potentially fatal 

to the American cause. The problem facing Greene was to fight enough 

to maintain the morale of southern sympathizers while minimizing the 

risk of another Camden. His operational approach for doing this was to 

split his forces, violating the principle of mass, sending Morgan and a 

small army of several hundred soldiers south toward the British outpost 

at Ninety-Six while Greene shifted the rest of his army toward Cheraw 

in hopes of rebuilding his force and threatening British lines of communication to Charleston. Morgan departed Charlotte on 21 December 1780 

under Greene’s orders that he operate “either offensively or defensively as 

your prudence and discretion may direct, acting with caution and avoiding 

surprises by every possible precaution.”5 Should Cornwallis move against 

Greene, Morgan was to rejoin Greene or fall on Cornwallis’ flank as circumstances dictated. Greene went on to direct that Morgan establish himself between the Broad and Pacelot Rivers. Greene hoped that Morgan’s 

presence would create a viable threat to the fortified village of Ninety-Six, 

forcing Cornwallis to split his own forces to insure the safety of the British 

forward operating base.

Greene and Morgan presented a real problem for Cornwallis, who believed he could hold South Carolina only if he moved northward clearing as he went. The presence of a regular Continental army would prove 

a magnet around which patriot militia would rally.6 The rebel threat had 

to be removed. To protect Ninety-Six, Cornwallis assigned Tarleton the 

task of pushing Morgan toward his own forces in what modern military 

parlance would consider as a hammer and anvil. Tarleton and Cornwallis 

would move parallel to each other with Tarleton in the lead and the two 

small armies within a day’s march of each other. The Broad River would, 

however, separate the two British lines of advance and the flooded stream 

rendered the concept of mutual support difficult if not impossible. Tarleton 

would take his much feared Legion, the 7th Regiment of Fusiliers, and 

the 71st Highlanders. Of the three, the Seventh was an old unit with new 

faces having been reconstituted and sent southward.7 Much of the Seventh 

consisted of loyalists with little experience; the other two regiments were 

well blooded. While estimates vary, his total troop strength came to just 

short of 1,100 men.8 Complicating matters for Cornwallis was that a third 

British detachment under Brigadier General Alexander Leslie had arrived 

in Charleston and was under orders to move westward to join Cornwallis. The same heavy rains that made mutual support between Tarleton and 
9

Cornwallis difficult also made Leslie’s movement westward tediously 

slow given he was moving through the swamps and low country along 

the Pee Dee River. Patriot irregulars would opportunistically nip at him as 

he moved. Cornwallis’ dilemma was deciding whether to wait for Leslie 

to move before attempting to close the distance with Tarleton or close the 

distance and accept risk with Leslie’s moving column. Cornwallis elected 

to do the former without making the decision clear to Tarleton.

Greene perfectly understood Cornwallis’ problem. Writing to Washington on 28 December 1780, Greene noted:

It [electing to split his force] makes the most of my inferior force, 

for it compels my adversary to divide his, and holds him in doubt 

as to his line of conduct. He cannot leave Morgan behind him 

to come to me, or his posts at Ninety-Six and Augusta would be 

exposed. And he cannot chase Morgan far, or prosecute his views 

in Virginia, while I am here with the whole country before me.9

The civil unrest in the piedmont regions of the Carolinas assisted 

Greene and Morgan in staying one step ahead of Cornwallis and Tarleton 

While British strategy called for loyalists to pacify the back country, the 

net result was to spark a civil war pitting loyalist against patriot. British 

parole policy following the British victory at Charleston had permitted 

patriot militia to go home based on a promise to stay out of the war. When 

it became difficult to recruit the loyalist numbers necessary to man militia 

units, Clinton changed the terms of parole to one in which paroled militia 

were now expected to change sides. Put simply, having accepted parole, 

Carolinians were now to bear arms in defense of King and country against 

their neighbors. This situation was ripe for discontent and the inability of 

British officers to control and focus the efforts of loyalist militia proved 

disruptive.10 The British problem proved one of the basic paradoxes of 

counter-insurgency warfare: How does one balance the needs of local allies with the concessions one has to make to win the hearts and minds of 

the people? To solve one problem, Clinton created another. Not only did 

recruitment of loyalist militias become even more difficult, but in addition, 

no British movement could be effectively shielded from the eyes of patriot 

sympathizers. British forces could never again count on any degree of 

operational security.

Tarleton understood as he went in search of Morgan that his foe was 

operating west of the Broad and closer to Ninety-Six than was he; beyond 

this, he knew little. What he did not know was that Morgan had located 

his camp at Grindal Shoals on the Pacelot and was moving away from 
10

Ninety-Six toward the Broad. Once aware of this movement, Tarleton saw 

an opportunity to destroy Morgan before he could cross the Broad or, failing that, drive him toward Kings Mountain where he could be trapped as 

Cornwallis moved in from the east.

Morgan had a vested interest in encouraging Tarleton to pursue. The 

weather had been terrible; rain had turned roads to mud and made crossing 

even small streams an exhausting process. Tarleton’s pursuit came at a 

cost in efficiency. Men marched wet, hungry, and above all, tired.11 While 

there was confidence in their leader, the conditions sapped at the psychological will and this Morgan well understood. Like a siren, Morgan beckoned Tarleton forward.

Morgan for his part understood mission, men, and terrain. He also 

had a measure of his young foe. Cowpens seemed a likely place to fight. 

The field was open, an old cow pasture used as a gathering place for cattle 

before moving them to Charleston and market. The borders of the field 

were marked by brush and a stream bed (Suck Creek on the American left 

and West Ravine on the right) draining each side of the field and thereby 

forming an obstacle for infantry, but particularly for dragoons. While not 

perfectly sealed by the terrain, Morgan believed he could keep his flanks 

secured. Locals for miles around knew the pens and Morgan insured that 

others knew he intended to fight there. His small army of about a thousand soldiers occupied the grounds the day before the battle, walked its 

features, camped, cooked, and slept. Morgan may well have initially seen 

the area as a place he might have to defend in his race to the Broad and 

safety, but as the evening wore on and ever more militia arrived from the 

local area, his swelling numbers (some sources arguing they would peak 

at 1,600 men) convinced him that this would be a good place to fight.12

Morgan’s army consisted of a regiment of Continental regulars from 

Maryland and Delaware commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Edward 

Howard, a second regiment of long serving Virginia state militia, many 

of whom had once served in the Continental line, and finally militia from 

Georgia, South Carolina, and North Carolina.13 In addition to his infantry, Morgan also was fortunate to have a troop of 80 dragoons augmented 

with another 45 saber-armed Georgia and South Carolina militia under 

the command of Lieutenant Colonel William Washington, younger cousin 

of George Washington.14 Most of Morgan’s infantry carried smooth bore 

muskets but a sizeable number, especially the militia units hailing from 

Georgia and North Carolina, had “Pennsylvania” long rifles. In the hands 

of even a good marksman the latter were accurate to 200 yards and many 

of the better shooters could drop a man-sized target at 300 yards. The 
11

drawback to the weapon was that it took more than twice as long to reload 

as the smooth bore musket plus, unlike the smooth bore, the slender and 

fragile rifle stocks rendered them unfit for a socket bayonet. Most riflemen carried a tomahawk for close-in combat. Morgan’s home was in the 

Shenandoah Valley at the edge of what was then the western frontier. He 

had commanded riflemen since the earliest days of the war and was well 

aware of their potential and their vulnerabilities.

Continental Army officers from Washington to Greene had taken a 

dim view of patriot militia. Most were poorly trained and did a better job 

eating rations than fighting, or so the conventional wisdom went. In truth, 

Continental officers often blamed militia for not being able to do what 

they had never been trained to do, namely close combat linear warfare.15

Few had bayonets and those that did usually did not know how to use 

them. One might question whether the fault for their failings ought to 

rest with senior Continental Army leadership for not knowing the limits 

of their soldiers’ training. Unfortunately, recent failings were what were 

most remembered. The militia had formed Horatio Gates’ left at the battle of Camden and had failed miserably, their panic beginning the rout 

that cost the patriot cause an army. Unlike Gates, Morgan understood the 

limitations militia brought and worked hard to mitigate those limitations, 

making his militia a compliment to rather than substitute for Continental 

regulars.16 As his plans clarified, he worked tirelessly to tell them what he 

expected of them when battle came. “Just hold up your heads boys, three 

fires and you are free, and then when you return to your homes, how the 

old folks will bless you, and the girls kiss you for your gallant conduct,” 

he said, both as a challenge and promise.17 Men paid attention. He showed 

them the scars a British officer had given him during the French and Indian 

War and promised them he would not let them down as he had not been 

defeated and would not be defeated. Morgan carefully planned the routes 

his militia would take as they left the field. Some would move to his right 

flank, others to his left, some through echeloned elements in the Continental line. He insured that each man knew where he would go when he was 

told to go there. To his Continentals and state militia, who would see the 

militia moving backward, he told them this was part of the plan and that 

unlike Camden, this movement was desired, an indicator of success not 

failure, the closing of a trap.

Morgan’s use of terrain at Cowpens proved exceptional. At the eastern end of Cowpens the Green River road emerges from the woods to 

bisect the pasture on its way toward a crossing of the Broad. The ground 

sloped gently upward, more so on the American left than on the right, to 
12

a small hill known as Hayes Rise, and then dropped into a swale before 

rising again to slightly higher ground. A series of folds made it possible to 

obscure American positions behind the first rise. Scouts had kept Morgan 

appraised of Tarleton’s progress and informed him that his primary approach would be along that road. Two hundred yards back from the road’s 

exit from the woods and uphill from the woods, Morgan instructed a line 

of skirmishers be created using the riflemen of the Georgia and North Carolina militia. Knowing Tarleton would be moving in column, Morgan assumed it would take some time for British regiments to shift from column 

to line before moving forward. During this time, his riflemen, operating in 

small groups, were to engage the British, taking care to aim at officers and 

sergeants so as to begin the process of degrading Tarleton’s command and 

control. Behind his skirmishers and several hundred yards further up the 

Green River road and behind Hayes Rise, Morgan placed his first real line 

of resistance consisting of battalions of militia, many from South Carolina’s 

Long Cane district. Under the command of Colonel Andrew Pickens, this 

line would provide the first true volleys into the British ranks and then they 

would withdraw.18 His plan was to pull them from the battle, reform them 

behind the Continental main line and then re-engage them on the British 

flanks. His final line forward of Morgan’s hill would consist of Howard’s 

battalion of regulars and Major Francis Triplett’s two companies of Virginia 

state militia. The day would be decided there. Holding Washington’s dragoons in reserve, Morgan intended to use them as the situation dictated giving Washington mission style orders to act as he saw fit.

Tarleton moved toward Cowpens with a good understanding of terrain. Alexander Chesney, along with a company of 50 loyalist volunteers, 

had joined Tarleton, acting as scouts and advisors. Chesney knew well 

the Cowpens, telling Tarleton what to expect of the terrain but, as events 

proved, early morning fog as well as the folds hid much of Morgan’s tactical disposition. Tarleton’s understanding of Morgan’s numbers proved 

flawed, however. Tarleton anticipated that Morgan outnumbered him but 

that British quality would overcome American quantity as it had at Camden. Tarleton was aware, however, that Morgan’s numbers were growing the longer the British took to reach the site. As British leadership had 

feared, patriot militia had been flowing into the area. That knowledge as 

well as the hungry, tired nature of his own army suggested that now was 

the time to push forward letting adrenaline carry his army far enough to 

finish the chase before rest was in order.

The chase proved no chase at all. What Morgan had done was to construct a trap which used a series of perceived British successes to lure Tar-
13

leton forward. The skirmishers would engage 

only so long as long rifles 

could reach their marks 

without threat of effective response. Morgan 

would then pull his skirmishers back to Picken’s 

militia line and the process would start again. 

This time, British forces 

would be permitted to 

close to within smoothbore musket range before 

volley fire would greet 

the British line. Two 

volleys, perhaps three, 

and then again Morgan 

intended to give ground. 

Each British push, first 

against skirmishers and 

then against militia, 

would end in British success but at increasing cost 

in terms of casualties and 

fatigue. Morgan counted 

on them coming onward, 

scenting victory. At over 

a hundred yards beyond 

Picken’s line, Morgan 

had placed Howard’s Continentals. He anticipated that the earlier engagements would take their toll in the order of Tarleton’s line. He expected that 

the different degrees of rise to the left and right of Green River Road would 

cause the British left to lag behind the British right. And he counted on Howard’s men to hold, meeting cold steel with cold steel when the time came. 

Washington’s dragoons and a reconstituted militia under Pickens would circle to engage the British on their flanks. Morgan understood Tarleton; he 

would let his opponent’s audacity become the key to his undoing.

Morgan’s scouts had watched Tarleton and his army closely as the 

British covered the last remaining miles to Cowpens. The occasional snipFigure 2. Morgan’s Final Placements
14

er had sapped time from 

Tarleton, causing him to 

deploy soldiers to clear 

the woods on either side 

of the Green River road, 

but they were chasing 

ghosts. When he reached 

the edge of the pasture, 

Tarleton had his men 

drop their unnecessary 

gear and deploy. To the 

right of the Green River 

road, Tarleton positioned 

both light and Legion 

infantry with the 17th 

Light Dragoons guarding his flank. To the left 

he positioned the 7th 

Regiment. His intentions 

were to place the 71st 

Highlanders to the left of 

the Seventh, but the constricted terrain would not 

permit this. Moving in 

behind the Seventh and 

slightly to its left he positioned the Highlanders. 

Guarding the flanks were 

the Legion dragoons. 

While the terrain favored 

the attackers to the right of the road, the slope of the hill to the left was noticeably steeper yet it would be to the left that Tarleton weighted his attack.

Major John Cunningham’s Georgians on the American left and Major 

Joseph McDowell’s North Carolinians on the right, serving as skirmishers, 

opened the engagement, taking care to make it a hot morning for British 

officers. The groups of men, few strangers to each other, worked as teams. 

One man fired while the other two or three readied their pieces, allowing 

for an irregular but continuous fire. The crack of American rifles and the 

all too frequent thump of ball finding flesh served to spur Tarleton’s deployment. To buy time, Tarleton ordered his artillery to begin firing. His 

Figure 3. British Deployment
15

artillerists did as ordered with the gun on the right opening fire first, to little effect.19 British artillery was firing high, deceived by the rising ground 

as well as the fog and smoke obscuring the field. Next, Tarleton ordered 

a detachment of Legion dragoons to chase the pesky militia. In a harbinger of things to come, the horses thundered forward moving from the 

British left across the front and closing the distance between themselves 

and the Americans. Taking their time, Georgians and Carolinians picked 

their targets carefully before squeezing triggers. Fifteen dragoons either 

slumped forward or fell outright from their saddles as bullets struck home, 

bringing an almost immediate order to fall back.20 Tarleton had hoped to 

gain a better understanding of Morgan’s disposition but the failure of his 

dragoons to clear the skirmishers meant Tarleton would need to do it the 

old fashioned way, with British infantry in line moving at the quick step, 

bayonets at the ready.

Skirmishers continued to engage the British line as it moved forward 

and then, as ordered, fell back toward the militia line a hundred yards 

to their rear. Hayes’s battalion had by mistake positioned itself forward 

of Pickens’ main line. Fortunately, the mistake worked to Morgan’s advantage as the opening served as a rally point for skirmishers rushing to 

the rear. Many found their way to safety by this route. Most immediately 

rejoined the militia line and resumed the fight. Hayes fell back closing 

the line. The skirmish line had accomplished its mission. Tarleton had 

suffered losses, particularly to his leadership, in the initial engagement. 

Yet, with a little push, the skirmishers had disappeared, perhaps, Tarleton 

thought, preliminary to another collapse by patriot militia. On the British 

came with the right moving faster than the left as Morgan had foreseen. 

Pickens’ militia stood at the ready as the distance closed. Morgan himself 

had come forward for the engagement, joking with his soldiers, telling 

them to “squinney well, and don’t touch a trigger until you see the whites 

of their eyes.”21 If the old wagoneer was afraid, it never showed. What did 

show was his confidence in the men that they would own the day when 

the smoke cleared. The militia had freshly primed rifles and either new or 

newly sharpened flints. The cold damp morning put a premium on such 

small things. The rifle-armed soldiers among them picked their marks, focusing once again on epaulettes. A few of his militia fired early but most 

waited for the order as Morgan had asked. At 50 yards, Pickens gave the 

order to fire. A sheet of fire erupted left to right across the militia line, 

staggering the British infantry before they sent a volley back in return 

but to little effect. Only one American battalion got off a second volley. 

Some individual soldiers managed to fire more than once. Few had time 
16

for more as Tarleton’s men resumed their march, rapidly closing the distance, bayonets clearly visible to South Carolina militia who knew well 

the penalty for failing to make haste.

Pickens’ militia moved quickly back toward Morgan’s main line, most 

shifting to the flanks and some moving between the units of Howard’s 

Continentals and Triplett’s Virginia militia. All seemed to be going according to plan. Men saw what Morgan told them they would see and they 

drew confidence from the knowledge.

Tarleton in the meantime pressed forward before taking a moment to 

adjust his lines, shortening them as necessary to account for his losses. On 

his right, Tarleton created a solid but shorter now continuous line with his 

Legion infantry and his light infantry. Dressed to the left of the Legion 

infantry with the road forming the unit boundary was the 7th Fusiliers. The 

71st, now slightly left of the Seventh and trailing behind Legion dragoons, 

continued in the role of Tarleton’s reserve. Howard’s main line had been 

outside his view for much of the battle but as Tarleton’s men moved forward first into a small swale then uphill again, the Continentals came into 

view. Morgan had moved from the rally point for Pickens’ militia and had 

returned to Howard. He reassured his Continentals, telling them now was 

the time to do their part. Riflemen located within Howard’s line opened 

fire continuing the process of degrading British command and control. 

Morgan moved two rifle armed battalions under Samuel Hammond and 

Joseph McDowell to his flanks (and forward of his flank in the case of McDowell) to give himself a little more security as the main line engagement 

commenced. From these flank positions, the riflemen could shoot enfilade 

fire into the British ranks.

Both sides now commenced firing on each other. Morgan noted in a 

post battle dispatch to Greene that “when the enemy advanced on our lines 

they received a well-directed and incessant fire.”22 But the Continental 

buck and ball did not stop the British advance when it came. The British 

halted several times to fire but to little effect; much of the Continental line 

was slightly downhill from the British line and British infantry were firing 

high. Morgan had known the tendency to shoot high at a downhill target 

and had made use of the knowledge.

On the British right, the Legion infantry and the light infantry had 

been reduced to approximately 200 soldiers as they closed with Triplett’s 

Virginians. On the British left, the Seventh lost contact with the road shifting toward the left. At this moment, Tarleton believed he saw an opportunity. There was now enough space to the left of the Seventh to bring the 
17

71st forward between 

his Legion dragoons and 

the 7th in an attempt to 

turn the American right 

flank. He would use the 

17th Light Dragoons 

in an attack against the 

American left, hopefully effecting a double 

envelopment. The 71st 

moved as ordered at an 

oblique angle from that 

of the Seventh with two 

companies moving from 

column to line and the 

rest of the regiment following in column. The 

movement created a 

gap in the British line. 

Ogilvie’s dragoons and 

the Highlanders moved 

forward. As they did so 

they came into the sights 

of McDowell’s riflemen 

who promptly dropped 

several of the Scotsmen. 

McDowell’s men did not 

stay long at their positions, perhaps costing 

the British two or three 

minutes of delay before moving backward to reconnect with the American 

right. Still, as things turned out, the minutes this small engagement bought 

proved critical.

The 17th Light did as ordered, drawing sabers while spurring their 

mounts forward toward the retiring militia fleeing to Morgan’s left along 

Suck Creek. Most of the militia ran toward where they had placed their 

horses, as most had come to Cowpens on their own mounts. Before most 

could reach their horses, the dragoons struck, causing panic.23 Armed with 

now discharged rifles, most of militia were helpless before the onslaught. 

Fortunately, their plight had not escaped the eyes of Washington who at 

Figure 4. Main Line, 17 January 1781, 0740
18

the head of his own dragoons galloped into the fray. Morgan had promised 

them he would cover their withdrawal and American dragoons made good 

his word. Outnumbering the 17th Light by three to one, Washington’s men 

smashed into their opponents, slashing their way through the 17th before 

wheeling about and repeating the attack from the opposite direction, cutting down 18 British dragoons.24 One of Tarleton’s threats had been defeated. Washington quickly scattered the remnants of British horse before 

reforming and circling behind Howard’s line and around to the other flank 

just in time to overwhelm Ogilvie’s dragoons. The pittance of time McDowell’s men had bought proved just enough to allow Washington to parry the two threats from British dragoons to the American flanks.

Unknown to Tarleton, Pickens as well as Morgan was busy regaining control over the skirmish line militia. Some of the men no doubt 

intended to grab their mounts and head toward home, and a few succeeded. Pickens rounded most of them up and while many no longer were 

with their original units, nonetheless, they were soon moving toward 

the American right. Luck certainly plays a part in war and the luck belonged to Morgan that morning. His reformed militia moved toward the 

American flank at the right time to bring victory from what would be a 

very near thing. Convinced that his right was threatened, Howard, with 

Morgan’s approval, elected to deny his right flank by swinging it to the 

rear much like a hinge on a gate. The right flank company under the command of Captain Andrew Wallace began moving but instead of a hinge, 

the company moved rearward by facing about and marching to the rear. 

Believing they had missed an order, the company to the left of Wallace 

did the same thing. Now the American right was moving rearward in 

echelon. Morgan, fearing his flank broken, demanded an explanation of 

Howard. The Marylander responded that the men were moving in formation under order and could not therefore be broken. The trick would be 

gaining enough control to face them about while the rest of the parts of 

Morgan’s plan fell into place. Morgan moved to a position he believed 

would be ideal to stop the withdrawal, locating himself 100 yards to the 

rear of the original main line position.

Tarleton saw the Continental line face about and knew he had Morgan. Tired as his men were, he pushed them forward. By this time, the 

71st was closest to the Americans rushing forward toward the American 

right with more enthusiasm than order. Obscured in the smoke and confusion, what Tarleton did not see was that across the American front, 

companies were marching at trail arms, reloading as they moved. They 

were not broken as Tarleton thought. To their front was Morgan, the 
19

somehow always present Morgan, marking the place where they would 

stop, their muskets charged. British infantry rushed forward, the backs of 

blue clad Continentals nearly within reach. And then the moment came. 

The blue coats suddenly stopped, stiffened, and faced about, muskets 

coming to the ready. Most British soldiers were within 10 to 30 yards of 

their prize when the American muskets exploded in their faces. The British line staggered backward. The 71st was particularly hard hit. Men fell, 

the scarlet uniforms now colored the darker red of blood. Confusion was 

followed by panic starting with the 71st and spreading from left to right 

across the British line. Howard ordered the bayonet as the Continental 

line and Virginia militia moved forward. Washington, continuing his ride 

around Tarleton’s left flank, struck the Highlanders on their left and rear 

while Pickens added the fires of the now reformed militia to the slaughter. A few scattered shots rang out in answer to the American volley 

with little effect. British officers and sergeants tried to regain order but 

fatigue, hunger, and the Americans’ final volley proved too much. Some 

soldiers dropped their weapons and attempted to flee. Some surrendered 

outright, lying face down in the grass. A contingent of the 71st seemed 

willing to make a last stand, fearful that Tarleton’s instructions to them 

prior to battle that they give no quarter would now be visited on them 

by the Americans ringing their position. Howard yelled for their surrender, instructing his men to give quarter. Not far from Howard, Major 

Figure 5. Cowpens today, showing the sloping hill that misled the British
20

Archibald McArthur, commanding the Highlanders, surrendered sword 

and colors to Pickens.

Little was going right across the British line. The two three-pound 

cannons soon fell into American hands, their crews having fought to nearly the last man. Seeing his artillery in patriot hands, Tarleton tried to rally 

his infantry to retake the guns but his efforts failed. Next he instructed his 

Legion dragoons to save them. Led by Tarleton himself, 14 officers and 

40 men headed toward the guns, but many more of his Legion dragoons 

refused to obey. Washington moved to block the charge placing his own 

dragoons between Tarleton and the American infantry now in possession 

of the guns. Accounts vary but Tarleton and his men may well have gotten 

through Washington’s dragoons to Howard’s infantry. Regardless, American numbers proved more than sufficient to block the threat. Knowing 

now that there was nothing left with which to reverse the battle, Tarleton 

and what was left of his dragoons departed the field.

Tarleton left more than the remains of his army on the field at Cowpens, 

although it was his army that was most visible as sun and breeze swept 

clear the battlefield that morning. Eight-hundred and 90 soldiers had been 

lost, with 213 of those killed in action and another 151 wounded. Captain 

Thomas Farrow of the Spartanburg Regiment, one of the officers in charge 

Figure 6. Counterattack, 0745-0750, 17 January 1781
21

of a burial detail, noted that “the dead were found in straight lines across 

the field, & that it gave them a most singular appearance when seen at a 

distance.”25 Less immediately apparent was the fact that the destruction of 

Tarleton’s army stripped Cornwallis of his finest light infantry. Cornwallis 

noted that the loss brought him to tears. It also brought him to the determination that in order to catch Greene, the British would have to regain 

their mobility by ridding themselves of all the material support he could 

forego. In doing so, he purchased mobility but at a price. The agile Greene 

would lead Cornwallis northward across North Carolina but not so close to 

allow himself to be cornered. There would be one more major engagement 

for Cornwallis in the Carolinas, a pyrrhic victory at Guilford Courthouse, 

before the bedraggled condition of the British army forced him back to the 

coast and the safety of Wilmington, North Carolina, where he could be resupplied. Cornwallis next wagered his fortunes in Virginia, seeking again 

the promise of loyalist support and finding little. Pressed by Washington and 

Rochambeau, Cornwallis sought refuge in the port of Yorktown believing 

the British navy would extricate his army. The French navy saw to it that this 

did not happen and the end came to a British army. Dead also by this time 

was any real possibility that significant loyalist numbers could any longer 

be recruited from the populations of the Carolinas. Pacification had failed.

What brought success to American arms at Cowpens? There were many 

factors, but above them all stands the importance of leadership. Greene and 

Morgan understood mobile warfare well. For the American insurgency to live 

they had to fight, but to do so in such a way that they risked as little as possible. 

Greene’s decision to split his forces, sending Morgan south to threaten Ninety-Six or even to Augusta, Georgia, forced Cornwallis to do exactly what he 

wished, namely splitting his own force to cover his vulnerabilities. Morgan for 

his part understood how to shape the operational environment taking advantage of poor British relations with the local public to insure his knowledge of 

Tarleton’s movements. While rain fell on each side, it would be Morgan’s men 

who used the roads first, churning them into a slippery mess by the time Tarleton’s men moved over them. Before the battle, Morgan took the time to find 

defensible terrain, formulate a plan to defend it, and then make sure everyone 

understood his intentions. He had his officers feed the men and insure a night’s 

rest before battle. He did this while banking on the assumption that Tarleton 

would not be able to do any of this for his own men. They would come to 

Cowpens, cold, wet, tired, and hungry. Morgan intended to take a disciplined 

British army and un-discipline it by degrees until it fell apart.

When battle came, both Tarleton and Morgan showed themselves to 

be courageous leaders. While important for the British, courage proved 
22

absolutely crucial for the less experienced Americans. Morgan walked the 

campfires the night before battle assuring militia as well as Continentals 

that he believed in them. He promised them they would see him come 

morning, and that he would be there in the thickest of battle. When morning came he kept his promise. Standing with the Georgia and North Carolina skirmishers, he encouraged them to compete against each other to see 

which unit could hit the most British officers. He was with Pickens as the 

militia line delivered the first effective volley, and then at the rally point 

as militia fell back to the rear of the Continental main line. He stood with 

Howard as Tarleton’s men crashed into the Continental and Virginia troops 

where the day would be won or lost.

His plan for battle had proven brilliant. He knew well the capabilities 

of soldiers asking only what men could give in terms of training, weapons, 

and courage. He did not ask that his militia substitute for Continental regulars, only supplement his painfully small group of regulars. His concept of 

allowing Tarleton and his men to believe they were winning by judiciously 

yielding ground after inflicting punishment worked as planned. Skirmishers claimed dragoons and officers then ran for the militia line a 100 yards 

or so to the rear. Pickens saw to it his militia drew their measure of British 

blood before yielding again. When it came time for his Continentals to 

hold the day, Morgan insured they had all the help he could muster from 

militia and dragoons. For the British, success followed success pulling 

them forward to catastrophic defeat.

Finally, and often missed in understanding Morgan’s genius, was his 

ability to trust subordinates. William Washington had only mission orders 

built around commander’s intent. Morgan never instructed Washington 

to handle the threat presented by the 17th Light Dragoons’ attack on the 

American left following the withdrawal of the militia line. Washington 

saw the threat and dealt with it. The same can be said of the challenges presented by Ogilvie’s dragoons on the American right and Tarleton’s 

final counterattack to retake the two lost artillery pieces. During a time 

when command and control in battle was no easy task, Washington made 

Morgan’s task easier. The same could be said for Howard. When Wallace 

misunderstood his order to refuse the flank, Howard assured Morgan that 

the line was not broken and that all might yet be saved. Morgan took Howard at his word, quickly decided how much distance he could allow and 

marked the ground. Howard and his soldiers did the rest.

While not clearly evident at the completion of the battle, the British 

southern strategy had been undone. Cornwallis would surrender a British army at Yorktown before the end of the fall. Greene would turn his 
23

army southward into South Carolina to systematically push the British 

back toward Charlestown and irrelevancy. The ever mounting cost of the 

war and waning public support at home finally forced British politicians 

to grapple with the question of whether continuing the effort would be 

worth the costs involved. The events of 1781 convinced them that the 

answer was “no.”

Notes

1. Morgan did claim years after the event that he had accepted combat at 

Cowpens because the river served to steel the backbones of his militia. Lawrence E. Babits, A Devil of a Whipping: the Battle of Cowpens (Chapel Hill, NC: 

The University of North Carolina Press, 1998), 83.

2. British forces under Cornwallis had defeated an American army nearly 

twice their size at Camden, South Carolina, on 16 August 1780.

3. John Shy, ed., “The Military Conflict Considered as a Revolutionary War” 

in A People Numerous & Armed: Reflections on the Military Struggle for American Independence (Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press, 1990), 222.

4. Shy, “The Military Conflict,” 237.

5. John Buchanan, The Road to Guilford Courthouse: the American Revolution in the Carolinas (New York: John Wiley & Sons, Inc., 1997), 296.

6. The militia problem had confounded the British army for some time. 

Frederick Haldimand had explained the issue well when asked whether an attack 

from Canada into the Lake Champlain area might be possible. He noted: “It is 

not the number of troops Mr. Washington can spare from his army that is to be 

apprehended, it is the multitude of militia and men in arms ready to turn out at 

an hour’s notice at the shew [sic] of a single regiment of Continental Troops that 

will oppose this attempt.” See Piers Mackesy, The War for America 1775-1783 

(Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press, 1964), 404.

7. Buchanan, Road to Guilford Courthouse, 309.

8. Babits, Devil of a Whipping, 9.

9. John Morgan Dederer, Making Bricks Without Straw: Nathanael Greene’s 

Southern Campaign and Mao Tse-Tung’s Mobile War (Manhattan, KS: Sunflower University Press, 1983), 42.

10. Dederer, Making Bricks Without Straw, 29.

11. Tarleton’s pursuit had been on a shoestring. He departed with four days 

rations and two days before battle found himself out of food. Furthermore, his men 

had managed less than four hours sleep. See Babits, Devil of a Whipping, 156.

12. Morgan’s hope on 16 January was that he could get his army across the 

Broad to the difficult terrain near Thicketty Mountain but weather and Tarleton’s 

speed rendered that impossible unless Morgan was willing to do a night river 

crossing. See Don Higginbotham, Daniel Morgan: Revolutionary Rifleman 

(Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 1961), 131.

13. This was an experienced force. Howard’s men included soldiers from the 2d 

Maryland, most of whom had been on the American right at Camden. Nearly all of the 
24

militia also had battle experience with the North Carolina men having served at Kings 

Mountain. See Robert C. Pugh, “The Revolutionary Militia in the Southern Campaign, 

1780-1781,” William and Mary Quarterly, 3d Series, Vol. 14, (1957), 171.

14. Henry Lumpkin, From Savannah to Yorktown: The American Revolution 

in the South (New York: Paragon House Publishers, 1981), 127.

15. Pugh, “Revolutionary Militia,” 160.

16. Pugh, “Revolutionary Militia,” 169.

17. Buchanan, Road to Guilford Courthouse, 318.

18. Andrew Pickens had a reputation as a stern humorless all-business man 

of few words and iron will. Having been captured at Charleston, he and his men 

had accepted parole and considered their role in the war complete. Clinton’s 

redefinition of what the term “paroled” meant caused Pickens to consider his 

earlier agreement null and void. A Loyalist raid on his plantation leading to the 

destruction of crops and home finished his movement back to the patriot cause.

19. British artillery achieved little during the battle. The rounds meant to 

chase militia actually overshot them. The solid shot landed to the rear of the 

American main line where William Washington had originally positioned his 

dragoons. Washington quickly moved his men toward the American left and 

there is no evidence to suggest the British ever adjusted their aim. See Babits, A 

Devil of a Whipping, 89.

20. Buchanan, Road to Guilford Courthouse, 321.

21. Babits, A Devil of a Whipping, 87.

22. Babits, A Devil of a Whipping, 102.

23. Militia officers did work to stem the flight. Lt. Joseph Hughes, a veteran 

of Kings Mountain, was having none of it. Running to the front of a group of 

soldiers, he faced about yelling, “You damn cowards, halt and fight.” Most did. 

M. F. Treacy, Prelude to Yorktown: the Southern Campaign of Nathanael Greene 

1780-1781 (Chapel Hill, NC: University of Chapel Hill Press, 1963), 103

24. Buchanan, Road to Guilford Courthouse, 323 and Babits, Devil of a 

Whipping, 125.

25. Babits, Devil of a Whipping, 93.
25

Chapter 2

The Battle of Cape St. Vincent:

Turning the Tide in the War at 

Sea during the French Revolution

John T. Kuehn

The French Revolutionary Wars have often been treated in military 

history as a prologue to the campaigns of the Napoleon Bonaparte. The 

idea that these wars existed within their own historical context is often lost 

in the recent writing about this period. The first of these struggles, which 

came to be known as the War of the First Coalition, rivaled the Seven 

Years War (1756-1763) in its length and intensity. It became the First Coalition later—at the time it was simply known as the war against France, 

and inside France, the war to defend the revolution—as coalition after 

coalition was defeated by France and then Napoleon until the seventh, and 

final, coalition defeated Napoleon utterly at Waterloo.

The war that broke out between France and Europe in 1792 mixed 

the old and the new. Eighteenth century “ways of war” overlapped 

with “new winds” blowing in military affairs as a result of the French 

Revolution.1 Some historians have come to label the 23 year period 

initiated by the French Revolution as a “military revolution.”2 Whatever it was, it had dynamic battles whose names ring through military 

history: Valmy (1792), Marengo (1800), Austerlitz (1805), Trafalgar 

(1805), Jena-Auerstadt (1806), Leipzig (1813), and, of course, Waterloo (1815).

However, with the possible exception of Valmy, the early battles in 

these wars, especially those during the War of the First Coalition, are 

mostly forgotten, or recalled only dimly. Even more neglected are the 

great naval engagements that occurred between 1792 and Admiral Horatio 

Nelson’s brilliant victory at the Battle of the Nile on the first and second days of August 1798.3

 Great Britain proved to be France’s, and Napoleon’s, most inveterate opponent. The British Empire was at war with 

France for 22 out of 23 years. It signed one short peace treaty—more of a 

cease fire—lasting a little over a year from 1802 to 1803.4 Britons knew 

nothing but war with France for an entire generation. Because Britain was 

a sea power with only a small army, its contribution to the war against 

France resided at sea as well as in the revenue generated by her maritime 

trade. This revenue it used to underwrite loans to its continental coalition 

partners such as Austria and Prussia.
26

In every major naval engagement during the period the Royal Navy 

not only won, but won decisively. The names of the great naval victories 

prior to Trafalgar were many:

• The Glorious First of June (Admiral Richard Howe, 1794, versus the French)5

• Cape St. Vincent (Admiral Sir John Jervis, 1797, versus the 

Spanish allies of the French)

• Camperdown (Admiral Adam Duncan, 1797, versus the Dutch 

allies of the French) and

• The Nile (Admiral Horatio Nelson, 1798, versus the French)

The first three of these naval battles are almost unknown to most 

Americans, except perhaps Canadians. Of the three, the Battle of Cape 

St. Vincent merits special attention. The other two are quite important as 

well, but the Battle of Cape St. Vincent is a victory analogous to the United States Navy’s Battle of the Coral Sea in May 1942. Just as Midway 

overshadowed the Coral Sea, so did the Nile overshadow Cape St. Vincent 

and the other important battle that followed it at Camperdown. Nelson’s 

stunning victory over General Bonaparte’s French Fleet at the Nile in 1798 

made Nelson a national hero on a scale not seen since John Churchill, 

the Duke of Marlborough, nearly 100 years earlier. Timing is everything 

Figure 7. British Naval Victories, 1797-1798
27

when it comes to military and naval history. Like the Battle of the Coral 

Sea in 1942, the British naval victory off of Cape St. Vincent, Portugal, 

marked a turning of the strategic tide against France in Britain’s war with 

the revolutionary and expansionist republic. This naval victory was a ray 

of sunshine in an otherwise very dark and forbidding sky brought about by 

French triumphs on land.

The Strategic Situation

Great Britain used the revenue from her maritime trade to financially underwrite the various powers battling against France. However, by early 1797 all her allies had faded from the fight but one—the 

Hapsburg Empire of Austria. Yet, Austria, too, was reeling from five 

years of non-stop war against the patriotic, and increasingly professional, armies of the French Republic. By January of 1797 it was clear 

that Austria’s strategy in Germany had been defeated by the French 

generals. Worse, the ambitious young Général de division Napoleon 

Bonaparte had led the starving, unpaid French troops of the Army of 

Italy in a brilliant campaign that brought his victorious soldiers to the 

very door of the Austrian heartland.6

 Prussia and Spain had both signed peace treaties with France in 1795 

after their armies were defeated at Fleurus (1794) and San Sebastien 

(1794), respectively.7 However, it was not long before Spain’s Bourbon 

rulers overcame their distaste for the execution of their French cousins and 

made common cause with France against their old enemies the British. In 

1796 the Spanish decided to see if an alliance with the French might help 

them deflate British pride via the mechanism of sea power. Britain and 

Spain were historically enemies and the brief period of war with France 

was the anomaly to that point in history. There was lingering Spanish resentment of Britain’s expansion of her overseas empire, often at Spain’s 

expense, whether she was a neutral or an ally. Recall, too, that Spain had 

joined France before, during the American War of Independence, leading 

to her acquisition of Louisiana. More might again be gained since it appeared Britain was on the losing side in 1796. Thus, in August of 1796 

the Spanish minister Manuel de Godoy, the so-called “Prince of Peace,” 

signed a military alliance with France and subsequently declared war on 

Great Britain that October. This declaration caught the British in a serious 

situation in the Mediterranean and forced the evacuation of the bulk of 

British troops and ships from that area as a result. By the end of the year, 

with Napoleon’s victories on land, the British Mediterranean Squadron 

was forced to base itself at Lisbon in order to keep an eye on Gibraltar as 

well as on the movements of the Spanish Fleet.8
28

Britain had held her own at sea to this point. A fleet commanded by 

the famous Admiral Richard “Black Dick” Howe punished the French in 

battle on the “Glorious First of June” 1794 and for a time the British had 

held the main French naval base on the Mediterranean at Toulon. However, Toulon had been lost, in part due to an obscure artillery captain named 

Napoleon Bonaparte who had assisted in positioning the artillery that 

drove the British from that place in 1793.9 French sea power remained, as 

famed naval theorist Sir Julian Corbett termed it, “in being—not merely 

in existence, but in active and vigorous life.”10 If it could combine with 

the Spanish fleet and the newly captured Dutch fleet, it might yet prevail.11

Thus, the Royal Navy had an immense challenge in 1797; it had to watch 

the French ports and fleets as well as those of Spain and the Low Countries 

where the Dutch fleet was gathered.

 Spain’s belligerence could not have come at a worse time for Britain. 

With France triumphant in Italy and threatening gains in Germany, the 

combination of the Spanish, French, and now Dutch fleets might finally 

offer Britain’s allies the chance to escort an invading armada across the 

English Channel to land at Dover and dictate peace terms to the British in 

London. This, in fact, was the Franco-Spanish plan.12 It was a greater crisis 

than was to occur during the days prior to Trafalgar.

British operations hinged on the aggressive application of a blockade and any engagements this might cause. As naval historian Herbert 

Rosinski has written, the British goal was to “sweep” the enemy fleet 

“from the board.”13 However, the Royal Navy had to remain ever vigilant, on patrol, and constantly seeking an opportunity to catch its enemies 

unaware if they left port. The British mariners had reached a point that if 

offered an engagement, even if outnumbered, they would engage in battle. 

Such encounters often had inconclusive results because all too often the 

French and the Spanish, in their faster ships, refused battle and returned 

to port. It was just such a situation that offered Admiral Sir John Jervis, 

commander of the British Mediterranean Squadron, the chance to engage 

the bulk of the Spanish fleet before it joined its Franco-Dutch counterparts.

John Jervis, who had replaced Admiral Lord Samuel Hood, was the 

ideal choice to command the force watching for the Spanish. He had 

fought with General James Wolfe at Quebec, was aggressive, and possessed a keen judge of character and talent in subordinates.14 Most importantly, he was very enlightened about developing officers who caught his 

attention and then delegating authority to those he trusted—a key attribute 

of a command philosophy known today as “mission command.”15 Jervis’s 

arrival in command “transformed the spirit of the Mediterranean Fleet.” 
29

When Captain Horatio Nelson, the second youngest British officer ever to 

make post captain, was assigned to his squadron, Jervis immediately took 

to the fiery, intelligent young officer. Jervis promoted Nelson to the most 

senior rank possible for a captain, commodore, since Nelson now routinely commanded more ships than just his own.16

We see A. T. Mahan’s judgment of both of these officers reflected in 

his biography of Nelson:

In Sir John Jervis [Nelson] was to meet not only of the most 

accomplished and resolute officers of the British Navy, closely akin to himself in enterprise and fearlessness...but also a 

man capable of appreciating perfectly the extraordinary powers 

of his subordinate, and of disregarding every obstacle and all 

clamor, in the determination to utilize [Nelson’s] qualities to the 

full for the good of the nation.17

In this manner Nelson came to command the rear division of Jervis’s fleet, 

flying his flag aboard the battleship HMS Captain (74).18

The Articles of War

Some comments about the “articles of war”—leaders, ships, men, 

weapons, and tactics—of the day are in order before proceeding to an account of the engagement. War in the age of sail was entirely dependent on 

the weather—winds and tides determined everything and only a seaman 

with great experience could take full advantage of them or ameliorate their 

ill effects on an operation or engagement. Because of these and other factors, the quality of various navies varied—maritime trading nations with 

large merchant marines tended to generate the most skilled captains and 

crews. However, until after the French Revolution and Napoleonic Wars, 

Britain, and later the United States, had an advantage over other nations in 

their leadership, specifically, their officer corps. This was more due to their 

type of government and political economy than any other factor—as was 

noted most famously by A. T. Mahan in the first chapter of The Influence 

of Sea Power Upon History.

19

Service as an officer in the Royal Navy demanded professional competence, whereas in other navies, aristocratic pedigree often determined 

command, and even more so at high command. By the late 18th century 

the Royal Navy had for all intents and purposes become a meritocracy—

midshipmen could only advance if they demonstrated that they had mastered basic seamanship, leadership, and navigation skills. In addition, life 

at sea was tedious and demanding at the same time. Boredom, a dull diet 

of often bad and rotten food, extremes in temperatures, and occasions of 
30

sheer terror in storms and gales comprised the normal life of any seaman. 

For warships, one added the additional strains associated with mortal combat that routinely could lead to death in the most horrible ways, not the 

least of which was drowning. These conditions applied to all nations with 

warships, not just the British. If one could tough it out, he still had to master celestial navigation, accounting, keeping logs, gunnery, and numerous 

other skills that weeded out the lazy and the intellectually challenged. Finally, for high command in the British Navy, one needed sponsorship by 

powerful patrons both ashore and at sea, but even with these, lack of success or a record of corruption and incompetence could keep one stuck at a 

lieutenant’s grade. Post captain, the goal of every midshipman, was only 

earned after a thorough written and oral examination by senior captains 

and might still not be granted if the Admiralty thought otherwise. Because 

of this, the Royal Navy, despite its name, became an institution officered 

as often by young men from the middle and merchant classes as it was by 

aristocrats, many of whom preferred a plush life ashore to a hard one at 

sea. Some of these fighting sailors subsequently earned their own title and 

peerage, but they had to go through a difficult apprenticeship. This process 

resulted in the finest naval officer corps in the world of this (or any) period 

for the Royal Navy.20

In Britain’s opponents, especially France and Spain, the systems atrophied or were undermined by their parent societies. France was hurt especially by the Revolution, losing almost the entirety of her naval officer 

corps who fled the excess of the Revolution, although some came back after the end of the Terror in 1794.21 Spain suffered from a lack of clear interest by her ruling classes in the care of her fleet and the men who led it. She 

still had many good men, but more often than not they languished under an 

almost medieval system that rewarded indolence and obsequiousness rather than boldness and courage.22 Spain’s maritime economy focused more 

on raw materials and especially precious metal mines, which led to a less 

robust maritime trading system as the British, Dutch, and French. By the 

time she entered war against Great Britain in late 1796 her large fleet had 

suffered from years of neglect, despite the size and magnificence of some 

of her ships. Godoy had made things worse by removing two of Spain’s 

admirals because they had honestly reported the inadequacy and lack of 

readiness of the fleet and thus recommended against war. One of them was 

Spain’s “most talented” senior officer, Vice Admiral Jose de Mazarredo, 

the commander in chief. His replacement was Vice Admiral Don Jose de 

Córdoba, who had the good sense not to contradict Godoy’s policies and 

so retained his command.23
31

The enlisted seamen of the era were notoriously the scrapings of every society on the face of the earth, although they included many healthy 

specimens press ganged ashore or kidnapped at sea. This last constituted 

a primary complaint of the new United States that eventually contributed to its war against Britain in 1812. Discipline in both the British and 

Spanish navies was ferocious and after the battle Britain would face the 

great 1797 mutinies of the Nore and Spithead that finally led to some reforms.24 Nonetheless, the sailors of the Royal Navy constituted the best 

crews afloat, although because of the expanded size of that navy they often 

worked on under-manned ships. Some enlightened captains, among them 

Nelson, took very good care of their sailors and developed strong bonds 

with their crews. Because Great Britain employed an active blockade as a 

matter of course as her primary strategy in any war, her sailors and officers 

were always at sea, always training, and usually in a very high state of 

readiness, with results that we will discuss below. The opposite held true 

for their blockaded counterparts, who spend less time at sea in their often 

better-built and designed ships that were not as weather beaten and “used 

up” as the British warships.

The coin of the realm at sea during this time was the line of battle 

ship, or battleship for short. They were massive vessels, each with multiple gun decks, three square-rigged masts, and crews ranging from 350 

to as many as 900 on the truly gigantic ships like the Spanish Santissima 

Trinidad—the largest warship afloat of that period. Battleships numbered 

anywhere from 50 to 100 guns, although a behemoth like Santissima Trinidad had 140 guns aboard! The calibers and types of these guns varied—

from 12-pounders up to 36-pounders for regular guns firing solid shot 

(cannon balls).25 In addition to regular guns, there were carronades, large 

caliber short-range guns that could fire more rapidly and were nicknamed 

“smashers” in the fleet. Nelson often used giant smashers that could throw 

either a 64-pound shot or kegs full of nails. They were useless at even medium ranges but deadly in close.26 The British crews practiced constantly 

with their guns and, to speed up their rate of fire, controlled the timing on 

their shot by developing the flintlock trigger to replace the older fuses that 

might burn too slowly or too fast. Because of this, British ships had an 

even higher rate of fire than their enemies with more accuracy.27

The key difference in the tactics of the British versus the French and 

Spanish had to do with strategy. The British strategy had changed by the 

time of these wars to one of blockade and battle, and their ships were designed accordingly. The French and Spanish designed their ships for speed 

and developed their artillery skills, especially the French, to shoot away 
32

masts and rigging because they often tried to avoid battle. The French did 

this because of a strategy of raiding, or guerre de course. They eschewed 

close battle, preferring instead to keep the British with their superior closein fire power at arm’s length. As for the Spanish, they concentrated less on 

battle and more on escort of their treasure and slave fleets as well as maintenance of a far-flung maritime empire—again a strategy that discounted 

battle. Thus, British tactics developed over time toward seeking battle at 

close quarters while the French and Spanish preferred running gun battles.28 However, if a British admiral bit off more than he could chew, then 

the French and Spanish were more than ready to accept an engagement 

where they had the clear odds. This, in fact, would be the case off Cape 

St. Vincent, where Admiral Córdoba calculated the British would never 

challenge a force twice their size in numbers of battleships.

The Battle

As discussed, Jervis took over the Mediterranean fleet at a critical 

juncture. The war with France had now assumed a principally naval character and Jervis’s squadron, including Nelson’s ships, concentrated solely on the Spanish threat to combine with the French and ferry victorious 

French legions across the channel. This was no idle threat. The French had 

managed in December to evade the British blockade and almost landed 

15,000 troops in Ireland, only being prevented from doing so by their own 

incompetence and the poor weather. Later in February, after the battle under discussion here was over, the French did land almost 1500 troops in 

Wales, but these were easily rounded up.29

Jervis discovered Córdoba and the main Spanish fleet escorting a convoy of mercury needed in Spain’s South American colonies to process silver; the British commander precipitated an engagement of Cape St. Vincent 

in Portugal in February 1797. Godoy had ordered Córdoba to escort the 

mercury and then proceed into the Bay of Biscay and join with the French 

fleet there. One of the last groups of British ships to evacuate the Mediterranean was commanded by Nelson. Temporarily in command of two 

captured French frigates (La Minerve and Blanche), he had miraculously 

sailed through the main Spanish fleet at night in the fog. He then proceeded 

directly to Admiral Jervis whom he found on 13 February 1797 off Cape St. 

Vincent on the Portuguese coast (see Figure 7). He gave Jervis the critical 

news that the Spanish fleet had entered the Atlantic. The next day, Jervis 

made contact with the Spanish ships under the command of Córdoba. The 

Spanish admiral outnumbered Jervis by almost two to one in battleships (27 

to 15). Jervis’ audacity is reflected in his decision to attack, a decision made 

when the British commander thought that the escorted mercury ships were 
33

also part of Córdoba’s force. Jervis formed line of battle and made straight 

for the approaching Spanish Fleet, saying “The die is cast and if there are 

50 sail of line, I will go through them.” This utterance highlights the British 

method of seeking battle in almost any situation except the most unfavorable. The Spanish fleet was divided into two groups and tried to mass, one 

group to windward (upwind) and one to leeward (downwind) from the British. Nelson with his good friend Cuthbert Collingwood brought up the rear 

in Captain and Excellent (64), respectively.30

At the key moment in the battle Nelson’s portion of the line was closer 

to the Spanish than the head of the column as Jervis took his ships into a 

turn to keep the Spanish divided. It was at this moment that the British 

style of mission command evidenced itself. Nelson, disobeying the famous standing battle orders, wore out of the line and sailed straight for 

the middle of the Spanish column.31 This was where the most powerful 

Spanish ships were positioned, including Córdoba’s flagship Santissima 

Trinidad (140). Nelson’s aggressiveness and ability to act independently had been known in the fleet, but now they were on display for all to 

see. Jervis aboard the Victory (100) saw Nelson engage seven enemy battleships with his one. He approved the action and signaled Collingwood 

aboard Excellent to support him. He then sent out the same signal to the 

remainder of his ships that Nelson himself sent from Victory at Trafalgar 

Figure 8. Battle of Cape St. Vincent
34

almost eight years later: “Engage the enemy more closely.”32 Jervis, too, 

knew the strategic moment of the occasion given Britain’s vulnerability, 

remarking, “a victory is very essential to England at this moment.”33

Jervis’s signal was the essence of decentralized execution, leaving 

to each captain his choice on how and which Spanish ship to approach. 

Nelson’s ship should have been obliterated as he endured the close, but 

inaccurate, fire of the Spanish. Elated by close combat, Nelson rammed 

San Nicholas (80), which had become fouled close aboard with another 

Spanish battleship San Josef (112), and boarded her. Nelson personally led 

the boarding party onto San Nicholas and took her in violent close-quarters fighting. The next action he took was unprecedented and sealed his 

fame—with San Josef still close aboard he continued with his boarding 

party across the captured ship, boarded her, and ultimately took the larger 

ship as his new prize. Meanwhile, Collingwood had pounded three more 

Spanish ships to pieces and taken one of them. Of the four Spanish ships 

taken in the battle, two belonged to Nelson. Córdoba’s flagship, the gigantic Santissima Trinidad, had struck her colors, too, but was rescued by 

several other Spanish ships before the British could board her; she would 

survive only to be captured and then sink at Trafalgar years later. Many of 

the Spanish ships that survived were badly damaged. In addition, hundreds 

of valuable gun crews and sailors had been killed by the deadly British 

fires and thousands captured. It had been a hard 5 hour fight and had seen 

the first British flag officer (Nelson) to personally lead a boarding party in 

taking ships since 1531. An example of the high expenditure of ammunition is reflected by looking at the Captain’s (Nelson) log: “146 barrels of 

gunpowder, 2,773 round, grape, and double-headed shot [two cannonballs 

lined with a short chain], and 1,940 musket and pistol host” discharged.34

Córdoba’s losses shocked both him and the Spanish leadership. He was a 

broken man and his account of the lethality of the British gunnery at St. 

Vincent ensured his demise. He retreated with his battered fleet to Cadiz where he and several other admirals were arrested and removed from 

command. Spanish mobs stoned several of his captains. Godoy reappointed, too late, Mazarredo to command the fleet with Admiral Don Fredrico 

Gravina (who commanded at Trafalgar) as second-in-command. The British fleet had suffered too, but it immediately blockaded Cadiz while Jervis 

took his damaged ships to Lagos Bay in Portugal to effect repairs. The 

Royal Navy blockaded Cadiz efficiently for the rest of the war.35

 The Battle of Cape St. Vincent highlights how absolutely decisive general engagements at sea can be, although they are much rarer than land battles because either belligerent could, and often did, refuse battle. In fact, the 
35

Spanish may have been attempting to do just that when Nelson made his 

famous maneuver, although some observers think otherwise. It was a spectacular victory and earned Nelson a knighthood (of the Bath) and promotion 

to rear admiral. The King made Jervis Earl St. Vincent in honor of the great 

victory and Spanish sea power remained cowed until peace was signed in 

1802 at Amiens.36 The victory did much to relieve British fears of an invasion and probably prevented the signing of a general peace after Austria 

came to terms with Napoleon Bonaparte and France later that year.

Strategic Aftermath

There still remained French and Dutch fleets to fight as well as the Nore 

and Spithead mutinies inside the Royal Navy of 1797. So great was British 

ascendancy that the Dutch fleet remained in port during the worst moments 

of the mutinies when Admiral Adam Duncan kept watch with only two 

ships, deceiving the Dutch by signaling to a “fleet” over the horizon that was 

not there.37 Once the mutinies were resolved, Duncan managed to demolish 

the Dutch fleet as a threat at Camperdown (11 October 1797). This was a 

victory greater than St. Vincent and nearly as great as Trafalgar with the 

British capturing 13 enemy vessels and emphasizes the general excellence 

of Britain’s operational commanders at sea across the spectrum. However, 

it does not diminish the importance of St. Vincent as a turning point in the 

war or its strategic value in effectively neutralizing Spanish sea power until 

the peace of Amiens. If St. Vincent is a Midway, then Camperdown reflects, 

using our World War II analogy, the Battle of the Philippine Sea, a necessary milestone on the way to the complete destruction of the adversary’s sea 

power prior to another final, complete, and devastating victory once and for 

all. In World War II in the Pacific this occurred at Leyte Gulf and for the 

French, Dutch, and Spanish it happened at the Nile in 1798, establishing the 

British general command of the sea until 1802.

After St. Vincent, Jervis sent Nelson on his first independent assignment 

as an admiral to seize the port of Santa Cruz on Tenerife in the Canary Islands. Disaster resulted. Nelson made the classic mistake of underestimating his foes and overestimating his own power to prevail in an amphibious 

assault. He led his landing force into an ambush and almost bled to death 

when his right arm was shattered by a musket ball and later amputated.38 The 

wound did not heal properly and Nelson returned to England an opium-sedated wreck. He believed his career had ended with the loss of his right arm, 

writing to a friend, “I am become a burthen to my friends and useless to my 

Country.”39 However, he was back in action the next year, 1798, and then 

went on to destroy what remained of French sea power in the Mediterranean 

at the Nile that October with the additional strategic benefit of stranding 
36

France’s greatest general in Egypt during the critical year of 1799. In the 

War of the Second Coalition, the Allies came close to finally defeating the 

French and were only prevented from doing so by internal squabbles and a 

failure to cooperate and harmonize on land as the Royal Navy did at sea.40

Part of that harmony was the direct result of Jervis’s and the Royal Navy’s 

timely victory off St. Vincent in February 1797.

Notes

1. John A. Lynn, “Nations in Arms,” in The Cambridge History of Warfare, ed. Geoffrey Parker (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 

189-203.

2. For this characterization of the French Revolution see Williamson Murray 

and MacGregor Knox, eds. The Dynamics of Military Revolution (Cambridge, 

UK: Cambridge University Press, 2001), pages 1-13 and chapter 4.

3. John T. Kuehn, “Nelson, Mission Command, and the Battle of the Nile,” 

in 16 Cases of Mission Command ed. Donald P. Wright (Fort Leavenworth, KS: 

Combat Studies Institute Press, 2013), 31.

4. John T. Kuehn, “Chapter 4: Warrior of the Waves: Nelson’s Legacy to 

Naval Commandership,” in Great Commanders, eds. Christopher Gabel and 

James Willbanks (Fort Leavenworth, KS: Combat Studies Institute Press, 

2012), 111.

5. Admiral Richard Lord Howe was the brother of William Howe of American Revolutionary War fame.

6. Steven T. Ross, Quest for Victory: French Military Strategy, 1792-1799

(London: A.S. Barnes and Company, 1973), 104.

7. Ross, Quest for Victory, 88-91.

8. N.A.M. Rodger, The Command of the Ocean: A Naval History of Britain, 

1649-1815 (New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 2004), 436.

9. Owen Connelly, Blundering to Glory: Napoleon’s Military Campaigns

(Wilmington, DE: SR Books, 1987), 15-18.

10. Sir Julian S. Corbett, Some Principles of Maritime Strategy, with an 

introduction by Eric J. Grove (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, reprint, 

1988), 212-213. Corbett discusses on these pages the concept of a “fleet in 

being,” that is, a fleet conducting an active resistance against a superior fleet, 

which he terms a “naval defensive.”

11. Ross, Quest for Victory, 88.

12. Rodger, The Command of the Ocean, 438.

13. Herbert Rosinski, The Development of Naval Thought, ed. B.M. Simpson III (Newport, RI: Naval War College Press, 1977), 3.

14. Captain Peter Hore, The Habit of Victory: The Story of the Royal Navy, 

1545-1945 (London: Pan Books, 2006), 135.

15. Wright, Mission Command, v. Jervis’s approach matches the elements in 

Army mission command entitled: “Build cohesive teams through mutual trust” 

and “Create shared understanding.”
37

16. Tom Pocock, Horatio Nelson (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1988), 121, 

126-127, 345.

17. Alfred T. Mahan, The Life of Nelson: The Embodiment of the Sea Power of Great Britain (Boston: Little, Brown, and Company, 1923), 209.

18. The number in parentheses indicates the number of guns aboard the 

vessel. Hereafter, only the ships’ names will be listed in italics, omitting the 

HMS acronym.

19. Alfred T. Mahan, The Influence of Sea Power Upon History, 1660-

1783 (Boston: Little, Brown and Co., 1890, reprinted 1918), 53-58.

20. Roger Knight, The Pursuit of Victory: The Life and Achievement of 

Horatio Nelson (New York: Basic Books, 2005), 3-15. Only one-third of the 

Royal Navy’s midshipmen came from the aristocratic class.

21. Rodger, The Command of the Ocean, 427.

22. http://weaponsandwarfare.com/?p=26966 (Accessed 10/13/2014)

23. Rodger, The Command of the Ocean, 438.

24. Hore, The Habit of Victory, 139-148.

25. Rodger, The Command of the Ocean, 408-425, passim.

26. Knight, The Pursuit of Victory, 506-507; 139-140.

27. Rodger, The Command of the Ocean, 421, flintlock triggers were also 

known as “gunlocks.”

28. Rodger, The Command of the Ocean, 408-425.

29. Arthur Herman, To Rule the Waves: How the British Navy Shaped 

the Modern World (New York: Harper Collins, 2004), 342-343, 345; Rodger, 

Command of the Ocean, 437-438.

30. Pocock, Horatio Nelson,128-129; Herman, To Rule the Waves, 345-36.

31. Hore, The Habit of Victory, 137. “Wearing” is sailing off, or away, 

from the wind and is different than “tacking” into the wind. Tacking on this 

occasion meant Nelson would sail into the wind and away from the Spanish 

and in this case wearing meant less disruption of the British line and, if executed correctly, that he would reach the Spanish line sooner.

32. Herman, To Rule the Waves, 346-349.

33. Knight, The Pursuit of Victory, 439.

34. Rodger, The Command of the Ocean, 438-440; Knight, The Pursuit of 

Victory, 226.

35. Knight, The Pursuit of Victory, 231-233.

36. Pocock, Horatio Nelson, 130-133, 148; Mahan, The Life of Nelson, 

271-275. Knight, The Pursuit of Victory, 439, believes the Spanish intended to 

attack Jervis from both the front and rear, but that Nelson’s maneuver confounded this tactic.

37. Herman, To Rule the Waves, 151.

38. Herman, To Rule the Waves, 353; Pocock, Horatio Nelson,135-145. 

The British lost over 150 men killed in this fiasco. The Spanish were shocked 

at the scale of their victory and generously returned all Nelson’s wounded to 

him under a flag of truce.

39. Cited in Mahan, The Life of Nelson, 306.
38

40. For the Battle of the Nile, see again John T. Kuehn, “Nelson, Mission 

Command, and the Battle of the Nile,” in 16 Cases of Mission Command. For 

the War of the Second Coalition see campaign see John T. Kuehn, ”Suvorov’s 

Folly, Tactics and the Second Coalition of 1799,” in the Consortium on the 

Revolutionary Era, 1750 – 1850, Selected Papers 2006, High Point University 

Press, NC, 2007, 156-171.
39

Chapter 3

Vitoria, 1813

Mark Gerges

The Peninsular War battle of Vitoria, Spain, in June 1813 might appear 

to be a surprising addition to a book on forgotten decisive victories. Where 

other battles in this book have had an effect that was unforeseen or not 

well publicized at the time, Vitoria does not fit this mold. Europe heralded 

the triumph, making its victor, General Arthur Wellesley, then Marquess 

of Wellington, famous. His accomplishments were proclaimed in verse 

and music, with the composer Ludwig van Beethoven commemorating 

the success with his Opus 91, known as “Wellington’s Victory.” Clearly, 

Vitoria is not an unknown, but rather a forgotten decisive victory.

The concept of maneuver, approaching your enemy from an unexpected 

direction and compelling him to react from a position of disadvantage, is thousands of years old. Armies repeatedly sought an advantage by forcing their 

enemy to react, to alter position, or even be surprised by the direction and aim 

of a maneuver. Wellington was no stranger to this concept, and his campaigns 

in India often consisted of sweeping maneuvers, striking the enemy so rapidly 

that they had little time to react to the situation suddenly presented to them.1 It 

is therefore somewhat surprising that today he has the reputation as a cautious, 

even defensive general, one who would allow the enemy to pound away at the 

thin red line, to borrow a phrase from a later period, passively awaiting attack. 

This mistaken perception of Wellington and his generalship is most starkly 

illustrated in the campaign of 1813 that culminated with Vitoria.2

The war in the Iberian Peninsula was in its sixth year. The Anglo-Portuguese army under Wellington had defended Portugal since 1808, and in 

January 1812 began an 11-month campaign that marked its first offensive 

since 1809. Seizing first the key border fortifications of Ciudad Rodrigo in 

January and then Badajoz in April, the army advanced along the great road 

running through Salamanca, Valladolid, and Burgos in June. After maneuvering for nearly a month against the French Armée de Portugal, Wellington defeated that army in July, liberating Madrid in August. Yet, from the 

dizzying successes of summer, the Anglo-Portuguese army limped back to 

the Portuguese border in November 1812, unable to breach the fortress of 

Burgos, hampered by poor weather and the lack of a siege train. It was a 

disappointing end to what had been an arduous campaign.

As Wellington planned the upcoming campaign, the scale of the disaster 

that had befallen the Grande Armée in Russia was still only rumor, and the 
40

campaign of 1813 looked again to contest French hegemony in the Peninsula 

for limited advantage. The French veterans pulled from Spain in late 1811 had 

changed the balance in Iberia, allowing Wellington to go on the offensive in 

1812. Now, further French withdrawals to rebuild the army in Germany for 

1813 allowed an even greater expectation for the next year. Indeed, the French 

misadventures removed most of Spain from French control, leaving 60,000 

French soldiers consolidated in the three armies confronting the Anglo-Portuguese army. An additional French army under Marshal Louis Suchet in eastern 

Spain was too far away to play a direct role in the campaign.

In command of the Anglo-Portuguese army was the 44-year-old General Arthur Wellesley. Wellington was at his peak, marking his fifth continuous year commanding in the Peninsula. Success in 1812 had gained him an 

unprecedented level of support from the British government and for the war 

in Spain. British policy against Napoleon was not as clear-cut as it seems 

in retrospect; the involvement in Iberia was not the only logical place for 

employment of a British army. A significant political faction pushed for a 

British force in the north of Germany or the low countries; this demand 

posed a constant threat to divert Wellington’s reinforcements and in 1813 a 

new theater was opened in the Netherlands.3 Even his success at Salamanca 

did not end planning for these alternative theaters; instead, he was offered 

command of a British expedition to Hanover or Holland, but declined and 

argued for additional reinforcements to Spain. Throughout the winter of 

1812-1813, Wellington engaged in policy discussions with the commander 

in chief, the Duke of York, over which regiments to keep, the organization 

of those forces, and for the first time, due to Wellington’s heightened reputation, which poorly performing senior officers to recall from the Peninsula.

Meanwhile, in central Europe, Napoleon hastily rebuilt his army that 

had been devastated by the Russian campaign. After retiring back into the 

Duchy of Warsaw with fewer than 30,000 soldiers, he reconstructed his force 

almost from nothing. Herculean efforts, including calling up early classes 

of recruits, pulling additional soldiers from Spain, using naval cannoneers 

as field artillerymen, consolidating French garrisons, and drafting mounted 

gendarmes into the cavalry, enabled Napoleon to take the field in late April 

with 130,000 troops. By the end of May, the French strength increased to 

400,000. In a shocking three-week interval, victories over the allies at Lützen on 2 May and Bautzen on 20-21 May inflicted over 40,000 casualties 

on the stunned Allies, forcing them to agree to an armistice on 4 June.4 With 

German operations suspended, the question hanging over Wellington’s campaign, now in its final planning stages, was whether French troops would 

return over the Pyrenees to help King Joseph Bonaparte in Spain.
41

Wellington’s army, 104,280 in total, can only be properly called the 

Anglo-Portuguese army by 1813. British troops in Iberia never exceeded 

40,000; the rest consisted of Portuguese units that, since 1810, were brigaded throughout the army. Every division except the First Division contained a brigade of Portuguese soldiers. Additionally, General Francisco 

Silveira’s Portuguese division and two separate Portuguese brigades had 

long served alongside the British. Many of these Portuguese regiments 

contained British officers and trained in the British drill manual, becoming interchangeable with British regiments. Despite this close integration, 

Portuguese public support for the war effort waned. Five years of operations on their territory, heavy taxes, and an allied army that often treated 

the local peasants poorly had dampened the Portuguese support for the 

war. In addition to the Portuguese and British units under his direct command, three years of political effort finally came to fruition in December 

1812 when Wellington received command of the Spanish army. On paper, 

the Spanish added another 130,000 men to his force, but many of these 

soldiers were sick, poorly equipped, or missing from the ranks. Their cavalry and artillery, more expensive to maintain, were neglected, and one 

historian said that “far too many officers still served no other role than to 

add a military air to the streets of Cádiz, La Coruña or Alicante.”5 Despite 

the Cortes decision to give Wellington command, many Spanish officers 

were unhappy with his appointment and perceived it as an insult to their 

national pride. Despite these issues, elements of the Spanish Fourth Army, 

particularly divisions under General Francisco de Longa and Pablo Morillo, would play an important role in the campaign.

Much had changed for the French since the end of the 1812 campaign. 

The 45-year-old king of Spain, Joseph Bonaparte, gained actual control 

over the French armies in his kingdom only as his brother marched off 

to Russia the previous summer. Previously, he and his chief of staff, 

Marshal Jean-Baptiste Jourdan, commanded little but the French forces 

immediately around Madrid.6 Jourdan, a capable officer, was hampered 

by recurring bouts of malaria during the campaign. This illness prevented him from issuing orders during the critical period of 20-21 June. Returning from Russia, Napoleon had told his brother in March to abandon 

Madrid and make his capital at Valladolid along the great road. This was 

in the center of a line running from Madrid on the left, through Valladolid to León on the right, protecting the lines of communications back to 

France. Napoleon instructed his brother that his two priorities should be 

to clear the guerrillas from the mountainous areas along the supply road 

to maintain French logistics, and to locate the Bonapartist government 
42

with the French armies. Napoleon understood that French control in Spain 

did not rest on a piece of terrain but on the success of French arms. The intent was to free Joseph from the need to protect his capital. The unforeseen 

consequences of this decision included huge convoys consisting of French 

families, Spanish supporters of the Bonaparte kingdom and their families, 

and the looted wealth and riches of the Bonaparte kingdom of Spain. These 

clogged the royal road back to France and looked to the French armies as 

their only protection.

Three French armies, together with a few thousand loyal Spanish soldiers, defended what was left of Joseph’s kingdom. Gone were the famous 

French marshals who had commanded armies and carved out virtual fiefdoms over the previous five years. In their stead, three competent officers 

from the division level now commanded the French forces. These armies 

had many of their best infantry and cavalry redirected to meet the emerging 

threat in central Europe, making them shells of their former competence. 

General Honoré Gazan, 48 years old, commanded the Army of the South. 

Under Marshal Jean Lannes in Portugal, he had commanded a division 

that suffered the brunt of the casualties at Albuera. General Jean-Baptiste 

Drouet, Count D’Erlon, commanded the Army of the Center. Forty-eight 

years of age, he had earned a solid reputation at Austerlitz and Jena as a 

division commander, and then went on to command a corps during the 

1811 campaign. The final French army was the once proud Army of Portugal, slowly reduced to one-third of its previous strength as numerous 

units were recalled to France. The army’s commander, General Honoré 

Charles Reille, former aide-de-camp to Napoleon and the youngest of the 

commanders at 38 years old, spent most of his time on the Peninsula chasing guerillas in the Navarre and Aragon regions rather than leading large 

forces in conventional operations.7 All told, French forces confronting the 

Anglo-Portuguese and Spanish armies consisted of 110,000 soldiers, with 

an additional 40,000 dedicated to fighting guerillas.8

The previous year, correspondence between Wellington and London 

concerning preparations and objectives had compromised the operational security of the 1812 campaign. This so infuriated Wellington that he shared few 

details of his 1813 plans. When the campaign began on 22 May, 81,000 troops 

of three nations began marching across northern Portugal.9 Indeed, the generals 

supporting Wellington’s turning movement, including his Spanish allies, did not 

know what was happening after that movement began, clearly showing how 

compartmentalized he kept the knowledge of the campaign’s objectives.10

In 1812, Wellington’s army advanced along the great Royal road. This 

was the main route in north-central Spain leading from the Portuguese bor-
43

der through Ciudad Rodrigo, Salamanca, Valladolid, Burgos, and Vitoria to 

the French border. A month of maneuvering occurred as each army sought 

an advantage between Valladolid to Salamanca, with only a French mistake 

outside of Salamanca leading to a battle in July. Major rivers prevented maneuver far from the road, and allowed the French good defensive positions. 

Only a fluke episode in the 1812 campaign gave Wellington the opportunity to avoid the strong French defenses. In support of the advance along 

the great road in June 1812, a single Portuguese cavalry brigade advanced 

over the mountainous terrain of northern Portugal and into the plains, 20 to 

30 miles from the well-defended road. Almost entirely out of contact with 

French forces, the brigade found the terrain more trafficable than expected.

In 1813, Wellington used the information gained by that Portuguese 

brigade to his advantage. Knowing that the French forces were oriented 

on the Royal Road and that the large baggage train would force them to 

protect that line, Wellington planned his maneuvers to avoid French positions, bringing his forces down on the French flank without contact and 

so turning them from their positions. This had the advantage of playing on 

the French beliefs concerning Wellington’s army. Knowing that the allies 

were much more reliant on their logistics train than was the French army, 

Figure 9. Overview map of the Vitoria Campaign, 20 May - 20 June 1813
44

French commanders assumed that, if Wellington did leave the Royal Road, 

he would do so only temporarily since only that route provided the means 

to feed his forces. Wellington took advantage of this erroneous assumption. The equipment of the British soldier had been lightened, gaining a tin 

pot similar to the French and a tent for each squad of men. This allowed 

Wellington to collect the men’s great coats and cast iron cookware for 

storage, lightening their load so they could carry more rations and ammunition. Timing the advance to early June just as the grasses were ripening 

in the fields allowed foragers to cut green fodder for the cavalry and artillery horses, thus reducing the amount of dry grains hauled.11 Wellington 

divided his army into two unequal forces and the actual march route was 

so well hidden that soldiers were surprised when they suddenly veered 

north of the Royal Road to get to their starting positions. Along the Royal 

Road, a weaker element advanced under Lieutenant General Roland Hill. 

Hill was 41 years old and had been on the Peninsula since the first battles 

in 1808. He was adored by his men for the care he gave to them, earning 

him the nickname of “Daddy Hill.” Hill commanded two divisions and the 

bulk of the cavalry, demonstrating in front of the French and deceiving 

them into thinking that the entire allied army was again moving along the 

main road.12 To complete the illusion that his entire army was taking the 

direct route, Wellington initially moved with Hill’s column before shifting 

northward to join the bulk of his army. Wellington expected that the conditions were ripe to change the dynamic in the Peninsula. Not an expressive 

man or given to dramatic moments, as Wellington crossed the Portuguese 

frontier, he did one of his few theatrical moves; Raising his hat in salute, 

Wellington called out “Farewell Portugal. I shall never see you again.”13

To the north of the Royal Road, Lieutenant General Thomas Graham 

commanded the other two-thirds of the army. The 65-year-old Graham’s 

career was highly unusual. In 1792, Graham, a farmer at the time, traveled to southern France with his sick wife in hopes that the warm weather 

might help her recover. She died there, and as Graham escorted her body 

back to Scotland, French revolutionaries, in search of hidden weapons, 

ransacked her coffin. Outraged, the then 42-year-old Graham, with no 

previous military experience, volunteered for army service and began his 

military career at the siege of Toulon.14

Graham’s six infantry divisions marched through northern Portugal 

over a steep and mountainous route. Described as ascending a set of stairs 

between each village, the column finally debarked from the mountains 

where the next challenge was the Douro River, which they crossed on 30 

May over a pontoon bridge. The column then arrived at the Esla River, 
45

in flood from spring snowmelt and rains. The fords at Monte Marte were 

too deep to cross, so the cavalrymen of the advanced guard swam the river, pulling light infantrymen across as they held onto the horses’ stirrups. 

Even then, some men lost hold and drowned. Once across, they secured 

the far side and built a pontoon bridge.15 In all of this, the allies were out 

of contact with the French, demonstrating that Wellington’s turning movement was working.

Once they discovered this turning movement, the French abandoned 

their positions along the Douro River and Valladolid. As the French withdrew across the upper Douro towards Burgos, Jourdan positioned them 

to prevent Wellington from regaining the main road and his lines of communications.16 In what would be the boldest move of the campaign, Wellington had worked with the Royal Navy throughout the winter to coordinate a shifting of his supply base. Instead of supplies making the arduous 

overland route from Lisbon and Oporto into central Spain, Wellington 

prepared to shift his supply base to Santander in the Bay of Biscay. Significantly shortening Wellington’s lines of communications, this change 

rendered the great road through Salamanca irrelevant—the French unknowingly defended a line that meant nothing to the Anglo-Portuguese 

army. A huge undertaking, this shift was a great risk. The timing of the 

Figure 10. Battle Map, Opening Phase, Phase 1
46

opening of the campaign, as the fodder ripened in the fields, mitigated the 

hazard, and allowed Wellington’s army to move without its magazines, but 

this only lessened part of the peril.17 Given the naval threat from America and France, Wellington could not be sure of joint coordination with 

the navy. The Biscay Bay and the northern coast of Spain fell under the 

command of the Channel Fleet, and for the Royal Navy the protection of 

Britain’s coast was more important than securing Wellington’s new line 

of communications. The scale of this shift, with the closing of supply depots, creation of new ones, halting convoys of mules and wagons from 

Lisbon, and finally opening the new base of Santander during the middle 

of an active campaign, was a bold move that showed that Wellington was 

the master of the dynamics on the Peninsula. By 10 June he decided to 

shift his lines; he requested the Royal Navy officers at Coruña to begin 

escorting the supply ships found there to Santander. He did this despite 

not knowing whether Spanish forces retained the port. If the Royal Navy 

found that the French controlled the port, they were to remain off the coast 

until the action of Wellington’s army forced the French to abandon their 

position.18 Freed from worrying about his supply line to Portugal, Wellington again turned French positions along the Royal Road, forcing the 

French to abandon their positions without a fight. The castle of Burgos, 

once a major hindrance to the British advance in October 1812, was now 

abandoned and the fortifications destroyed by the French due to the threat 

of the Anglo-Portuguese turning movement.

Just three weeks after beginning his advance, the campaign’s results 

were impressive. Starting with two forces separated by as much as 120 

miles, the Anglo-Portuguese army moved over 200 miles and liberated 

Spain’s most agriculturally productive regions from French control without a major battle. The French retreated to Vitoria by 19 June, hauling not 

only logistics trains for three armies but the entire flotsam of the French 

rule in Spain—records, court officials, wives, children, mistresses, herds 

of animals and exotic pets, almost any item that could be imagined filled 

the 3,000 wagons that clogged the French routes. Many senior French officers, including Major General Joseph Hugo, had their families in the 

convoy, and Madam Hugo and her young son Victor left for France just 

before the battle.19

Vitoria is the capital of the Basque region. The town lies in a plain six 

miles wide by ten miles long, surrounded by mountains on three sides. To 

the south, the heights of Puebla protect the valley while the Sierra Brava de Badava and the foothills of the Pyrenees lie to the north and east, 

respectively. Cutting through the plain is the Zadorra River which twists 
47

and turns, finally exiting near the village of Puebla. The river would form 

the northern flank of the French position. The most significant piece of 

terrain in the plain is Ariñez Hill, thought to hold special relevance to the 

British since in 1366 a British advanced guard under Edward, Prince of 

Wales (the Black Prince,) assisted Pedro the Cruel in defeating the French 

here.20 The mountains formed a horseshoe around the town with the open 

end facing to the east, so that Joseph and Jourdan believed that the only 

way Wellington could enter the plain and attack would be from the west. 

Certain of victory in this strong position, Joseph ordered the construction 

of a reviewing stand in front of Vitoria so the town people could watch his 

victory. Yet, he failed to destroy the critical Zadorra bridges which, though 

defended, would be passable if the French were pushed back.

On 20 June, the allied army arrived west of Vitoria. Instead of the 

81,000 who began the campaign, only 74,000 were in the immediate area. 

Major General Edward Pakenham’s Sixth Division protected the road to 

the new supply base at Santander. Other Spanish divisions masked French 

garrisons bypassed in their fortresses.21

To defend Vitoria, the French had 63,000 soldiers and 153 guns in three 

armies.22 Three successive lines of French forces were deployed along the 

Zadorra River. Their left was anchored on the heights of Puebla, while their 

right turned to the north and covered the crossings of the Zadorra as it ran 

due east. The furthest west was General Gazan’s Army of the South, approximately 34,000 strong. Next came the two divisions of d’Erlon’s Army 

of the Centre, with 17,000 soldiers also oriented westward. Rielle with his 

17,400 strong Army of Portugal faced west in a third line, but reports of 

enemy movements in the mountains north of Vitoria forced Jourdan to turn 

Rielle’s army to confront this threat. The Spanish Royal Guard plus the bulk 

of the French cavalry were in reserve near Gomecha, southwest of Vitoria.23

From above, the French position resembled a large L, with the pivot being 

at the small village of Margarita. One final element affected the French defense. Just to the east of Vitoria, the French armies’ trains were awaiting 

escort to France. One thousand wagons departed for France on the evening 

of 19 June, but an additional 2,000 wagons remained.

Approaching Vitoria the Allied columns became extended, and Wellington used 20 June to concentrate for the battle. His plan was to continue 

the successful maneuver that had gotten him there. He no longer intended to simply turn the French from their position. Through maneuver, his 

four columns, if timed properly, would present the French commanders 

with a constantly shifting set of dilemmas.24 The southernmost was Lieutenant General Roland Hill’s force of 20,000 men consisting of the British 
48

Second Division, Major General Pablo Morillo’s Spanish division, Major 

General Francisco Silveira’s Portuguese division, and two brigades of cavalry. They would cross the heights of Puebla, forcing the French forces in 

the Zadorra valley to react to this penetration from the south.

The center column contained two parts. Under Wellington’s personal 

supervision were 30,000 men of the Light Division, the Fourth Division, 

and four brigades of British cavalry who would attack frontally once the 

attack developed in the south forcing the French to fight in two directions. To the north was the other half of the center column under command of Major General George Ramsay. Controlling the Third Division 

and the Seventh Division, Ramsay was to time his movement through the 

mountains to then attack the bridges over the Zadorra while the French 

were confronted with attacks from the south and west. The final element 

was a column snaking its way through the mountains north of Vitoria. 

Sir Thomas Graham commanded 25,000 troops including the First and 

Fifth Divisions, General Francisco de Longa’s Spanish division, Major 

General Thomas Bradford’s Portuguese division, Major General Denis 

Pack’s Portuguese infantry brigade, and two brigades of cavalry. Their 

mission was to cut the French lines of retreat east of Vitoria.

The gloom and cold of the last few days of marching gave way to drizzle that evening and then finally to a bright, crisp morning on 21 June.25

The reports of movement to the north made Jourdan think that Wellington 

could possibly be bypassing them again, and he ordered Reille to prepare 

for this eventuality. By 0800, Morillo’s Spanish division and the British 

Second Division climbed the heights of Puebla, pushing French outposts 

off the crest.26 The Army of the Center reacted, rushing a brigade to cover 

the spur, and as the Allied forces moved east along the crest, additional 

French light troops and guns climbed the heights, but the Allies retained 

the summit. At Subjiana de Alava, a stalemate developed by 0845 as neither side controlled the village. Additional French forces moved south to 

ascend the heights, but were repulsed as the battle grew in intensity.27

While the fighting in the south developed, Wellington waited near 

Nanclares de le Oces with the right center column. Farther north, the 

Third Division under Sir Thomas Picton crossed through the mountains 

and waited orders to move south to the Zadorra. Picton, hot-headed but 

extremely competent, had fallen out of favor with Wellington for moving 

his division along an alternate route during the retreat from Burgos in October 1812. To mitigate Picton’s rashness, Wellington placed him under 

Ramsay, a relatively inexperienced commander of the Seventh Division 

who moved cautiously through the mountains.
49

Between 0900 and 1100, additional French troops moved to the Puebla heights to confront the British and Spanish troops. Wellington waited, 

hoping to hear gunfire east of Vitoria as Graham’s column threatened the 

French routes. No gunfire was heard, and due to the lengthy roads through 

the mountains, timely messages could not be sent. Only two messages, one 

at 1400, and another later in the afternoon, were sent, but Wellington had 

to rely upon the intent that he had issued to Graham the previous day, and 

trust his subordinate to act within his design.28

Slightly before noon, Wellington grew impatient. There was still no 

indication that Graham’s column had attacked the French rear. At noon, a 

Spanish peasant, Jose Ortiz de Zarate, reported that the bridge at Tres Puentes was unguarded, and Wellington decided to act. He ordered the Light 

and Fourth Divisions to attack immediately. As the British troops began to 

cross, the French realized their danger and an artillery battery fired on the 

troops. One cannon ball, landing not far from Wellington, unfortunately 

decapitated the helpful Spanish peasant.29

Almost simultaneously, Wellington sent orders for Ramsay to attack with the Seventh and Third Divisions. Wellington’s aide, looking for 

Figure 11. Battle Map, Phase 2
50

Ramsay, arrived instead at Picton’s division, which had been standing idle 

for the last four hours. The high strung Picton, chafed by being put under 

Ramsay’s orders, became progressively more upset as he asked the aide 

for orders. The aide replied that the orders were for Ramsay. Picton, more 

agitated, demanded the orders again. The aide replied that the Seventh 

Division was to lead the attack, followed and supported by the Fourth and 

Sixth Divisions. For Picton, this was too much, and he declared:

You may tell Lord Wellington from me, sir, that the Third Division under my command shall in less than ten minutes attack the 

bridge and carry it, and the Fourth and Sixth may support if they 

choose. . . Come on, ye rascals, come on, ye fighting villains!30

The Third Division descended the mountain trails and crossed the Zadorra bridges, threatening to turn the French positions. Gazan and d’Erlon rapidly assessed the critical nature of their situation—much of their 

strength was in the south fighting on the heights, and now came fresh 

assaults from the west and then the north. A hastily assembled line of 50 

cannons, the only French reserve still existing, held off the Third Division 

for a time, but Picton’s troops fought their way across the river and toward 

Ariñez Hill, site of the French headquarters. The Army of the Center’s line 

unraveled as it succumbed to insurmountable pressure on three sides.

The battle’s second phase began around 1300. with some of the most 

desperate fighting of the day. To the east of Vitoria, Graham’s column 

finally made contact with the Army of Portugal which was protecting the 

French lines of communications. Pushing back the lead French brigade 

north of the Zadora River, Graham’s force approached the river. Further 

west, Hill’s forces in Subjiana de Alva finally gained an advantage over 

the French and seized the village. By 1400, with the crossing of the Zadorra by the Fourth Division, the majority of Wellington’s force was across 

the river and through the natural terrain that anchored the French position. 

Jourdan recalled forces from the Puebla, shortening the French line to face 

these threats.

Picton’s division repulsed a counter-attack on its right and advanced, 

crossing a key bridge under heavy fire.31 The French responded by pummeling the Third with 40 to 50 cannon and continued to apply pressure on 

Picton’s right flank. The heavy fighting in the next hour caused 1,800 casualties in the Third Division, almost one third of all losses in the battle.32

Six miles to the east, Graham’s men debouched from the north, entering into the fighting for Gamarra Mayor and suffered the battle’s heaviest 

casualties. Soldiers nicknamed it “Gomorrah” due to it being full of fire 
51

and brimstone. Graham followed Wellington’s instructions literally, and 

between 1500 and 1600 the fighting escalated as his men attempted to 

push east to cut the roads to Pamplona and Bayonne. Yet, one of the golden 

opportunities for the Allies slipped away. Graham’s strict interpretation of 

his orders to cut the road east of Vitoria without getting decisively engaged 

before the other columns meant that he missed the opportunity to attack 

south to cut the less well defended road in Vitoria. Wellington’s first order 

at 1400. recommended caution if the French were not fighting hard so that 

they would not withdraw. By the time of the second order, the fighting 

at Gammara Mayor had become so difficult that movement to the east 

was nearly impossible. However, if Graham had instead attacked south, 

not only would the road east have been cut, but the lightly defended road 

south-east of town could have been severed, cutting off all escape routes 

for the French.33 As it was, the vital road to Salvatierra remained open.

By 1530 all of Wellington’s divisions were advancing from the heights 

and threatening three sides of the battered French line. The Army of the 

Center, unhinged by the Light Division’s critical fight to take the knoll of 

Ariñez, began to withdraw. Under increasing pressure from three directions, Jourdan and King Joseph realized that they must realign their forces. 

By 1600, a general withdrawal began in good order with the infantry of the 

Figure 12. Battle Map, Phase 3
52

Armies of the South and Center forming a single line with six battalions 

of the Royal Guard, Joseph’s few loyal Spanish troops, held in reserve.34

Anchoring the line was the French artillery, 76 guns. Wellington’s chief of 

artillery, Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Dickson, scraped together British, 

Portuguese, and Spanish batteries for a total of 75 guns.35 This became the 

largest artillery duel on the Peninsula as the infantry of each side suffered 

from this massed firepower.

Despite the immense duel, the French situation deteriorated. Already 

turned out of two defensive lines over the past six hours, the French now 

faced a threat to their line of retreat from Longa’s and Graham’s forces. By 

1700, Longa’s Spanish troops had cut the main road to France beyond Durana, 

and in the south, Morillo’s troops blocked the road south to Logroño. This 

left open only the road east to Salvatierra. Graham’s troops, still engaged 

at Gamarra Mayor, could have cut this road earlier in the day if they had 

pushed through Vitoria, but due to losses and increased French resistance, 

they were unable to cut the last escape route.

Conspiring against the French was the huge convoy of 2,000 wagons and carriages, including regimental supply wagons, ammunition for 

the reserve artillery, ambulances, and assorted family members of senior 

French commanders. There was also a particularly unique element of 

the column, including not only the mechanisms of French rule such as 

the archives from Madrid, the King’s ministers and their families, but 

the looted gold, silver, artwork, cattle, pets, and Spanish supporters who 

relied upon French protection. Adding to the carnival atmosphere were 

more than 500 prostitutes, causing one French observer to note that “we 

were a traveling bordello.”36

By 1800, the French position became tenuous. Fighting since 0800, 

many units ran low on ammunition, and as the battle closed on Vitoria, 

discipline lessened. Already those non-military elements in the convoy 

decided to depart, jamming the road and preventing additional ammunition from moving forward. As word of Graham’s advance arrived, fear and 

confusion became general as wagons and carriages fled. Gazan’s Army 

of the Center, which had never fully settled into the new defensive line, 

retreated, leaving the Army of the North, still fighting in good order, exposed.37 Jourdan and King Joseph, seeing the hopelessness of the situation 

with Gazan’s departure, ordered the departure of the artillery park and 

trains while d’Erlon delayed the allies. However, these orders were too 

late. The artillery batteries ran into the bulk of wagons and the chaos on the 

road became even greater. Guns were pushed into ditches, spiked, overturned, or damaged so that they could not be immediately used. Seizing 
53

the opportunity created by Gazan’s departure, the British cavalry charged 

into Vitoria itself, adding to the French panic.38

The scene as the allied army closed in on Vitoria was striking. Converging on the town from multiple routes, the allied advance soon faced 

the same congestion as the French. The chaos was of a manner not usually 

seen. One participant noted that the road was:

choked up with many carriages, filled with imploring ladies, 

wagons loaded with specie, powder and ball, wounded soldiers, 

intermixed with droves of oxen, sheep, goats, mules, horses, 

asses, milch cows, filles de chambre, and officers. In fact, such 

a jumble surely was never witnessed before; it seemed as if all 

the domestic animals in the world had been brought to this spot, 

with all the utensils of husbandry, and all the finery of palaces, 

mixed up in one heterogeneous mass.39

Major General Robert Long, in his third year of commanding a cavalry 

brigade, stated:

I never witnessed such a scene. Wines, concubines, baggage, 

barouches, military chests, all taken. . . [and] . . . casks of brandy, barrels and boxes of dollars and doubloons, wearing apparel, 

silks, laces, satins, jewelry, paintings, sculpture, – -some [soldiers] even had state robes and court dresses on.40

One of the greatest finds was the Spanish Royal art collection from 

the palace in Madrid. Over 300 works by some of the finest masters 

including Velaquez, Rafael, Rubens, Van Dyck and others remained in 

wagons. British soldiers, realizing the significance, secured the find. 165 

paintings were sent to England and restored to Spanish King Ferdinand 

VII, who gifted 81 of those pieces to Wellington in 1816.41 Despite odd 

items such as monkeys and parrots, the real treasure that interested Wellington was five million francs of the French subsidy that arrived just 

before the battle.42

Allied pursuit ended as night fell. Many problems hampered the ability 

to continue the pursuit. Heavy fighting, lasting in some instances for nearly nine hours, meant that cartridge boxes needed refilling and units had to 

be reorganized due to casualties. The converging road network, closing 

into Vitoria and blocked by the French convoy, prevented an immediate 

pursuit. The wings of the Anglo-Portuguese army which had marched dispersed blocked each other’s routes. Cavalry, the arm most useful in turning 

a tactical victory into a rout with an aggressive pursuit, was unable to provide the pressure. Not only did the congested terrain play a factor, but the 
54

rapid advance since leaving Portugal meant that the senior cavalry officer, 

Lieutenant General Stapleton Cotton, had not rejoined the army. His passage from England to Lisbon was delayed and he was unable to rejoin the 

main force in time to launch an immediate pursuit.

Wellington often complained of the British soldiers’ poor discipline and 

the plundering of the French convoy continued throughout the night. The entire French military chest was lost, although Vitoria’s residents are probably 

share as much of the blame as British soldiers. Not all British troops acted 

poorly. Men from the 16th Light Dragoons guarded a cartload of money until 

dark when drunk infantry finally drove them off to plunder the wagon. One 

squadron of the 18th Hussars pursued the escaping carriages; a hussar even 

fired a pistol into King Joseph’s carriage window, forcing Joseph to jump out 

the far side, mounting a horse to flee.43 However, many did stop to plunder 

instead of continuing the pursuit, and Wellington found them drunk when he 

arrived on the scene.44 One exasperating incident involved a wagon belonging 

to the French Etat-Major. A sergeant and his men initially guarded the carriage 

of important records, but eventually succumbed to temptation, and joined in 

the looting of more valuable cargo; unfortunately, the military letters were 

lost.45 One division established a market that evening to sell their goods using 

captured carts as stalls and lighting the entire scene by torch light.46 Yet despite 

the temptation, some brigades tried to pursue the defeated French. The heavy 

cavalry brigade passed piles of silver coins along the road. The 3d Dragoon 

regimental history claims that not a man left the ranks to plunder, so their brigade commander, Major General William Ponsonby, ordered a sergeant major 

to collect as many coins as his horse could carry and later distributed the coins 

to the 1,500 soldiers, each receiving five dollars.47

Wellington’s anger over the ill-discipline was great. Despite searches of 

the men’s knapsacks in the days after the battle, most of the specie was 

gone. Poor logistics, always a concern, forced soldiers to find their own 

food; as such, a shortened supply lines to Santander should have solved 

many of Wellington’s concerns. Yet, Wellington wrote the government of 

his apprehensions concerning “the consequences of marching our vagabond soldiers through the province of Biscay in that state of discipline in 

which they and their officers generally come out to us.”48 Instead of a million dollars in sterling Wellington expected, the military chest recovered 

only 100,000. Wellington lost more men to desertion after the battle than 

in the fighting, and no pursuit was possible until the next day because the 

men were so tired from plundering. Pursuit finally started at 1000 on 22 

June, but contact had been lost with the French during the night. Rain and 

thunderstorms slowed the pursuit and increased the fatigue of the infantry. 
55

Of the cavalry, little used during the battle, the terrain and poor organization prevented an effective pursuit.

Despite Wellington’s complaints and the incompleteness of the victory, Vitoria was a major accomplishment. Of the 57,000 French soldiers, 

8,091 were killed and wounded and another 2,000 captured while the 

allies suffered about 5,000 with 70 percent of the casualties in just two 

divisions—the Second and Third. Worse for the French, 151 of the 153 

cannons and 415 caissons were captured, effectively preventing their rapid 

recovery to combat readiness.49

By the end of June, most French forces had left Spain except for garrisons of fortresses such as Pamplona and San Sebastien, effectively ending French rule. Napoleon relieved his brother on 11 July, but the French 

cause in Spain was not entirely ended—the appointment of Marshal Jeande-Dieu Soult as the overall French commander and a surprise counterattack in late July caught Wellington off guard in the Pyrenees, but those 

were aftershocks that could not reverse the overall situation.

The battle of Vitoria contains insights for the student of military history. In 1813, its importance was relatively simple—the French empire in 

Spain ended. With the exception of a few French fortifications and Marshal 

Suchet’s army in eastern Spain, the country was free of foreign occupation 

for the first time in nearly six years. Wellington’s Anglo-Portuguese and 

the Spanish army were in the Pyrenees, preparing to advance into France 

proper. The allied cause in central Germany revived, and the Habsburg 

Empire joined the Sixth Coalition against France.

Wellington’s use of maneuver and his understanding of his opponent 

played a key role in his success. The opening move of the campaign, crossing into Spain from rugged northern Portugal instead of on the Royal road 

was so unorthodox that even Wellington’s own generals were surprised. 

The French expectation that Wellington would focus on uninterrupted supply meant that they fixated on the Royal road long after its importance as a 

line of supply was gone. Wellington twice maneuvered around the French 

defensive positions because they assumed that Wellington must again regain the road. Wellington’s actions assumed greater significance when 

near Vitoria, where rumors of Graham’s column to the north were again 

interpreted as Wellington bypassing the French position, and so scant attention was paid to a direct assault from the west.

The set-piece battle in the plain before Vitoria also demonstrated Wellington’s understanding of the weaknesses of the French position. While the 

French faced directly west, Wellington threatened to outflank their position 
56

from the south, forcing French commanders to continually draw strength 

from their center to support their left. Allowing this dynamic to continue, 

he then drove straight at the weakened center as additional columns crashed 

into the French positions from the north. The French were faced with unenviable choices—weaken the left and risk being outflanked or assume risk 

of penetration in the center and outflanking from the north. None of these 

choices were insurmountable with coordination and a timely withdrawal to 

shorter, more defensible lines. However, the rapidity with which the successive French commanders encountered each challenge, with little time for reflection, meant that the chances for error were that much greater. Graham’s 

column threatening the escape route was the final straw that weakened 

French morale, even when they were otherwise defending successfully. The 

threat that another unit could fail, and their disaster could doom one’s own 

actions, was the final piece that undermined the French defense.

Key to understanding Wellington’s success was the superb coordination of the moving parts. Wellington’s forces were arrayed over 12 miles 

of mountainous roads, and the only hope for mutual support was if each 

was successful in its own attack. He combined units of three nations, with 

the success of each playing a role in the success of all—there was no mission given to an untrusted element to keep them from interfering with the 

others. He took prudent actions to mitigate the risks through partnering 

units, supervision by senior commanders, or the expectation of what they 

could achieve. None received spurious jobs.

The final element in the allied army’s success is what the US Army today 

describes as mission command. Subordinate commanders understood their 

role in the bigger picture, but timing and then follow-on operations were left 

to their discretion. This trust created opportunities, but came with risks. The 

continued pressure by Hill’s forces in the south on the Puebla, moving along 

the ridge and confronting the French with a constantly changing challenge 

was matched by Graham’s understanding of the timing necessary for his 

attack in the east—too early, and the French would see the threat and break 

contact, denying Wellington his set-piece battle. Picton’s actions in the center, made in a split second of anger after chafing with no orders, played 

an important task in penetrating the French positions. However, as well as 

these actions worked, others hampered the result. Graham’s obedience to 

instructions warning him against premature decisive engagement made him 

reluctant to push aggressively to cut the road south of Vitoria; this probably 

cost the allied army a more resounding victory. Pursuit of a defeated enemy is not done haphazardly or without coordination. Subordinates trying to 

move east in pursuit often found their way blocked by friendly troops also 
57

trying to take advantage of fleeting opportunities. The tyranny of the road 

network and improper planning could not be overcome with initiative. The 

example of Captain Norman Ramsay comes to mind. A competent, brave, 

and well-respected horse artilleryman, he unknowingly violated Wellington’s direct instructions during the confusion of the pursuit. This led to his 

arrest during the campaign and later death at Waterloo as Ramsey tried to 

erase the stain on his reputation.

Vitoria, though eclipsed by later battles and seemingly forgotten today, deserves its title as one of the great decisive battles of the Napoleonic 

era, on a par with Leipzig or Waterloo. It truly was Wellington’s victory.

Notes

1. Huw Davies, Wellington’s Wars: The Making of a Military Genius (New 

Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2012). Davies’ recent book refers to his style 

of operations as “light and quick operations” marked by detailed planning and 

logistical preparations and then rapid execution.

2. A note on spelling. I will refer to Arthur Wellesley as Wellington throughout. Raised in the peerage to the Viscount Wellington of Talavera in 1809, he 

was the Marquess of Wellington during this campaign, and not become the Duke 

of Wellington until 1814. I have used the Spanish spelling of the town of Vitoria 

unlike modern English usage which spells it with two t’s. This is current Spanish 

spelling and reflects how Wellington spelled it in his dispatches.

3. Jeremy Black, Debating Foreign Policy in Eighteenth Century Britain

(Farnham UK: Ashgate, 2011). See chapter 10, in Black’s book, for a more detailed discussion of the lack of clear-cut support for operations in Iberia.

4. Michael Leggiere, Napoleon and Berlin: The Franco-Prussian War in 

North Germany, 1813 (Norman, OK: University of Oklahoma Press, 2002) 

50-52; 86-87.

5. Charles Esdaile, The Peninsular War, (London: Penguin Books, 2003), 431.

6. Jourdan, then 51 years old, had had a successful career. Serving as an 

enlisted man during the ill-fated assault on Savannah, Georgia, during the 

American Revolution, he was a successful general during the Revolutionary wars, and became a marshal with the first induction in 1804. He advised 

Joseph in 1806 in Naples, and then moved to Spain when he took the crown 

there. He commanded few troops except those immediately around Madrid 

because of Napoleon’s policies of allowing French commanders great latitude 

and reporting directly back to Paris. This changed as Napoleon prepared for 

the Russian campaign, and Joseph and Jourdan were giving command of all 

French troops in Spain.

7. Richard Humble, Napoleon’s Peninsular Marshals (New York: Taplinger 

Publishing, 1974), 200; Esdaile, The Peninsular War, 343.

8. Davies, Wellington’s Wars, 173.
58

9. Discussing strengths of armies during this period is always a challenge. For 

the British, Portuguese, and Spanish forces working directly with Wellington, all 

ranks and arms probably totaled 67,000 infantry and 8,000 cavalry. Charles Oman, A 

History of the Peninsular War, 7 vols (London: Greenhill Books, 1996,) VII, 313.

10. Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington, Supplementary Despatches [sic], 

Correspondence, and Memoranda of Field Marshal Arthur Duke of Wellington, K.G. Edited by the 2d Duke of Wellington, 15 vols (London: John Murray, 

1867-188) Wellington to Sir John Murray, 23 May 1813, VII, 623. Hereafter 

referred to as Supplementary Despatches.

11. General Order, 25 April 1813, Supplementary Despatches, VII, 609-10.

12. Stephen Leslie and Sidney Lee, editors. Dictionary of National Biography, 

(NY: MacMillian Co, 1908) IX, 862-867.

13. Esdaile, The Peninsular War, 453.

14. Dictionary of National Biography, VII, 358-361.

15. Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington, The Dispatches of Field Marshal 

the Duke of Wellington, during his Various Campaigns in India, Denmark, Portugal, Spain, the Low Countries, and France, from 1799 to 1818. Edited by John 

Gurwood, 13 vols. (London: John Murray, 1834-1838), Wellington to Hill, 31 

May 1813, Wellington’s Dispatches, X, 406-07. Hereafter referred to as Wellington’s Dispatches; General Arrangement for the Movement of the Army, 4 June 

1813, Supplementary Despatches, VII, 627-28.

16. Wellington to Henry Wellesley, 4 June 1813, Wellington’s Dispatches, X, 415-16.

17. Wellington to Graham, 8 June 1813, Wellington’s Dispatches, X, 424-25.

18. Wellington to LTC Bourke, 10 June 1813, Wellington’s Dispatches, X, 429-30.

19. A. F. Davidson, Victor Hugo: His Life and Work (London: Eveleigh 

Nash, 1912), 10.

20. Wellington to Marquess Wellesley, 22 June 1813, Supplementary Despatches, VIII, 3.

21. Davies, Wellington’s Wars, 182; Oman, A History of the Peninsular War, 

VII, 752.

22. Esdaile, The Peninsular War, 445.

23. Esdaile, The Peninsular War, 444-445; Oman, A History of the Peninsular War, VII, 754-57.

24. Arrangement for the Movement of the Army on 21 June 1813, Supplementary Despatches, VII, 652-53.

25. Stephen Crane, Great Battles of the World, 49; Andrew Leith Hay, A 

Narrative of the Peninsular War, (London: John Hearse, 1850)192.

26. Wellington to Bathurst, 22 June 1813, Wellington’s Dispatches, X, 447.

27. Unknown to Wellington, his former brother-in-law, the 71st (Highlander) Foot’s commander, Colonel Cadogan was mortally wounded and propped up 

on a knapsack to watch his troops repulse the French advance. Cadogan’s sister 

married Henry Wellesley, but later left him and ran off with Sir Henry Paget.

28. Wellington to Graham, Supplementary Despatches, VIII, 1-2.
59

29. Oman, A History of the Peninsular War, VII, 407-08; William Maxwell, 

Peninsular Sketches by Actors on the Scene, 2 vols (London: Longmans and 

Green, 1845) II, 44.

30. H. B. Robinson, Memoirs of Lieutenant General Sir T. Picton, including 

his Correspondence, etc, 2 vols (London, Richard Bentley, 1835,) II, 195-96; 

Crane, Great Battles of the World, 52-53.

31. Hay, A Narrative of the Peninsular War, 200; Sir William Francis Napier, 

History of the War in the Peninsula and the South of France, From the Year 1807 

to the Year 1814, 6 vols, (London: Thomas and William Boone, 1851) V, 123.

32. Oman, A History of the Peninsular War, VII, 425-27.

33. Wellington to Graham, 21 June 1813, Supplementary Despatches, VII, 1-2.

34. Oman, A History of the Peninsular War, VI, 428.

35. Oman, A History of the Peninsular War, VI, 428-29.

36. Oman, A History of the Peninsular War, VI, 434.

37. Oman, A History of the Peninsular War, VI, 432.

38. Hay, A Narrative of the Peninsular War, 203-04.

39. Maxwell, Peninsular Sketches, II, 53.

40. Robert Ballard Long, Peninsular Cavalry General (1811-1813). The 

Correspondence of Lieutenant General Robert Ballard Long. Edited by T.H. 

McGuffie (London: George G. Harrap and Co, Ltd, 1951), 275; Hills, R.J.T., 

The Royal Dragoons (London: Leo Cooper, 1972), 44.

41. http://www.bbc.co.uk/arts/yourpaintings/galleries/collections/english-heritage-the-wellington-collection-apsley-house-1938/foreword (accessed 

on 25 January 2014).

42. Oman, A History of the Peninsular War, VI, 445.

43. L. B. Oatts, Emperor’s Chambermaids, (London: Ward Lock, 1973), 167.

44. Ian Fletcher, Galloping at Everything, (Great Britain: Spellmount Publisher, Ltd., 1999) 203.

45. William Tomkinson, The Diary of a Cavalry Officer in the Peninsular 

War and the Waterloo Campaign, 1809-1815, (London: Frederick Muller, Ltd., 

1971), 253.

46. Tomkinson, The Diary of a Cavalry Officer, 254.

47. Hector Bolitho, The Galloping Third, (London: John Murray, 1963), 119.

48. Wellington to Bathurst, 29 June 1813, Wellington’s Dispatches, X, 473.

49. Oman, Peninsular War, VI, 451-53.

61

Chapter 4

The Battle of Plattsburgh

Richard V. Barbuto

Strategic Overview

In the first decade of the 19th century, Europe was embroiled in constant warfare. Napoleon achieved some astounding military victories on 

the continent and was fairly successful in establishing French hegemony 

over much of Europe. Great Britain remained a determined enemy of 

France, and used its naval and financial power to roll back Napoleon’s 

reach. While French armies reigned supreme on the land, the Royal Navy 

dominated the seas. Britain used its immense naval power to shut down 

French sea-borne trade. The Royal Navy blockaded the ports of countries that had made peace with Napoleon and seized ships and cargoes 

on the high seas that were heading to these ports. The French navy, supplemented by privateers, seized ships heading to port cities of the British 

empire, but this effort paled in comparison to the massive British effort.

The United States possessed a large merchant fleet, second in numbers 

only to Britain. The United States maintained neutrality in the European 

war; however, neither Britain nor France respected that neutrality. Both 

British and French navies stopped American vessels, seizing boats and 

cargoes if their courts judged the ship to have violated their respective 

trade laws. Over the years, hundreds of American vessels and cargoes 

were lost. Britain, however, carried its warlike actions a step further.

The Royal Navy had hundreds of warships. Continuous naval operations blockading ports and patrolling the seas consumed thousands of seamen. Life on a warship was harsh in the extreme, and British sailors often 

risked flogging or execution by deserting when in a port city. Hundreds if 

not thousands of deserting British sailors found easy employment aboard 

American vessels. Many of these sailors started naturalization procedures 

to establish American citizenship. There was also a flourishing trade in 

false naturalization papers. The Royal Navy was hemorrhaging experienced sailors, so much so that its warships were constantly under-crewed.

Thus, when British warships stopped American vessels, they drafted 

or “impressed” American sailors thought to have been born in the British 

Empire. Britain did not recognize the right of its people to change their 

citizenship. Modern scholars estimate that the number of sailors removed 

from American ships approached 15,000.
62

Another point of persistent friction occurred on America’s western 

frontiers. In 1812, about one million Americans lived west of the Appalachian Mountains. Native Americans resisted white expansion. Britain 

maintained a thriving fur trade with the natives, providing them with 

woolen goods, iron cookware, and firearms and ammunition. Americans 

on the frontier suspected, not without reason, that British authorities in 

Canada were actively encouraging natives to battle white settlers.

The American public bridled at British impressment of American seamen and interference with trade and westward settlement. Congress responded to a rising tide of indignation and declared war on Britain in June 

1812. President Madison had two goals for the war effort. The first was 

to force Britain to stop seizing American ships, cargoes, and sailors on 

the high seas. The second was to persuade British officials to cease inciting natives to attack American settlers in the west. Clearly, the American 

naval forces were too small to decisively challenge the Royal Navy. Yet, 

reasoned Madison, Britain might be willing to trade concessions for the return of Canada. Madison ordered three invasions to quickly take the major 

cities of Canada, most importantly Montreal and Quebec.

Many supporters of the war expected an easy victory. Even former 

president Thomas Jefferson judged that, “The acquisition of Canada 

this year, as far as the neighborhood of Quebec, will be a mere matter of 

marching.”1 He could not have been more wrong. The US Army launched 

repeated invasions into Canada, all but one failing miserably. Major General William Henry Harrison’s Western Army managed to defeat Tecumseh’s Confederacy and to seize territory across the Detroit River. However, 

after 18 months of war, the United States was no closer to victory, no 

closer to recognition of its trading rights as a neutral nation caught up on 

the margins of a great European war. Britain would not budge on its perceived right to impress American sailors of British birth. The Royal Navy 

tightened its blockade of eastern ports and raided villages and plantations 

on Chesapeake Bay with impunity.

Then in 1813, the military situation in Europe shifted dramatically in favor of Britain and her allies. In October 1813, the anti-French coalition defeated Napoleon’s armies at Leipzig. Over 600,000 soldiers contended for four 

days in what was later to be called the Battle of the Nations. Napoleon and his 

troops fought a desperate rear guard action in a long withdrawal into France 

itself. In December 1813, Sir Arthur Wellesley, the future Duke of Wellington, 

also known as the Iron Duke, had cleared French troops from the Iberian Peninsula and crossed the Pyrenees to invade France as well. On 31 March 1814, 

coalition troops entered Paris and Napoleon abdicated his throne.
63

The British public and government turned their attention toward the former colonies that had the temerity to attack Britain while it was opposing the 

dictator Napoleon. The government’s goals were to ensure that British North 

America would be secure from American invasion. First, Britain would 

push the Canadian-American boundary south, well below the Great Lakes. 

Second, Britain would expel American settlers from the states and territories 

north of the Ohio River, turning those extensive lands into an Indian nation. 

Third, Britain would seize much of Northern Maine to secure the province 

of New Brunswick. Fourth, Britain would attempt to seize New Orleans, to 

further restrict America’s trade. Britain deployed large contingents of experienced, confident soldiers and sailors to join the struggle against the United 

States. Madison and his cabinet understood only too well that if the US was 

to win its war, victory would have to come quickly before the full might of 

Britain arrived on America’s borders.

Congress acted to increase the size of the Army, raising the enlistment 

bonus from 40 dollars to 124 dollars and increasing the authorized strength 

of the Army to 62,500. Despite these measures, Army strength rose only to 

approximately 40,000 men by the time active campaigning began in 1814. 

While regimental recruiting parties worked tirelessly to put more citizens in 

uniform, Madison and Secretary of War John Armstrong took measures to 

improve the senior leadership. They moved failed generals to quiet fronts 

and promoted successful colonels and brigadier generals to higher ranks.

Madison and Armstrong understood that cutting the British supply 

line that extended from Montreal westward along the Saint Lawrence River and across the length of Lake Ontario would prove decisive to the war 

effort. This region was the responsibility of the Ninth Military District that 

comprised Vermont and all of New York State above the Highlands. Armstrong massed his forces here, and it was here that two new major generals 

took their commands.

George Izard, educated in European military schools, had commanded 

the Second US Artillery Regiment and a brigade in Wade Hampton’s Division during the Battle of Chateauguay. Jacob Brown had been a general 

in the New York militia until success at the Battle of Sackett’s Harbor 

earned him the rank of brigadier general in the regular army. He competently commanded the advance guard brigade in the 1813 campaign. The 

Senate approved both of Madison’s nominations, and Izard and Brown 

were promoted to major general on 24 January 1814, Izard outranking 

Brown. Armstrong re-organized the forces in the Ninth Military District. 

Izard commanded the Right Division on Lake Champlain while Brown 

commanded the Left Division that was responsible for the border between 
64

Buffalo on Lake Erie and Ogdensburg on the St. Lawrence. Armstrong 

ducked the obvious violation of unity of command within the military district, directing that each general would command the forces assigned to 

his division and that the senior officer, Izard, would command when both 

divisions were united.

Madison also elevated several colonels to the rank of brigadier general, two of whom would figure prominently in the battles ahead. Alexander Macomb, a career soldier, was both intelligent and competent. He 

commanded a brigade in Izard’s Right Division. Winfield Scott, another 

career soldier, was aggressive and charismatic. Armstrong assigned him to 

command a brigade in the Left Division.

Armstrong issued general guidance to his two division commanders 

that allowed them some freedom of action. Although Brown had fewer 

troops, Armstrong directed the Left Division to make the main attack 

against the major British naval base at Kingston on Lake Ontario. Armstrong intended for Izard on Lake Champlain to cut the major British line 

of communication on the Saint Lawrence River and to threaten Montreal, 

thus perhaps drawing forces away from Brown’s invasion. Brown misunderstood his convoluted orders, and instead planned his invasion to cross 

the Niagara River.

The 1814 campaign on the Niagara is noted for Brown’s audacious 

attacks and British resolve to throw the invaders back across the river. 

The Left Division crossed the Niagara on 3 July. Winfield Scott won an 

impressive victory on the plain at Chippewa two days later. The British responded by rushing reinforcements to the Niagara Peninsula. In a bitterly 

contested nighttime battle at Lundy’s Lane, the outnumbered Americans 

won a tactical victory, but the initiative passed to the British. Both Brown 

and Scott were severely wounded and evacuated. The remnants of the Left 

Division established a fortified camp based on Fort Erie directly across 

the river from Buffalo. The British opened a siege with the intention of 

eliminating the Left Division. The siege of Fort Erie was horrifically costly in casualties on both sides. Madison and Armstrong were desperate to 

prevent the destruction of the Left Division.

Armstrong fired off a series of letters to Izard, his commander at Plattsburgh, between 27 July and 12 August. He finally directed Izard to take 

4,000 of his troops and move westward, either attacking Kingston or moving to the Niagara to relieve the Left Division. Izard warned Armstrong 

in the strongest terms of the grave risk they were taking. “I will make the 

movement you direct if possible, but I shall do it with the apprehension 
65

of risking the force under my command and with the certainty that every 

thing in this vicinity but the lately constructed works at Plattsburg and at 

Cumberland Head will in less than three days after my departure, be in the 

possession of the enemy.”2 Despite Izard’s deep concerns for the security 

of the major military base at Plattsburgh, it was not until 23August that he 

informed militia Major General Benjamin Mooers of the intended march 

westward. Izard directed Mooers to order out a regiment of militiamen and 

a company of dragoons to watch the approaches to Plattsburgh.

Although the secretary of war in Washington saw no threat to Plattsburgh, soldiers and sailors serving on Lake Champlain were well aware of 

the risk. Later in his life, Captain Sylvester Churchill recalled an anecdote 

which occurred in the summer of 1814. Churchill had been sent to the 

northern end of Lake Champlain, which was in Lower Canada, to negotiate an exchange of prisoners. The Americans were aware that a large number of Peninsular War veterans were gathering at Montreal and an invasion 

down Lake Champlain was anticipated. While Churchill was negotiating, 

a second British officer entered the room and asked with much bluster 

“Can you tell me, Sir, what is the distance from Whitehall to Albany?” 

Whitehall is at the southern end of Lake Champlain and Churchill suspected that Albany was the objective of the anticipated British invasion. 

Churchill replied, “I do not know the exact distance but I have always 

understood that Saratoga is about midway between the two points.” The 

reference to the place of British General John Burgoyne’s surrender during 

the American Revolution was not lost on the British officer who, speechless, turned on his heel and departed the room.3

Izard took 4,000 of his men on a long march to Sackett’s Harbor to link 

up with the naval squadron on Lake Ontario. He left Brigadier General Alexander Macomb in charge of 1,500 troops as well as a large contingent of 

sick and convalescing soldiers. Macomb’s unenviable mission was to defend 

Plattsburgh. Izard departed the Lake Champlain area on 29 August. On 2 September, 10,000 trained and experienced British troops crossed the border into 

New York on a direct path to Plattsburgh, about 25 miles away.

The Battle

The British invasion was commanded by Lieutenant General Sir 

George Prevost, the governor general and commander in chief of British 

North America. Prevost had successfully defended Canada, but now he 

was leading a major offensive campaign. Prevost formed his division into 

three brigades supported by artillery and light dragoons. Major General 

Frederick P. Robinson commanded the First Brigade. Robinson was born 
66

in New York to a loyalist family. He served in 

the Revolution and remained in service after 

the war, establishing a 

solid reputation under 

Wellington. Major General Thomas Brisbane 

commanded the Second 

Brigade. He had extensive service and was 

also a veteran of the 

Peninsular War. Like his 

colleagues, Major General Manley Power was 

a successful commander 

under Wellington who 

now commanded the 

Third Brigade.

Prevost’s campaign 

depended upon a strong 

naval contingent for its 

success. Commodore 

George Downie commanded four warships and eleven gunboats. Downie’s mission was to destroy the American squadron on Lake Champlain.

Despite the apparent disparity in numbers and experience between 

Prevost’s and Macomb’s land components, there were fissures in the British invasion force. The three brigade commanders found that the division 

commander and his staff were clearly less competent than what they had 

been used to under Wellington. The veterans of the Iberian fighting expected smooth logistics, timely orders, and comprehensive scouting. None 

of this was forthcoming from the division staff, few of whom had any 

experience in offensive warfare. Added to this was Prevost’s insistence 

that the officers and men dress as uniformly as was possible under the 

circumstances. Wellington had placed very little priority on uniformity of 

dress and his officers took advantage of his leniency. Many officers wore 

civilian attire both in garrison and on campaign. They were rankled as 

Prevost insisted that they actually wear proper uniforms. Clearly, to the 

minds of the officers who had defeated Napoleon’s Iberian armies, Prevost 

was no Wellington.

Figure 13. The Lake Champlain Region
67

As word that the British were marching on Plattsburgh arrived at 

Macomb’s headquarters, the new commander had decisions to make. 

Some of his staff advised that Macomb abandon Plattsburgh and move 

south until the militia could appear in sufficient numbers to confront 

the invader. Very early, however, Macomb decided to defend the important base notwithstanding his weakness in numbers. His plan was 

simple enough. He would improve the defenses on the peninsula between the Saranac River and the lake. There, the regulars would make 

their stand. While his men prepared for the assault they believed was 

certain to come, Macomb ordered some of his best commanders as well 

as any militia who might show up to delay the British advance without 

becoming decisively engaged. He moved hundreds of sick and convalescents unable to fight to Crab Island, there to await transport across 

the lake to Burlington.

The local militia commander, General Mooers, called out the militia from the three closest counties. When he became aware of the 

emergency in the north, the governor of New York, Daniel Tompkins, 

authorized a general mobilization. However, the campaign ended 

before many of these citizen-soldiers mustered, drew weapons, and 

marched. Macomb requested the governor of Vermont to supply militiamen. Clearly, the federal constitution allowed mobilization of militia to repel invasion. However, Governor Martin Chittenden demurred. 

Unsure of the legality of sending militiamen outside of the state, he authorized local commanders to accept volunteers to fight in New York. 

Fortunately, the militia commanders were not shy about their duties. 

Hundreds of Vermont militia moved to the shores of Lake Champlain 

where vessels shuttled them across the waters. Macomb had them establish their camps south of the redoubts where regular army supply 

officers could provide food and weapons.

There were three earthen redoubts across the peninsula. Izard had 

named the middle and largest redoubt Fort Moreau in honor of a French 

general exiled by Napoleon who had lived in the United States for nearly a 

decade. Macomb named the redoubt closest to the Saranac Fort Brown, in 

honor of Jacob Brown who commanded the Left Division on the Niagara. 

He named the other redoubt, that closest to the lake, Fort Scott after Winfield Scott, victor at Chippewa.

Macomb had about 2,600 effective regular troops at Plattsburgh. Macomb himself was a trained engineer, and he was served by several other 

officers of the Corps of Engineers. The American general worked alongside the men, mounting guns and setting up a thick belt of abatis around 
68

each redoubt. Macomb issued precise orders for the defense of Plattsburgh. 

Every regimental and company commander understood his mission.

Macomb transmitted his fierce determination to his troops. He told his 

subordinate commanders to defend each position, whether redoubt, blockhouse, or fortified building, to the extreme. They did not have the authority to 

surrender. Every man knew that the fortified peninsula was a death trap; there 

was no way out if the redoubts fell to an assault. Even if the redoubt garrisons 

wanted to surrender, it would be nearly impossible for the British officers to 

call off the deadly onslaught once their soldiers entered the defensive works.

The Battle of Plattsburgh was a joint campaign. On both sides, the 

land and sea components were dependent upon the success of their counterparts. Macomb had an excellent working relationship with the commander of the Lake Champlain squadron, Master Commandant Thomas 

Macdonough. Macdonough commanded four warships: a frigate, a brig, a 

schooner, and a sloop. Ten gunboats, each with one or two guns, supported 

the squadron. The gunboats had both sails and oars. Unlike the larger sail 

vessels, the gunboats could move even without wind. The Americans and 

British had excellent intelligence of the strength of the opposing squadrons. The American flotilla had a preponderance of heavy, short-range 

carronades while the British had a distinct advantage in long-range but 

smaller caliber guns. This meant that if the British vessels could manage to 

stand outside the range of Macdonough’s carronades, they could probably 

do more damage to the American vessels than they would receive.

Macdonough’s battle plan was inspired. The prevailing wind was from 

the north, helping the Royal Navy squadron in its approach. Therefore, 

Macdonough established a line of battle in Plattsburgh Bay. The British 

would have to round Cumberland Head and slowly tack into the bay. Macdonough was understrength in sailors. Macomb sent him about 250 soldiers who did their best at duties aboard ship, but this was not enough to 

crew all the guns. Macdonough had each of his four warships run an anchor 

from the bow of the vessel and drop it at the stern. The anchor cable was 

attached at the other end to a capstan. Thus, winding the capstan shortened 

the cable, and the entire vessel could rotate 180 degrees. Macdonough had 

enough gun crews and marksmen to fight the starboard side of the vessel. 

If he lost guns on the starboard side, each captain could order their crews 

to rotate the ship, and present the enemy with a full battery of fresh guns.

The Royal Navy squadron was less well prepared for battle. The commander at the base on the Richelieu River, Captain Daniel Pring, was frantically building a frigate, the Confiance, which would be the largest vessel 
69

on the lake. However, like the Americans, there were never enough sailors 

to properly sail and fight the four warships and 11 gunboats. Pring shuffled 

his crews and augmented them with soldiers and militiamen. The result 

was that officers and crew were new to one another and efficiency suffered 

accordingly. Then, on 1 September, Captain George Downie arrived to 

take command from Pring. The new commander had only a few days to 

prepare Confiance for battle and to get to know his subordinates. Prevost 

failed to adequately coordinate the invasion with Downie. Even as the 

British army approached Plattsburgh, Downie resisted Prevost’s desires to 

sail. Confiance was not ready to fight and Downie rightly judged that he 

could not prevail in battle without his new frigate.

As the lead British brigade entered New York, General Brisbane 

opened the information campaign. He issued a proclamation promising 

protection to peaceful inhabitants. Britain was making war against the 

United States government, not the people. He also assured the population that their local justices and sheriffs would be free to enforce local 

law. Prevost had laid down the law to his own troops directing them to 

treat the citizenry fairly and to avoid damaging buildings or crops. With 

few exceptions, the conduct of the invasion force was commendable. The 

population of the northern reaches of New York was largely anti-war in 

sentiment. Each person had to judge whether taking up arms against the 

invaders was worth the risk of injury, death, or loss of farm and livestock. 

As it turned out, many militiamen reported for muster, but drifted away as 

the campaign progressed.

By 4 September, the British invaders were camped at Chazy, about eight 

miles into New York. Prevost had his advance guard only 10 miles from 

Plattsburgh. The roads proved quite difficult for the artillery to navigate, and 

the marching columns were slowed down correspondingly. The British posted companies of troops to secure the route. The land route could not serve 

as a useful supply line. Not only were the roads abysmal, but there were also 

not enough wagons and oxen or horses to keep 10,000 men fed. Once it had 

taken Plattsburgh, the army would depend almost entirely on the navy for 

supplies. Prevost had his brigades move forward from Chazy in two wings, 

each centered on a road. The road closest to the lake was called the State 

Road. Running generally parallel and to the west was Beekmantown Road. 

There were several parallel tracks and linking roads that the British used to 

spread out the force and move it more expeditiously.

Macomb responded by sending out troops to contest the British advance, buying time to complete the fortifications and to allow more militiamen to gather. He kept his inexperienced soldiers working on the re-
70

doubts and sent his more experienced companies out on State Road. Major 

Daniel Appling and about 110 riflemen moved north to establish contact 

with the enemy while Major John Sproull with 200 infantrymen and two 

guns defended a bridge over Dead Creek two miles north of Plattsburgh. 

Both parties felled trees across State Road. Meanwhile, Macomb directed 

Major General Mooers to take the available militiamen and establish a 

position at East Beekmantown, a small village about five miles north of 

Plattsburgh. Mooers’ force included a company of New York volunteer 

dragoons, dressed in red jackets. This caused no small amount of distress 

among the militiamen who reported seeing British cavalry all about them. 

Ironically, the only cavalry in red attire were American; the British light 

dragoons wore blue jackets.

Around midnight on 5 September, Macomb sent Major John E. Wool 

and 250 regulars to join the militia on the Beekmantown Road, providing 

an example to the shaky militiamen. Wool was an accomplished soldier 

who had led the detachment that scaled Queenston Heights and captured 

a key position in 1812. He was the right man for the job. In the early 

morning of 6 September, soldiers in General Powers’ brigade brushed up 

against militiamen north of East Beekmantown. The militia fired a volley 

and dispersed. Wool’s regulars and a handful of militiamen took up the 

fight and contested the ground all the way back to Plattsburgh. One of the 

militia units was particularly useful. Captain Azariah Flagg assembled a 

small detachment of teenage boys, too young for militia duty. Macomb’s 

quartermasters issued rifles to the teens and these young men stayed with 

the regulars. On State Road, Daniel Appling’s riflemen skirmished with the 

British advance guard and fell back slowly to Dead Creek. Macomb saw 

his vastly outnumbered regulars slowly withdrawing toward Plattsburgh. 

He needed these experienced troops to defend his base so he coordinated 

the fighting withdrawal into the fortified peninsula. The advancing British had hardly broken stride in their march southward. Despite incoming 

fire from the British light infantry, the Americans, although succeeded in 

pulling up the planks from the roadway’s two bridges across the Saranac. 

Flagg’s teenagers and regulars poured on supporting fires until the work 

was done. In the running fight, the British lost three officers and about 100 

men, while the Americans suffered about 45 casualties.

Prevost’s senior staff officer, Major General Thomas Beckwith, found 

General Robinson and asked if Robinson could launch an immediate assault 

across the Saranac into the fortified peninsula. Robinson asked Beckwith 

the location of fords, as the Saranac was too deep to wade through most of 

its course. When it was clear that no one on Prevost’s staff could answer 
71

that question, Robinson 

suggested that perhaps 

an assault should follow 

some detailed planning 

based upon accurate reconnaissance. To Robinson’s mind, this was 

another example of poor 

staff work from division 

headquarters.4

For the remainder 

of the day and into the 

night, about 8,300 British troops trudged into 

that part of Plattsburgh 

north of the Saranac 

while light infantry and 

riflemen skirmished 

across its waters. As the 

guns and rocket batteries arrived, Prevost’s 

artillery officers and engineers selected firing positions. Prevost brought 

16 guns, howitzers, and mortars with the division. Over the next several days, parties of British troops worked during the night throwing up 

earthen walls to protect the guns and their crews. Eventually, they would 

have four batteries in action. Meanwhile, the Americans continued to 

improve their defenses and more militiamen arrived.

During this period, an event occurred that boosted the morale of 

regulars and militiamen alike. As midnight approached on 9 September, 

Captain George McGlassin gathered his company, about 50 strong, and 

carefully waded the Saranac. They stealthily approached a British work 

party building a firing platform for artillery behind an earthen wall. The 

Americans opened fire, throwing the British security force and work party, 

perhaps 150 strong, into a panic. The British fled. There was nothing for 

the Americans to destroy, so they returned to their lines. The next day, 

General Brisbane issued an order harshly critical of his troops who had 

behaved so poorly.

Over the next several days, the Americans and British exchanged 

heavy artillery fire, the more numerous American guns gaining an advantage. First Lieutenant John Mountfort commanded the guns in Fort 

Figure 14. The Battle of Plattsburgh
72

Brown. During the mutual cannonade, a small bomblet fell at Mountfort’s feet. The lieutenant calmly picked it up and threw it over the rampart saying to his men, “Don’t be alarmed boys; it is nothing but a humbug.”5

 British snipers used the houses and buildings closest to the river 

to cover and conceal themselves. Macomb ordered his artillery to fire 

hot shot into these structures to burn them down. Unsure of American 

intentions, Prevost sent a party under flag of truce to request that the 

Americans cease fire so that the British might extinguish the fires. Only 

when the Americans declined did the British understand that Macomb 

was willing to destroy civilian homes in order to defend his base. Macomb went further, burning structures on his side of the river at night in 

order to provide light for his work parties. He marched troops in front 

of the fires to portray the arrival of reinforcements to British observers. 

He also wanted to remove any cover that British assault parties might 

use as they advanced on his redoubts from the south. There could be no 

doubt in the minds of the regulars and militia that their commander was 

determined to defend their base to the end.

Macomb knew that the British would eventually discover Pike’s Ford 

south of the American fortified camp. He sent Mooers and the New York 

militia into the forest on the British side of the Saranac. There, numerous 

logging trails crisscrossed the forest. The militiamen disguised the roads 

by planting fir trees in the roadway and scattering debris and leaves on the 

trails. When the British finally moved to attack the American camp, they 

would be confused as to the correct route to the ford.

Prevost waited impatiently for Downie to arrive with the squadron 

and wrote to him almost daily. Prevost was delaying the land assault until 

Downie’s squadron destroyed or drove off the American flotilla. Downie 

was considerably junior to the governor general yet he manfully resisted 

what he understood as Prevost’s badgering and veiled hints that somehow 

Downie was unenthusiastic about the coming battle. There was much work 

to be done to make the Confiance battle-worthy. Carpenters were still working aboard the Confiance as it moved up the Richelieu River into Lake 

Champlain. Gun captains trained their new crews tirelessly. The deck was 

raw wood and still quite rough. The iron wheels of the gun carriages moved 

with difficulty while recoiling. Crews had to put their backs into returning 

the guns to a firing position. Downie considered his squadron adequately 

prepared for battle on 9 September and sent a note to Prevost stating his 

intention to sail for Plattsburgh on the 10th. Prevost sent a warning order to 

his brigade commanders to be ready to move. Unfortunately, adverse winds 

kept the Royal Navy vessels in place on the 10th. Downie sent word of this 
73

frustrating circumstance to Prevost. He went on to note that as the squadron rounded Cumberland Head, Downie would order the Confiance to fire 

blanks, thus signaling Prevost of the impending naval battle.

Early on the morning of Sunday, 11 September, Downie was pleased 

to discover that the wind was blowing from the north. He gave orders for 

the squadron to sail south to Plattsburgh Bay. The crews cleared the decks 

and ensured that everything was in readiness for battle. As the Confiance

was about to clear Cumberland Head, Downie ordered the gun crews to fire 

blank charges and then to reload the guns for close-in battle. The squadron 

came to a halt and gathered while Downie went forward in a ship’s boat 

to see for himself the disposition of Macdonough’s flotilla. He saw the 

American vessels drawn up in line of battle and he returned to his flagship 

where he met with his various commanders. No one knows why George 

Downie decided to give up his obvious advantage to take the American 

vessels under fire at long range. Instead, he ordered his gunboats and the 

eleven-gun sloop HMS Finch to attack the Preble and Ticonderoga at the 

left of the American line. Downie directed HMS Linnet, a brig of 16 guns, 

and the sloop HMS Chubb with 11 guns to attack the Eagle at the right of 

the American squadron. The Finch and Chubb were formerly American 

vessels captured the year before. Downie himself would sail the Confiance

between the Saratoga and the Eagle, thus firing both starboard and port 

guns simultaneously. Downie wanted a close-in gun battle, fast and violent. What he got was something quite different.

Cumberland Head blocked the north wind from Plattsburgh Bay. Observers described the wind in the bay as light and variable. The bay waters 

themselves were subject to currents. Maneuvering a mixed squadron in the 

bay would prove problematic for the British captains. The wind shifted direction as the British vessels attempted to follow Downie’s precise orders. 

Downie could not run the Confiance between the Eagle and Saratoga and 

instead was forced to anchor a few hundred yards away from the Saratoga, 

well within the range of the powerful American carronades. The opposing 

sides opened fire at approximately 0930.

Prevost himself appeared to lose control of the land battle. He had 

ordered Robinson to be prepared to conduct the main attack across Pike’s 

Ford early in the morning. Dawn came and went without orders to move. 

Finally, Prevost called a meeting of his brigade commanders at about 

0830. Robinson pressed an indecisive Prevost for a specific time to begin 

his move from his camp to Pike’s Ford. Prevost relented and told Robinson to move with his 4,400 assault troops at 1000. Whatever Prevost’s 

intentions, he would not achieve a simultaneous land and sea attack.
74

The naval battle was furious and deadly. About 15 minutes into the 

fight, a roundshot from Saratoga struck a gun aboard the Confiance. The 

gun broke loose from its cables and struck Downie, who was standing 

nearby. Within minutes George Downie was dead. His second-in-command could not find Downie’s signal book and could not inform Daniel 

Pring on the Linnet that he was now in command. At about the same time, 

American gunfire had damaged the rigging of the Chubb, which drifted 

between Confiance and Saratoga. Chubb’s commander struck his colors 

as the sloop drifted to shore at the American base. Shortly thereafter, fire 

from the Ticonderoga and Preble damaged the Finch so badly that the 

stricken vessel drifted into Crab Island. The American convalescents there 

fired a six-pounder at the Finch and the British skipper returned fire with 

grapeshot. However, the Finch was stuck fast to shore and taking water. 

Her captain lowered his flag in surrender. The Preble was full of holes and, 

with its steering mechanisms damaged, drifted to shore. Crews from several British gunboats attempted to board the Ticonderoga, but the Americans drove them off.

The remaining vessels battered one another without mercy. Iron shot 

struck oak and huge splinters tore into flesh. Crewmen threw the dead overboard immediately to clear the deck. Seamen no doubt did the same to those 

shattered yet still breathing compatriots believed to be beyond help. Sailors 

who were not serving the guns carried the wounded below where they waited for the surgeons to attend to them. As was naval custom, the surgeons 

treated the wounded in the order that they arrived. Back on deck, gallons 

of blood made the surfaces slippery. Crewmen threw sand on the puddles 

of blood to restore traction. The sharp sounds of the huge guns discharging 

mixed with the cries of the wounded and the shouted orders of gun captains. 

Blinding white smoke swirled around the deck. Each gun crew was caught 

up in its own private fight – loading, aiming, and firing at the nearest target.

Eventually, British gunners knocked out nearly all the starboard 

guns on the Eagle. Her captain discovered that his spring cable had been 

shot away; he could not rotate his vessel and still maintain his position. 

Lieutenant Robert Henley was nothing if not adaptable. Using anchors 

and the little bit of wind his sails could catch, he maneuvered the Eagle

between Saratoga and Ticonderoga so that his unused port guns could be 

brought to bear on the Confiance.

Nearly two hours into the deadly battle, Royal Navy gunners firing 

furiously from Confiance and Linnet rendered every gun on the starboard side of Saratoga useless. Macdonough gave the order to rotate 

his flagship. The crew responded quickly and successfully. On board the 
75

Confiance, Downie’s successor, Lieutenant James Robertson, attempted 

the same tactic. However, his men refused to cooperate. Robertson and 

a few officers rigged an anchor and dropped it at the stern. Now, some 

crewmen manned the capstan and slowly drew in the anchor cable. The 

large vessel began rotating. When the Confiance was at right angles to 

the Saratoga, an American crew fired a shot straight down the length of 

Confiance. The powerful blow killed a few British seamen at the capstan. The others sought cover. Robertson saw his terrible situation with 

clarity. Saratoga could readily fire broadsides into Confiance and the 

British flagship could not return fire. Confiance was taking in water and 

it would be a short time before the wounded below deck would drown. 

Robertson consulted with his officers and gave the painful order to lower 

the Union Jack. On Linnet, Pring tried to continue the fight. However, 

his vessel was also taking on water fast. For unknown reasons, the British gunboats at Pring’s end of the battle line drew back out of the action. After several minutes, Pring, too, struck his colors. The naval battle 

was over. It was 1130. The American squadron had lost 110 killed and 

wounded; the Royal Navy 170. Ships’ boats carried the wounded from 

both sides to the temporary hospital on Crab Island.

Division staff officers led Robinson and his brigade toward Pike’s Ford. 

However, the militia’s mischief in the forest confused the British as anticipated. Robinson estimated that he lost about an hour picking his way along 

erroneous trails and back-tracking.6 When the naval gunfire slackened and 

then ceased altogether, Robinson sent a staff officer back to headquarters to 

learn the cause. Pike’s Ford was easily crossable; the water was less than three 

feet deep. However, the approaches on both sides were fairly high and steep. 

The New York militia and Vermont volunteers were waiting on the American 

side of the crossing site. Robinson set up a base of fire and then sent his advance guard splashing across the river and climbing the opposite bank. The 

citizen-soldiers fired and withdrew, allowing the British to secure a lodgment. 

Robinson ordered the rest of the brigade to cross while his advance guard 

maintained contact with the Americans. The Vermonters and New Yorkers 

put up a creditable fight. Their orders were to contest the advance, but not be 

get decisively engaged. More Americans appeared and the fight stiffened. The 

redcoats were gradually approaching the three redoubts that made up the main 

American defensive line when Prevost’s staff officer arrived with an order:

I am directed to inform you that the Confiance and the brig having struck their colours in consequence of the frigate having 

grounded, it will no longer be prudent to pursue in the service 

committed to your charge, and it is therefore the orders of the 
76

commander of the forces, that you immediately return with the 

troops under your command.7

The British brigade commander was incredulous, as were his officers and 

men. They were fully prepared to assault the redoubts and capture the 

American defenders. The army could redress the navy’s failure. Slowly 

the troops retraced their steps to their camp, no doubt cursing Prevost 

for his timidity. Under similar circumstances, would the Iron Duke have 

called off the attack?

Prevost’s reasoning was logical, if cautious. Without superiority on 

Lake Champlain, the British quartermasters could not feed and supply 

their army. If the army seized the American base, it could not remain 

there, but would soon have to return to Montreal. Prevost judged that his 

inability to remain in control of Plattsburgh negated the goal of the campaign. He believed that the loss of life, which could have been staggering 

considering the strength of the American defense, could not justify a 

temporary victory.

British guns continued firing into the American base while Prevost’s 

staff prepared orders to begin the march back to Montreal. At about 1500 

the British guns fell silent. At dusk, artillery crews removed the guns 

from their positions and started them northward. The troops followed 

before dawn the following day. There were insufficient carts and wagons 

to carry ammunition and supplies. Prevost ordered that anything that 

could not be carried would be destroyed. Many of the wounded were left 

behind with surgeons. It was customary that surgeons would treat the 

wounded regardless of nationality and so it was. As might be expected, 

the Peninsular War veterans perceived the withdrawal as disorderly and 

hurried. Prevost feared that the militia would appear in numbers and cut 

off the retreat. Macomb was unaware of the British departure until the 

next morning, and when he learned of it, chose not to launch a pursuit. 

His inexperienced soldiers had managed a defensive battle but pursuit 

was probably beyond them.

This campaign cost the British army 577 casualties, including 239 

deserters. Interestingly, very few of the veterans of the Peninsular War 

deserted. The majority of desertions came from battalions that had served 

in Canada for several years.8 Macomb reported a total of 119 casualties 

for the army.

In his report to the secretary of war, Macomb cited 11 officers for 

special recognition. He specifically noted brevet Lieutenant Colonel Daniel Appling and brevet Lieutenant Colonel John E. Wool. Macomb cited 
77

Captain George McGlassin who led the nighttime raid to destroy an enemy 

battery and the three engineers who designed and oversaw construction 

of the defenses. Finally, Macomb named five artillery officers, all from 

his old regiment, the Third Artillery: Captain Alexander S. Brooks and 

Lieutenants Harold Smyth, John Mountfort, John J. Cromwell, and Chester Root. President Madison recognized all five artillery officers for their 

gallantry with brevet promotions. He also recognized Macomb with brevet 

promotion to major general.9

Perhaps Macomb’s elation and satisfaction was best related in a 

letter he wrote on 18 September to his mentor, General Jonathan Williams, the former chief engineer of the army. Macomb stated, “Take 

it altogether, considering our small forces and means, it is the most 

glorious affair that has happened this war. An army and navy defeated 

by inferior numbers at one and the same time is without a parallel in 

our history.”10

The Battle of Plattsburgh turned back a formidable invasion. It was 

entirely possible that the British could have destroyed the American 

military presence on Lake Champlain and then seek to demilitarize 

the lake in the peace negotiations. The skill and bravery of the gun 

crews, both army and navy, were essential to success. The import of 

this magnificent victory was not lost. New York State honored Master Commandant Thomas Macdonough, who won the naval battle, and 

Macomb, who held the British land forces at bay while the fleets battled in the bay. Congress, as well, ordered gold medals struck in honor 

of both men. Macomb named his newborn son Alexander Saranac Macomb to recall the battle over the river. The young Macomb followed 

his father into the army. He graduated from West Point and served in a 

dragoon regiment.

Prevost, on the other hand, received no praise. As governor general, 

his policies had created enemies among civic leaders. Now, his subordinate generals wrote to friends in Britain criticizing his handling of the 

campaign. Captain Pring’s report to his Royal Navy superior, Sir James 

Yeo, strongly criticized Prevost for not launching the land attack simultaneously with the naval effort. A naval board of inquiry arrived at the same 

conclusion – Prevost had badgered Downie into battle before his squadron 

was ready and the delay in launching the land battle contributed to the loss 

of the British squadron. This was too much for Prevost. He demanded a 

court-martial to clear his reputation. The government granted Prevost’s 

request and ordered him to return to Britain. Prevost died in 1816 at the 

age of 48. The court-martial was cancelled.
78

Analysis

Why did the campaign end as it did and in what way was the Battle of 

Plattsburgh decisive?

There is seldom a single reason for victory or defeat, and the Plattsburgh 

campaign does not challenge that assertion. From the British perspective, 

the war could be won or lost on the waters of Lake Ontario or at the gates of 

Montreal. Thus, the Royal Navy commander, Sir James Yeo, gave top priority to the Lake Ontario squadron at the expense of the flotillas on Lakes Erie 

and Champlain, and therefore, it is not surprising that Oliver Hazard Perry 

and Thomas Macdonough won their resounding victories. Conversely, on 

Lake Ontario, the American and British naval commanders waged the war 

by building ever larger vessels to fight a decisive battle that never occurred.

Prevost never gained the trust of the generals that Britain sent to lead 

the troops on campaign. He got off on the wrong foot by insisting on regulation dress. Additionally, his inexperienced staff officers did not rise to 

the occasion in the conduct of logistics and reconnaissance. In their defense, the 10,000 troops assigned to this campaign were far larger than any 

other body of soldiers assembled in one division. Prevost’s staff officers 

were not incompetent, but they had never managed so large an army in an 

offensive operation.

Clearly, Prevost failed to coordinate the land and sea efforts. The 

army crossed the border before the navy was prepared. Thus, the American militia had sufficient time to assemble while the British army waited 

for the squadron. More than 2,000 Vermont volunteers arrived between 

the appearance of the British army at Plattsburgh and the naval battle five 

days later. Prevost’s orders directing the battle seemed to confirm Pring’s 

suspicion that the attacks were not intended to be simultaneous, despite 

Prevost’s apparent suggestion that they would be.

Downie’s order to conduct a short-range naval fight defies explanation. The Royal Navy held a considerable advantage in throw-weight at 

distances longer than the 800 yard range of the carronade in which the 

Americans were superior. Macdonough’s plan maximized his advantages 

and ensured that all the guns were adequately crewed. Since he did not 

intend to move, Macdonough needed no sailors to adjust sails and rigging. 

Downie’s crews had to sail and fight simultaneously.

Macomb made the decision to defend Plattsburgh early, and he transmitted his determination to all his men, particularly to his fighting commanders such as Wool, Appling, Sproull and McGlassin. However, it must 

not be forgotten that Macomb put his entire regular force in jeopardy of 
79

destruction. There was no escape once the British troops crossed Pike’s 

Ford. No one knows the details of Macomb’s risk assessment, and there is 

no evidence that he ever doubted his decision to stay and fight. He could 

not have known that Prevost would call off the land assault after the naval 

battle. Macomb fully expected a fight for his redoubts. His gamble paid 

off, for his men and more importantly for his country.

In contrast to the shaky relationships between Prevost and his subordinate army and navy commanders, the trust and cooperation between 

Macomb and Macdonough were rock solid. Both American commanders 

understood implicitly their mutual dependence. Had Macdonough lost his 

fight, the Royal Navy vessels could have brought their many long-range 

guns to play directly against the three redoubts. Macomb’s defense would 

have been doomed. Likewise, if the redoubts fell, Macdonough would 

have had to attempt to flee Plattsburgh Bay immediately. It would have 

been doubtful that the American squadron could pass Downie’s guns without grievous losses. Thus, the two American commanders developed and 

fought an integrated joint battle, unlike the British effort. In the final analysis, victory went to the side that planned and conducted the battle with a 

common understanding, uncommon trust, and fierce determination shared 

from the top commanders through to the common sailor and soldier.

In the fall of 1814, the British goals were to secure Canada by moving the border southward and by creating a large Indian state between the 

Ohio River and the Great Lakes. In addition, seizing New Orleans would 

give Britain powerful influence over the American economy. However, in 

one miraculous week British hopes crumbled. On 11 September Prevost 

called off the campaign to seize the base at Plattsburgh. On 14 September, 

the Royal Navy failed to pass Fort McHenry; Baltimore was saved. Then, 

on 17 September, a sortie by General Jacob Brown’s Left Division meant 

that the British could not destroy that division at Fort Erie. These three 

American victories, coming as they did in rapid succession, persuaded the 

British government to drop its chief demands at the peace negotiations in 

Ghent, Belgium. The American negotiators followed suit. On Christmas 

Eve, the diplomats signed a treaty that was dispatched to Parliament and 

Congress for ratification.

The Senate received the treaty in February and quickly voted to accept it. However, the leaders of the expedition to seize New Orleans and 

their American counterparts were unaware of the events in Belgium. On 8 

January 1815, Andrew Jackson’s mixed army of Louisiana militiamen and 

Tennessee and Kentucky volunteers handed the British army one of the 

worst defeats in its history.
80

The Battle of Plattsburgh ensured that the border along Lake Champlain did not move southward. As part of a week of decisive American 

victories, there is little doubt that the battle’s outcome contributed to London’s decision to back off of its demands at the negotiations. The string of 

military victories in the closing months of war gave Americans a renewed 

sense of confidence and unity. The effect upon the army and navy was 

likewise dramatic. The services had expanded their heritage of victory, 

sacrifice, and valor. The resounding victory at Plattsburgh in 1814 was a 

dramatic contribution to all of this.

Notes

1. Thomas Jefferson to William Duane, 4 August 1812, Jefferson Papers, 

reel 46, Library of Congress.

2. Thomas Dobson, George Izard, Official Correspondence with the Department of War Relative to the Military Operations of the American Army Under 

Major General Izard on the Northern Frontier of the United States in the Years 

1814 and 1815 (Philadelphia: 1816), 65.

3. Franklin Hunter Churchill, Sketch of the Life of Brig. Gen. Sylvester 

Churchill, Inspector General US Army, (New York: Willis McDonald & Co., 

1888), 117.

4. C.W. Robinson, “The Expedition to Plattsburgh, Upon Lake Champlain, 

Canada, 1814,” The Journal of the Royal United Service Institution 61 (August 

1916): 509. Major General C.W. Robinson provides an edited version of his ancestor’s (Major General Frederick Robinson) journal kept during the campaign.

5. Benson L. Lossing, The Pictorial Fieldbook of the War of 1812 (New 

York: Harper and Brothers, 1868), p. 875.

6. C.W. Robinson, “The Expedition to Plattsburgh, Upon Lake Champlain, 

Canada, 1814,” The Journal of the Royal United Service Institution 61 (August 

1916), 511.

7. Edward Baynes to Frederick Robinson, 11 September 1814, quoted in 

Robinson, “The Expedition to Plattsburgh.”

8. Donald E. Graves, And All their Glory Past: Fort Erie, Plattsburgh and the 

Final Battles in the North, 1814 (Toronto: Robin Brass Studio, 2013), 370-374.

9. Macomb to Secretary of War, 15 September 1814. Letters Received by 

the Secretary of War, Roll 64, Folder M221, National Archives.

10. Alexander Macomb, “The Battle of Plattsburg: a Letter from General 

Alexander Macomb, USA, to General Jonathan Williams,” The Journal of the 

Military Service Institution 12 (1891): 79.
81

Chapter 5

Buena Vista, 1847

Gregory S. Hospodor

Buena Vista is the greatest battle of modern times

— Captain William P. Rogers, First Mississippi Rifles1

In February and March of 1847, the American public waited in painful 

suspense when it learned that a Mexican army under the command of Antonio López de Santa Anna was marching into northern Mexico. This sizeable 

force of some 20,000 men, the largest yet assembled by Mexico, outnumbered 

Major General Zachary Taylor’s army by at least three to one. Adding to the 

tension was the fact that Taylor’s command had recently been stripped of most 

of its regular army soldiers, his most effective fighters and the bedrock of his 

earlier victories in the battles of Palo Alto, Resaca de la Palma, and Monterrey. 

Despite the odds, the Americans, mainly untested and short-service volunteers, triumphed in a desperate, two-day battle that began on George Washington’s birthday in a rugged, narrow pass a few miles south of the town of 

Saltillo. The Americans called the battle Buena Vista after a nearby hacienda; 

to the Mexicans, it was la Angostura or “the Narrows.”2

When news of the American victory at Buena Vista finally reached the 

United States, the home front exploded in exuberant celebration. Citizens 

staged parades and military displays, attended church services, decorated 

their streets, and listened to patriotic speeches, all of which honored the 

victors of Buena Vista and their commanding general. The public focused 

primarily upon the miraculous result of the battle, comparable to Thermopylae but with a felicitous rather than tragic result.3

 Few, if any, looked deeper.

Despite the stunning tactical success of American arms at Buena Vista, the war with Mexico dragged on. Thus, one may fairly ask if the battle 

was decisive. Tactical actions comprise the building blocks of victory, and 

Buena Vista was clearly a tactical victory for the Americans. Yet, divorced 

of connection to strategic goals through the practice of the operational art, 

tactical successes are largely irrelevant to the outcome of a war, except of 

course for those directly involved. Wars are won at the strategic level; tactical actions are the means to the strategic end; and the effective practice of 

the operational art ensures the connection between the two. The battle of 

Buena Vista was an essential link in the operational-level chain of actions 

that ended in final victory over Mexico in 1848.
82

 The battle represented the Mexican republic’s best chance for reversing the tide of war, of checking an unbroken string of American successes and restoring hope for final victory. In the Buena Vista campaign, 

Santa Anna unambiguously seized the tactical, operational, and strategic initiative by aggressively massing Mexican combat power against a 

small, isolated, and largely inexperienced American army. Significantly, 

Buena Vista was the first and only offensive campaign conducted by the 

Mexican Army during the conflict. Santa Anna expected that a crushing 

victory would unify a nation riven by political and social strife, including opposition to his rule as well as the American invasion. So, too, 

would an American defeat multiply the voices of those Americans, in 

the Northeast primarily, who criticized the war as unjust and politically motivated. While a Mexican triumph at Buena Vista would not have 

guaranteed final victory, a Mexican republic more focused on the military conflict with the United States than on endemic internal struggles 

surely would present a thornier problem than the Americans, who never 

deployed more than about 40,000 men into Mexico, had heretofore confronted. An aroused nation is altogether more difficult to defeat than one 

divided against itself.

On the American side, Zachary Taylor, the commander in northern 

Mexico, had good reason to fight at Buena Vista. Among other factors, 

he clearly recognized the effect that retreat or defeat would have upon 

the morale of both his own, mostly amateur, army and the Mexican population. Instead, the resulting victory undermined efforts to gather resources and raise troops to confront the Americans as many Mexicans 

decided to sit out the conflict, to acquiesce to American occupation, to 

look to their own private interests, or to take advantage of the weakness 

of the central government by launching efforts to redress pre-existing 

political grievances.

Buena Vista extinguished Mexico’s best, but not last, hope of final success. Because of the victory, Winfield Scott’s spectacular march 

from Vera Cruz to Mexico City took place against the backdrop of a 

nation increasingly divided against itself. To point this out takes nothing away from this famous feat of arms for Scott’s army confronted 

significant opposition as it carved a path toward Mexico’s capital. This 

being said, the Americans certainly faced considerably less effective 

opposition than they might have encountered had Buena Vista turned 

out differently. Thus, the battle’s primary significance, despite the 

American public’s fascination with its tactical aspects, rested firmly at 

the strategic level of war.
83

The Road to Buena Vista: The Strategic Setting

Battles do not happen in isolation, or at least they should not. In On 

War, Carl von Clausewitz, the famous Prussian military theorist, wrote 

that “[n]o one starts a war–or rather, no one in his senses ought to do so–

without first being clear in his mind what he intends to achieve by that war 

and how he intends to conduct it.”4 Clausewitz’s observation is not particularly profound because it captures what effective strategists have long 

known, but rarely put so clearly, that political objectives should inform the 

decision and planning for war as well as military operations in the field. 

Both Mexican and American leaders clearly understood what was at stake 

in the conflict between their two republics–land. The Americans coveted 

territory over which Mexico claimed sovereignty, in particular California. 

Unable to resolve their differences diplomatically, both nations chose war.

In 1846, Mexico was ill-prepared to win a war against the United 

States. First and foremost, divisions plagued the nation. Conflicts between 

centralists and federalists, conservatives and liberals, classes, and races 

animated the period after independence in 1821, which resulted in a state 

of near constant, and often violent, political and social turmoil. No Mexican president, for example, completed a term of office between Guadalupe 

Victoria, Mexico’s first, and the advent of war with the United States in 

1846. Indeed, the presidency changed hands several times during the war.

The lack of Mexican national unity had important diplomatic and military side effects. Although Mexican leaders had long foreseen the potential for conflict with an ever expanding United States, frequent disorder 

at home meant that there was no coherent, multi-year policy for dealing 

with the issue. An ill-fated effort to build an Anglo-populated buffer province in Texas ended with a crushing military defeat on the banks of the 

San Jacinto River in 1836. In the aftermath, Mexico rejected the so-called 

Treaty of Velasco that affirmed Texas’ independence and was negotiated 

while President and General Antonio López de Santa Anna was a captive 

of the Texans. Thereafter, political factions vied with each other in using 

the political hobby horse that the slight to Mexican honor losing Texas 

represented. Predictably, in early 1846, Mexico refused to recognize John 

Slidell, who bore the august title of Envoy Extraordinary and Minister 

Plenipotentiary. President James Knox Polk had sent Slidell to Mexico on 

a diplomatic mission to settle the issues of California, Mexican debt, and 

the Texas border (the Lone Star Republic having recently been annexed by 

the United States). Many Mexican politicians and generals recognized the 

risks inherent in taking a defiant diplomatic stance, but domestic politics 

dictated that no Mexican leader could openly negotiate with the United 
84

States over the issues of Texas annexation or the purchase of California. 

To do so constituted political suicide. Thus, Mexico entered the war with 

some reluctance.5 If domestic divisions painted Mexico into a diplomatic 

corner, they also hurt her military preparedness.

At first glance, Mexico appeared a very formidable opponent. She 

was large, counting a population of over seven million and approximately 

1,100,000 square miles of territory. On paper, the Mexican Army was at 

least four times larger than that of the United States with 29,377 authorized for active duty, and Mexican cavalry especially was both numerous 

and capable.

The numbers, however, belied the truth. Most of the territory was 

sparsely populated. For example, approximately 52 percent of the population lived in the six (of 23 total) contiguous southern states of Veracruz, 

Puebla, México, Guanajuato, Michoacán, and San Luis Potosí. Also, the 

army was unready for major combat operations. As a primarily constabulary force that frequently deployed to deal with domestic unrest, it was 

scattered across the country in provincial garrisons and, although often 

proficient tactically, had little experience in large unit maneuver. The officer corps, reflecting the Mexican political scene, was highly politicized, 

which hurt professionalism. Although brave, the rank and file, none of 

whom could vote, were harshly disciplined, badly provisioned, and irregularly paid conscripts, who often deserted at the earliest opportunity. 

Because of an ineffective and ill-funded central government, Mexican soldiers usually marched into combat with flintlock muskets discarded by the 

British and were supported by artillery pieces at least twice as old as their 

nation. Logistical support units were almost non-existent. In 1846, Mexico 

simply did not possess the industrial base, economic capacity, or political 

stability to field a truly modern and effective army. The consequence was 

a string of defeats that led to official sanction in 1847 for the establishment 

of 70 light corps or mounted partisan bands to supplement the efforts of 

the regular forces.6

Mexican leaders recognized these deficiencies and planned accordingly. Their strategy aimed to draw the United States into a long war. As the 

Minister of Exterior Relations, Manuel de la Peña y Peña, informed state 

governors: “Realistically, our only hope would not be for victory, but simply the avoidance of certain defeat.”7

 Correspondingly, the army hoped to 

limit the fighting to the frontiers and, failing that, to fortify the mountain 

passes of the Sierra Madre, which would force the Americans to fight on 

the open ground near the coast where Mexican cavalry could maneuver to 

full advantage. The coastal plains were also notoriously unhealthy during 
85

the summer months and would prove deadly to unseasoned American soldiers. Finally, mounted guerrilla bands and cavalry would use hit-and-run 

tactics against isolated American units and supply columns. All accepted 

that California could not be held, but by avoiding a decision, they hoped at 

least to avoid a treaty negotiated at the point of American bayonets. At the 

same time, Mexican leaders worried about the political instability that an 

American invasion was sure to cause. Mexico fought, then, with one eye 

on the Americans and another on her own population.

The United States was also unprepared for war, at least for an expeditionary one against a nation as large as Mexico. There were many reasons 

for this. First, political leaders considered war to be a last resort, the final 

step in a program of graduated pressure designed to convince Mexico to 

acquiesce to American territorial demands that included almost all of the 

present-day American Southwest. As such, President James K. Polk and 

his advisors saw military action as only one tool among many to achieve 

their political goals. The speed of mobilization suffered as a result; political leaders waited until hostilities had already commenced before calling 

up sufficient troops, increasing funding, and requesting necessary supplies 

to carry the war into Mexico. This left the first phase of the conflict mainly 

to the small number of regulars of the US Army. Finally, the President and 

his advisors believed that the war would be short and that military operations should be limited in scope.

Aggressive diplomacy preceded the declaration of war in May 1846. 

In 1845, Polk sent William S. Parrott and, later, John Slidell to Mexico to 

broker what was essentially a money-for-land deal. Mexico declined to 

negotiate with either. As the efforts at diplomacy went on, Polk ratcheted 

up the pressure by ordering Zachary Taylor with over half of the US Army 

to Corpus Christi, Texas, in July 1845. Ostensibly, this was to protect the 

newly annexed state in the event of a Mexican invasion. In reality, the 

move was saber rattling of the first order, an obvious threat that what the 

United States could not gain through treaty it might take by force. As hope 

for a peaceful settlement waned, Secretary of War William L. Marcy ordered Taylor’s army south to the Rio Grande on 13 January 1846, in an 

effort to energize negotiations. This move had no effect on diplomacy, but 

Taylor’s march did animate patriots on both sides. Public pronouncements 

in both countries became increasing confrontational as the Americans 

marched south. Although he increasingly despaired of peacefully settling 

the crisis, the President recognized the political importance of being able 

to claim that Mexico had landed the first blow. Thus, Taylor’s army of 

supposedly peaceful intent trudged 150 miles through territory claimed by 
86

both Texas and Mexico toward General Mariano Arista’s 5,200-man Army 

of the North at Matamoros on the Rio Grande. Predictably, the two armies 

first skirmished, then fought two major battles, Palo Alto and Resaca de la 

Palma, just north of the river. This allowed Polk to claim that Mexico had 

struck the first blow, thus garnering a declaration of war from Congress 

and generating a war fever among the populace. Congress followed up 

its declaration with authorization for the call up of 50,000 volunteers and 

expenditure of ten million dollars to fund the conflict.8

Despite the fact that the US Army emerged victorious in the first major battles of the war, it was ill-disposed to carry the war into Mexico 

quickly. In 1846, the US Army’s authorized strength was just over 8,000 

men, but fielded fewer than 5,500. Taylor’s command on the Rio Grande 

counted more than half of the total number of regulars under arms. With a 

population of over 20 million, a burgeoning economy and political stability, the United States could certainly have afforded a larger army, but the 

army’s size matched its mission as well as reflected a traditional distrust 

of large standing armies and faith in citizen-soldier militias. Traditionally, 

the army served primarily as a dispersed frontier constabulary force with 

the supplemental missions of overseeing national infrastructure improvements and coastal defense. Though small, it benefitted from an efficiently 

organized administration. 

Before the US-Mexican War, combat, when it occurred, was principally against Native American tribes such as the Seminoles, who shunned 

traditional Western tactics. When necessary, regulars were quickly supplemented by volunteers, a pattern that held true during the war with Mexico. 

The regulars benefitted from the time spent at Corpus Christi where units 

trained in battalion and regimental battle drills, often for the first time. 

The regulars proved the backbone of American victory during the war 

with Mexico; they were professionals—disciplined, competent, capable 

of maneuvering in contact with the enemy, and inured to the hardships of 

campaigning in the field. The soldiers were well-equipped, regularly paid, 

and adequately provisioned. So, too, were they excellently led, especially 

by company – and junior field – grade officers, usually the products of 

military academies such as West Point and Norwich. 

The strength of the army was its artillery, which was trained to a high 

standard and equipped with modern weapons. The infantry was solid, 

while the cavalry was outnumbered by and occasionally outclassed by the 

Mexicans. To take the war into Mexico, the army required greater mass, 

and volunteers were to provide the majority of it. But getting more men 

into the theater was easier than sustaining them. Organizing logistics for 
87

the swelling ranks of the army as well as training the amateurs to an acceptable standard began in earnest only after the declaration of war, and 

then required time to accomplish.

The volunteers proved a mixed lot. Some units were excellent; for example, the First Mississippi Regiment led by West Point graduate Jefferson Davis 

would play a key role in the battles of Monterrey and Buena Vista. Others were 

indifferent. Leadership was usually the telling factor, as the rank and file were 

generally of better quality than regular army soldiers. During peacetime, desperate men often enlisted in regular Army as a last resort; the popular frenzy 

engendered by the declaration of war, however, drew legions of fit and motivated volunteers into military service, men who previously would never have 

given enlisted service a second thought. The problem with leadership was that 

domestic politics, a consistent issue during the US-Mexican War, played a role 

in determining who would become officers, including general officers. Such 

was the sword of the Republic that would carry the war to Mexico.9

But what was the strategy employed to achieve the end state of a negotiated settlement in which the United States settled the boundaries of Texas 

and acquired the Mexican states of California and Nuevo México? Unlike 

Mexico, the President and his advisors envisioned a speedy war. They hoped 

that military action, namely the occupation of northwestern and northeastern Mexico, would quickly bring the Mexicans to the negotiating table. 

Invading California, Chihuahua, Coahuila, Nuevo León, Nuevo México, 

and eventually Tamaulipas would break the Mexican will to fight as well as 

make possession of the desired territory a fact on the ground. Polk viewed 

military operations as a kind of aggressive, yet measured, diplomacy; more 

peaceful diplomatic efforts continued as the fighting progressed. Clearly, 

American forces had to succeed in the field, but not in so overwhelming a 

manner as to destabilize the Mexican government fatally. Thus, American 

commanders marched into Mexico with a sword in one hand and an olive 

branch in the other. This quick-war strategy depended upon what proved 

to be an underestimation of Mexico’s will to fight. By late 1846, a string 

of successful tactical actions in northern Mexico had failed to produce the 

desired effect. This state of affairs forced a strategic reassessment, during 

which military and political leaders decided to escalate the initial approach 

of using the military to pressure for negotiations by opening a second theater 

of operations. Expanding the geographic scope of the war stretched limited 

American resources, which were barely sufficient to meet the requirements 

of the initial strategic concept, to the limit. The consequences of the change 

in strategy included both the battle of Buena Vista and Winfield Scott’s landing at Veracruz and subsequent march to Mexico City.10
88

The Road to Buena Vista: The Operational Setting

Although there is no single conclusive definition of the term operational art, the most simple, straightforward, and useful way of understanding its meaning is as the employment of military forces to accomplish 

strategic goals. Although simple in conception, the practice of the operational art is difficult because of the dynamic nature of war. During the 

US-Mexican War, strategic level leaders occasionally acted as operational 

decision-makers by dictating tactical objectives, especially President Polk 

but also Santa Anna, who served for a time as commanding general in 

the field as well as President of Mexico. Doing so certainly ensured that 

tactical military objectives reflected policy, but in Polk’s case risked his 

orders being out of touch with conditions on the ground 2000 miles away. 

Despite politicians’ attempts to micromanage, the operational level of war 

was primarily the purview of military commanders. In northern Mexico 

and relative to the battle of Buena Vista specifically, the two most important commanders were Zachary Taylor and Antonio López de Santa Anna.11

The antebellum US Army’s crucible of experience made Zachary 

Taylor an extremely competent, if not brilliant, leader. Taylor had built 

his career on the nation’s frontier, and it was here that he learned by necessity to work with militia, although he preferred regulars. He had also 

learned that, when waging war in a republic, a military leader forgets 

that the act is embedded in politics at his peril. As a captain, Taylor was 

brevetted major during the War of 1812 for his defense of Fort Harrison 

in the Indiana Territory. For most of his peacetime career, he served at, 

or commanded, posts along the frontier. He was one of the few fieldgrade officers to emerge from the Second Seminole War with an enhanced reputation; he also earned a second brevet promotion to brigadier 

general for his victory in the Battle of Lake Okeechobee and a nickname, 

“Rough and Ready,” which captured his hands-on, people-focused, and 

imperturbable style of leadership.

During the US-Mexican War, Taylor commanded US forces in the 

northern theater, site of the main military effort until early 1847. Taylor 

was not Polk’s first choice, but Winfield Scott, the highest ranking and 

most famous Army officer, managed to alienate the President, who always 

had an eye on the Democrats’ electoral success as well as victory in the 

field. Scott’s political loyalties to the Whig Party as well as his overbearing and arrogant demeanor irritated Polk. Still, the army won four major 

battles under Taylor. At Palo Alto, Resaca de la Palma, and Monterrey, 

regulars led the way. At Buena Vista, Taylor commanded an army composed of 90 percent volunteers, the vast majority of whom had never seen 
89

combat, and won again. In the minds of his fellow citizens and many soldiers, Taylor emerged from the Mexican War as the foremost living example of successful republican generalship, George Washington reborn. He 

won the presidency as a Whig in 1848 and died while in office in 1850.12

Antonio López de Santa Anna, too, was a product of his environment. 

Following independence, Mexican army officers primarily focused their 

attention on domestic politics. Political alliances between commanders 

and civilians were common. Santa Anna thrived in this atmosphere. An astute and charismatic political chameleon with generally sound, but aggressive, strategic judgment, he was the archetype of a caudillo, or strongman, 

that dominated this period in Mexico’s history. Santa Anna’s military credentials rested primarily upon his record as a fighter for independence and 

his decisive defeat of a Spanish invasion force at Tampico in 1829. While 

leading a Mexican army during the Texas Revolution, he demonstrated 

strategic competence, but a degree of tactical inflexibility, even ineptness, 

which would appear again during the US-Mexican War. A capable but not 

truly professional military officer, Santa Anna’s strong suit was politics. 

With US approval, he returned to Mexico from exile in mid-August 1846. 

Having promised to advocate a peace settlement, Santa Anna promptly assumed command of the Mexican Army and directed its efforts against the 

Americans. He was a brilliant motivator; probably no other Mexican could 

Figure 15. The Mexican War, 1846-1847
90

have accomplished the feats of pulling together three major armies, first at 

San Luis Potosí before the march north to Buena Vista and then to oppose 

Scott’s army at Cerro Gordo and yet again before Mexico City. He served 

as Mexico’s chief executive 11 times and was exiled more than once only 

to return. Santa Anna died in Mexico City in 1876 at the age of 82.13

Between the opening of hostilities in May 1846 and the battle of Buena Vista in February 1847, Mexican and American military forces moved 

to execute their respective national strategies. President Polk ordered a 

four-pronged advance into Mexico: one force would seize Santa Fe and 

continue on to California to work with Americans already there and the 

Navy; one would pass through Santa Fe and turn south into Chihuahua; 

yet another would move south from San Antonio to Monclova and the rich 

farming country around Parras in Coahuila; finally, the main force under 

Taylor would take Monterrey, the capital of Nuevo León. This, the President confidently assumed, would bring about the end of the war.14

However, hypothetical routes of march, optimistically drawn on maps 

in headquarters far from the fighting, are seldom as easily traveled in reality. Before he moved south from Matamoros, Taylor needed supplies, and 

these were slow in arriving. He finally closed on Monterrey with 6,500 

men in mid-September. Once there, “Rough and Ready’s” mixed force 

of regulars and volunteers took the city on 24 September after a four-day 

fight. Following guidance from Washington based upon the concept of 

advancing, attacking and waiting for the Mexicans to talk, Taylor negotiated a truce and allowed most of the 10,000-man Mexican garrison to 

leave the city. Elsewhere, fighting ended in California on 13 January 1847; 

Colonel Alexander W. Doniphan’s Missourians captured Chihuahua City 

on 28 February 1847; and Brigadier General John E. Wool’s column occupied Monclova on 3 November 1846. There was a growing realization, 

however, that, in the words of Whig Senator Daniel Webster, “Mexico is 

an ugly enemy, she ... will not treat.”15 For Polk, who recognized the domestic political imperative for a speedy and successful end to war, victory 

was taking too long.

By late September 1846, President Polk and his advisors determined 

that the time had come for a reconsideration of the operational, if not 

the strategic, approach. If occupying the periphery of Mexico would not 

suffice, the political center of Mexico, Mexico City, beckoned. As it was 

impracticable to march an army across the 565 miles from Monterrey to 

the capital, an amphibious option that had heretofore rested on the back 

burner moved front and center. Eventually, the idea germinated into a 

plan to shift the main effort from northern Mexico to the route taken by 
91

Cortez in 1519. The Americans would take Veracruz, Mexico’s main port 

city, establish a supply base there, and then march west into the mountains 

to Mexico City.

The shift caused confusion on the ground in Mexico. On 3 November, Taylor received a message from the Secretary of War instructing him 

to abrogate the armistice and prosecute the war with renewed vigor. He 

quickly decided to advance further into the Sierra Madre and to take Saltillo, the capital of Coahuila, located 55 miles southwest of Monterrey. On 

12 November, new instructions arrived advising him to reconsider any 

advance past Monterrey and to prepare to send 4,000 men against Tampico 

on the Gulf coast. Secretary Marcy also hinted that those troops and others 

of Taylor’s army might be required for an expedition against Veracruz.

Taylor ignored the Secretary’s helpful advice to hunker down in Monterrey for military and political reasons. As the Americans had already 

proven, the city was easy to bypass. Occupying Saltillo, which sat astride 

the main road to Monterrey from the south, provided two advantages: first, 

it would serve as a forward bulwark for Monterrey’s defense, adding operational depth to the American dispositions in northern Mexico, and, second, it would deny the opportunity for rest and resupply to any Mexican 

army advancing across the 250 miles of desert from Santa Anna’s military 

headquarters at San Luis Potosí. Finally, politics played a role. Because of 

his victories, many began to put Taylor’s name forward as a presidential 

candidate. As Taylor was a Whig, this irked the Democratic President. 

“Rough and Ready” was equally annoyed by what he saw as a politically 

motivated move to marginalize his role. The Americans occupied Saltillo 

on 16 November, and threw out a cavalry screen to the south. They then 

settled into garrison duty.

Meanwhile, Santa Anna worked miracles at San Luis Potosí. His 

methods, which included equal measures of extortion, coercion, and exhortation, allowed him to gather an army of over 20,000 men. The question was what to do with it.

By the middle of November, Mexican intelligence knew of the Americans’ planned move against Veracruz. This presented two options, one that 

was low risk but promised equally low rewards and another that was very 

risky but might turn the tide of the war. Concentrating against the amphibious expedition against Mexico City while harassing the Americans in the 

north was essentially a play for time, an extension of the initial Mexican 

strategic concept. On the other hand, attacking Taylor’s northern command 

as the Americans were in the process of reorienting their main effort might 
92

produce big results; success would rally flagging Mexican morale, unify 

the nation to an extent heretofore unimaginable, and encourage the growing 

ranks of those who opposed the war in the United States. The risks were 

equally large. Advancing north would severely overextend already weak 

Mexican logistics, exposing the army to disintegration if defeated at the very 

moment the Americans were preparing for a decisive effort in a new theater. 

Still, the risks were not prohibitive because, if timed correctly, the Mexican 

army would greatly outnumber any Americans encountered. Santa Anna, 

who was nothing if not bold, decided to attack Taylor.

As Santa Anna prepared at San Luis Potosí, the Americans heard rumors of a possible advance north. Taylor’sassessment of the difficulties of 

the march route, reflecting his imperturbable nature and perhaps a degree 

of overconfidence, consistently discounted the possibility of an attack. 

Mexican irregulars and cavalry were active behind the lines and along the 

frontline, which led to periodic panics, or “stampedes” as the soldiers called 

them, especially after Taylor began to clear the route east towards Tampico 

by advancing on Victoria in Tamaulipas in December. The increasing dispersion of American troops also frayed the nerves of local commanders.

On 13 January, an order detailing the troops reassigned to Scott’s expedition fell into Mexican hands. It made clear both the numbers and composition of Taylor’s forces; the Americans were outnumbered and most of 

the regulars were gone. This precipitated action. Santa Anna planned for 

6,700 Mexican cavalry and irregulars to cut American communications 

between Saltillo, Monterrey, and the Gulf coast and for another cavalry 

force to fix Taylor’s army near Saltillo until the main army could close in 

for the kill. Once victorious here, Santa Anna would turn his attention to 

Scott with an aroused Mexican nation behind him.

On 27 January, the Mexican army began its march north from San Luis 

Potosí with 21,553 men and 21 artillery pieces. The Mexican and American cavalry screens skirmished south of Saltillo, which convinced Brigadier 

General John Wool, who was in charge of the Saltillo area of operations, 

that Santa Anna was on the move. Wool gathered troops at the hacienda of 

Buena Vista in a narrow, rugged pass along the main road about five miles 

south of Saltillo, and sent word to Taylor at Monterrey. Upon his arrival, 

Taylor ordered his approximately 4,500-man force to redeploy 12 miles further south to Agua Nueva, which rested in the middle of a plain and, as its 

name suggests, was a logical watering point for any army advancing out of 

the arid desert to the south. By 19 February, the bulk of Santa Anna’s army, 

now numbering around 15,000 after its arduous march, was at Encarnación, 

23 miles away.
93

On 20 February, Taylor’s cavalry patrols accurately reported the approximate strength of the 

enemy at Encarnación as 

well as the presence of 

Mexican light forces at 

Rancho Hedionda on a 

route that bypassed the 

Agua Nueva position. On 

21 February, after consulting with Wool, Taylor 

ordered a withdrawal to 

the pass at Buena Vista. Taylor left Wool, an 

experienced officer who 

knew the area well, at 

Buena Vista to organize 

the defense while he took 

a combined force of artillery, cavalry, and infantry 

back to Saltillo to deal 

with the threat to his rear. 

That evening, Mexican 

cavalry drove in the pickets at Agua Nueva, which retreated in confusion 

after setting fire to buildings and any supplies that could not be moved.

Santa Anna mistook the encounter at Agua Nueva for a panicked retreat 

by the entire American army through Saltillo and planned accordingly. The 

mission was now pursuit, or so he thought. Consequently, he ordered two 

cavalry task forces to avoid the main road leading to Saltillo and ride hard 

to cut communications between Saltillo and Monterrey. His exhausted main 

body spent a cold and sleepless night marching to Agua Nueva, then pushed 

off early to catch up with the Americans. In contrast, the Americans ate well 

and bivouacked in the pass behind a screen of cavalry.

The Battle of Buena Vista

The pass at Buena Vista was ideal terrain for the defense. The valley was two miles wide at its narrowest and framed by steep mountains, 

which left little room for maneuver. Deep ravines, most of which ran at 

right angles from the mountains, further restricted movement and gave the 

effect of a washboard. Down the center of the valley ran the main road to 

Figure 16. Northern Theater of Operations
94

Saltillo and a complex series of gullies, which climbed as they approached 

the head of the pass. The steep-sided wall of the ravine carved by the main 

watercourse overlooked the road from the east. West of the road, drainage 

had so tortured the terrain as to make it impassible by all but the lightest 

of troops. The only open maneuver space of any consequence rested at the 

foot of the eastern mountains, on the relatively flat plateaus between the 

ravines, and near the head of the pass. The effect of all this was to canalize 

any attacks along a few easily identifiable routes. Here superior Mexican 

numbers might overwhelm a smaller American force, but they could not 

outmaneuver it.16

Zachary Taylor’s army at Buena Vista numbered about 4,400 men, 

90 percent of which was made of volunteers. Most of his volunteer units, 

which hailed from Arkansas, Illinois, Indiana, Kentucky, Mississippi, and 

Texas, were hardy and willing, but inexperienced. A key exception was the 

1st Mississippi Rifles, veterans of hard fighting at Monterrey. The regulars 

multiplied the combat power of the force beyond their few numbers. The 

three highly-trained batteries from the 3d and 4th Artillery proved crucial, 

along with the Mississippians, in determining the outcome of the battle.

Santa Anna’s forces numbered approximately 15,000, the majority of 

whom were regulars. They constituted the cream of the Mexican Army, 

but the cream was slightly sour. Some units were excellent, such as the 

Hussars of the Supreme Powers. Most, however brave, were deficient in 

tactical training, and there was dissention in the ranks as more privileged 

units received the best equipment and supplies. Still, if they could close 

with the Americans, sheer numbers alone might carry the day. The primary 

advantage of the Mexican field army was its cavalry, which the terrain at 

Buena Vista largely offset. The 19 antiquated pieces of Mexican artillery 

suffered from a lack of mobility, an obvious problem for an army on the 

offensive.

When the Mexican vanguard approached the American position about 

0900 on 22 February, a formidable defensive position confronted them. 

John Wool capitalized on the terrain in setting the defense. Wool relied 

upon the nearly impassable topography to protect the American right 

flank. He established a roadblock where the gap between the gullies and 

the wall of the eastern plateau narrowed to 40 feet. Five artillery pieces 

supported by infantry entrenched on the high ground above and behind the 

guns covered this obstacle. Wool then echeloned his remaining infantry 

behind breastworks along the top of the plateau to the east of the road. 

Two regiments of mainly dismounted volunteer cavalry covered the gap 

between the ravines and the mountains on the far left of the American line. 
95

Mobile artillery, often deployed in section strength, supported the infantry. 

In reserve, Wool stationed two squadrons of cavalry and a company of 

Texans; Taylor’s escort would later be added to this force.

Having accounted for the security of his supplies at Saltillo, Taylor arrived with his escort before the main body of the Mexican army 

reached the field and in time to decline an invitation to surrender delivered under a flag of truce. In the meantime, Santa Anna arrayed his forces. Three heavy guns supported by a regiment of elite troops covered the 

main road to Saltillo. In the center, Santa Anna positioned two infantry 

divisions and 16 guns in carefully sited positions that he chose personally. A light infantry brigade and a strong cavalry force deployed in the 

gap at the foot of the eastern mountains. In reserve, Santa Anna retained 

a third infantry division.

All of this took time, which meant that the fighting on the 22d 

may best be described as desultory. Around 1500, Santa Anna feinted to 

the west and launched his light infantry brigade into the eastern mountains 

in an effort to flank the American left. The Americans responded by sending Arkansas, Indiana, and Kentucky volunteers up the slopes. This led to 

skirmishing that extended higher and higher up the incline until darkness 

brought an end to the fighting.

That evening, Santa Anna reinforced the light troops on the mountains 

with 1,500 men and five guns. His plan for the morning was to mass overwhelming combat power against the American left supported by the fire 

of the newly emplaced guns. Meanwhile, Taylor, who was worried about 

the security of Saltillo because of reports of 1,500 marauding Mexican 

cavalry in the vicinity, marched back with the Mississippi regiment and a 

squadron of regular dragoons. The Americans also reinforced their left and 

center, primarily by drawing troops from the right flank. The American 

front line was simply too large to be held in depth by the approximately 

3,000 men available, and there were few reserves. Consequently, Wool 

and Taylor opted for a linear defense that relied primarily on maneuvering 

the mobile firepower of the artillery around fixed infantry strong points. 

This was possible because of the excellence of the American gun crews 

and the fact that direct-fire field artillery outranged the smoothbore muskets used at the time.

Santa Anna’s exhausted army stood to at 0200 to prepare to assault at 

daybreak. The attack began on extremities of the American line. A demonstration against the roadblock ended in a rout. The reinforced light infantry in the mountains met with better success. Against stiff opposition, 
96

the Mexicans gradually pushed the Americans there back. At this point, 

7,000 Mexican infantry and cavalry emerged from the defilade of a ravine, 

formed into columns of brigades, and advanced against a portion of the 

American line held by the 2d Indiana Infantry Regiment and three guns 

under Lieutenant John P. O’Brien. This small force guarded the gateway 

to the American rear, the narrow open plain at the foot of the mountains.

Ordered by Wool to hold at all costs, the Indianans and artillerymen 

engaged the massive assault column from the front while the 2d Illinois 

Infantry and three guns commanded by Lieutenants George Thomas and 

Sam French hit the Mexican left flank. In the confusion of the crisis, Colonel William A. Bowles, commander of 2d Indiana, mistakenly ordered his 

men to retreat, which led to a rout and loss of one gun. The now isolated 

men fighting on the mountains withdrew in the direction of the American 

tactical supply point at the hacienda of Buena Vista at the head of the pass.

The Mexicans now turned their attention to the 2d Illinois and the 

guns that buttressed it, the next American units defending the ridge that 

ran northwest toward the roadblock. The American line in the center was 

gradually pushed back and now ran perpendicular to its original position; 

the only American units holding their original positions were those blocking the road. And the pressure continued to build as more Mexican units 

entered the fray. Wool threw in reserves to establish a line running roughly 

Figure 17. Buena Vista, Early Morning 
97

parallel to the road facing east. A desperate struggle ensued as the Americans struggled to hold the new line. But the route along the foot of the 

mountains was now clear.

The battle was in full swing when Taylor arrived on the battlefield 

with his escort early that morning. He immediately took stock of the situation and ordered the 1st Mississippi Rifles and 3d Indiana Infantry to form 

up on the extreme left of the American line. American artillery moved 

from hotspot to hotspot, firing anti-personnel canister rounds at point 

blank range to avert potential breakthroughs. Meanwhile, some Mexican 

cavalry penetrated as far as the hacienda of Buena Vista where they were 

repulsed by the rallied volunteers who earlier had fought in the mountains. 

In the frantic fighting on the left flank during the afternoon, Jefferson Davis famously formed Mississippi and Indiana infantry into a “V” formation to repulse an advance by Mexican cavalry; the cavalry trotted into a 

deadly crossfire when they approached the open end of the “V.” As famous 

as Davis’ action remains, it was probably no more significant than many 

others that occurred that day.

Santa Anna’s final assault aimed at the center of the American line. 

A massive column brushed aside two regiments of exhausted Illinois and 

Kentucky troops despite taking heavy losses in doing so. From his tactical command post in the midst of the fighting, Taylor, calmly sitting on 

Figure 18. Buena Vista, Late Morning 
98

his warhorse, Old Whitey, ordered the only available troops, Lieutenants 

Thomas and O’Brien’s few guns, to defend to the last as he summoned 

Captains Braxton Bragg and Thomas Sherman’s guns and the First Mississippi Rifles and 3d Indiana Infantry to plug the gap. They arrived just in 

time to cause the Mexican assault to falter, but not before the commanding 

general’s coat was riddled with bullets. During this action, Taylor uttered 

a command that would adorn engravings on countless American walls: “A 

little more grape Capt. Bragg.”17 Taylor’s actual words certainly contained 

expletives unsuitable for display in the family drawing room. With the 

failure of this assault around 1700, the battle was essentially over.

The battle of Buena Vista had been a near run affair. Like the American senior leaders, Santa Anna had acquitted himself well, moving between his formations, exhorting his men, and losing a horse in the process. 

There was certainly nothing wrong with his plan. Indeed, it came within 

a hair’s breadth of succeeding. The battle had been essentially a series of 

small unit actions. In these, the quality of American small unit leadership 

shined through. Although primarily fought by volunteers, and perhaps 

because of it, American small unit leaders demonstrated a willingness to 

seize the initiative to a greater extent than their Mexican counterparts.18

The problem had nothing to do with bravery, which both sides demonstrated in ample measure. Rather, the armies that fought at Buena Vista were 

microcosms of their respective societies. Mexican society in the 1840s 

was intensely hierarchical, and this characteristic manifested itself in the 

command culture of the army as well as on the battlefield. The American 

Army that fought in Mexico was composed of citizens, which meant that 

on one level at least all were equal regardless of rank. The volunteer units 

especially reflected this, which enhanced their willingness to act in the 

absence of orders. While this egalitarian culture was a source of endless 

frustration to regulars while in garrison, it paid dividends on the battlefield 

of Buena Vista; tactical flexibility was the payoff.

The grim tally sheet for the battle of Buena Vista also attests to its 

fierceness. The Mexican army lost 591 killed, 1,048 wounded, and 1,894 

missing, a loss rate of 23 percent. The American army suffered 272 killed, 

387 wounded, and 6 missing, a loss rate of 15 percent.19

On the night of the 23d, Santa Anna judged that his army had spent 

itself and, rather than risk a decisive defeat, ordered a general withdrawal first to Agua Nueva and thence to San Luis Potosí. Conditions on the 

march were horrific. When the vanguard of the army straggled in to San 

Luis Potosí on 12 March, it was a haggard shadow of the force that had 

marched north 44 days before, having suffered far more attrition on the 
99

march than during combat. On 9 March, Winfield Scott landed near Vera 

Cruz. Santa Anna had to reconstitute the Army’s decimated ranks before 

confronting this new threat. Mexico’s best chance to check the Americans 

died in the narrows south of Saltillo.

Consequences

The battle at Buena Vista contributed greatly to winning the war with 

Mexico, a war whose consequences were profound. Perhaps most importantly, the fact that Americans perceived the war as so successful encouraged a naïve belief in the efficacy of war as a problem solving technique. 

That both sides marched blithely off to war in 1861 is in no small part 

due to the conviction that war was an easy, quick, and decisive way to 

solve intractable difficulties. One often learns little by winning; losing, 

on the other hand, is a better teacher. For all of today’s focus on the key 

role that professionals played in the US-Mexican War, the war convinced 

contemporary Americans of quite the opposite. The battle of Buena Vista 

especially persuaded them that their long cherished belief that amateur 

citizen-soldiers were the Republic’s best defense was correct and that a 

bayonet in the hands of a brave man was the determining factor on the 

battlefield. Efforts to professionalize the US Army suffered as a result. 

The Mexican War also served as a training ground for those who would 

advance to high station during the Civil War. At least 194 future United 

States’ Civil War generals served in Mexico as well as 142 future Confederate generals. American success affirmed the tactics and organization of 

the day and the idea that taking the offensive always worked. This, too, 

would have grave consequences during the early part of the Civil War. Another consequence of the conflict was that the territory gained in the Treaty 

of Guadalupe Hidalgo proved bitter fruit. In 1846, few Americans imagined that the nation would emerge anything but stronger and more unified from a victorious war against Mexico. Before the ink was dry on the 

peace accord, however, political controversy raged over the relationship 

between the newly acquired territory and the institution of slavery. Finally, 

although the US-Mexican War is barely remembered in the United States, 

Mexico has not forgotten. As part of a shared history, the war continues to 

influence diplomatic relations between North America’s largest republics.
100

Notes

1. William P. Rogers to Mat [wife], 2 March 1847, in Eleanor Damon Pace, 

ed., “The Diary and Letters of William P. Rogers, 1846-1862,” Southwestern 

Historical Quarterly, XXXII:4 (April, 1929): 278.

2. The following books primarily informed this chapter and also constitute 

an introduction to the literature on the US-Mexican War and Buena Vista in 

particular. K. Jack Bauer’s The Mexican War, 1846-1848 (New York: Macmillan, 1974), Justin H. Smith’s The War with Mexico, 2 vols. (New York: Macmillan, 1919), and John S. D. Eisenhower’s So Far From God: The US War with 

Mexico, 1846-1848 (New York: Random House, 1989) trace the background and 

progression of the war from a largely American perspective. On the campaign 

in northern Mexico specifically, see David Lavender’s Climax at Buena Vista: 

The Decisive Battle of the Mexican-American War (1966; reprint, Philadelphia: 

University of Pennsylvania Press, 2003), and Felice Flanery Lewis’s Trailing 

Clouds of Glory: Zachary Taylor’s Mexican War Campaign and His Emerging 

Civil War Leaders (Tuscaloosa, AL: University of Alabama Press, 2010). On diplomacy, see David M. Pletcher, The Diplomacy of Annexation: Texas, Oregon, 

and the Mexican War (Columbia, MO: University of Missouri Press, 1973). On 

the broadly defined meaning of the war, see Robert W. Johannsen’s To the Halls 

of the Montezumas: The Mexican War in the American Imagination (New York: 

Oxford University Press, 1985). The best works on the US Army and the war are 

James M. McCaffrey’s Army of Manifest Destiny: The American Soldier in the 

Mexican War, 1846-1848 (New York: New York University Press, 1992), and 

Richard Bruce Winders’ Mr. Polk’s War: The American Military Experience in 

the Mexican War (College Station, TX: University of Texas A&M Press, 1997). 

On the Mexican side of the conflict and the Mexican Army in particular, see William A. DePalo, Jr.’s The Mexican National Army, 1822-1852 (College Station, 

TX: Texas A&M Press, 1997), Timothy J. Henderson’s A Glorious Defeat: Mexico and Its War with the United States (New York: Hill and Wang, 2007), Irving 

W. Levinson’s Wars within Wars: Mexican Guerrillas, Domestic Elites, and the 

United States of America, 1846-1848 (Fort Worth, TX: Texas Christian University Press, 2005), Pedro Santoni’s Mexicans at Arms: Puro Federalists and the 

Politics of War, 1845-1848 (Fort Worth, TX: Texas Christian University Press, 

1996), and Ramón Alcaraz’s The Other Side: or Notes for the History of the War 

between Mexico and the United States. Written in Mexico, Albert C. Ramsey, ed. 

and trans. (New York: John Wiley and Son, 1850).

3. The Niles’ National Register, a newspaper with national distribution, 

reprinted Taylor’s brief initial report of the victory on 3 April 1847. Given the 

nature of the existing transportation and communication network, news from 

Mexico was first reported in New Orleans and spread across the country from 

there. For a few examples of celebrations in honor of and perceptions of the 

battle and victors of Buena Vista, see, Clayton Sumner Ellsworth, “The American Churches and the Mexican War,” American Historical Review, 45 (October 

– July, 1939-40), 303; Raleigh North Carolina Standard, 21 April 1847; James 
101

E. Harvey to Willie P. Mangum, 3 June 1847, The Papers of Willie Person 

Mangum, Vol. 5, ed. Henry Thomas Shanks (Raleigh, NC: State Department of 

Archives and History, 1956), 66.

4. Carl von Clausewitz, On War, eds. and trans. Michael Howard and Peter 

Paret (1976; Everyman’s Library edition, New York: Knopf, 1993), 700.

5. Henderson, A Glorious Defeat, passim; Santoni, Mexicans at Arms, passim; DePalo, Mexican National Army, 94.

6. Levinson, Wars within Wars, 18-19, 34-40; DePalo, Mexican National 

Army, 96-98, 140; Charles M. Haecker and Jeffery G. Mauck, On the Prairie of 

Palo Alto: Historical Archaeology of the US-Mexican War Battlefield (College 

Station, TX: Texas A&M University Press, 1997), 15-18, 61-66; Pletcher, Diplomacy of Annexation, 441; Henderson, A Glorious Defeat, 148-150; Santoni, 

Mexicans at Arms, 50.

7. Peña y Peña quoted in Levinson, Wars within Wars, 16. On Mexican 

strategy, see Levinson, Wars within Wars, 16; Pletcher, Diplomacy of Annexation, 441.

8. Pletcher, Diplomacy of Annexation, 229-392; DePalo, Mexican National 

Army, 95; Bauer, Mexican War, 16-78; Smith, The War with Mexico, Vol. 1, 

82-203; Eisenhower, So Far From God, 17-97; Johannsen, To The Halls of the 

Montezumas, 3-12. There are essentially two traditional schools of interpretation 

of the causes of the war. One blames the United States; the other, Mexico. Here 

I take the position that the conflict was unavoidable given the political situation 

in each nation in 1845 and 1846. All decision-makers recognized the seemingly 

inexorable advance of Americans into the west. This created a political imperative in the United States for the government to facilitate that expansion, although 

a vote for James K. Polk in 1844 was not necessarily a vote for war. At the same 

time, Mexico could not and, given the tumultuous political scene, would not 

acquiesce without a fight. Thus, both had a hand in the coming of war. Seen in 

this light, the quest to establish which nation was more to blame is pointless. A 

third school of thought is emerging; Henderson’s survey, A Glorious Defeat, is 

an example of a more balanced view that seeks to understand how the war came 

about rather than to assess culpability.

9. Winders, Polk’s Army, 15-31, 51-112; Russell F. Weigley, History of 

the United States Army (New York: Macmillian, 1967), 144-189; Haecker and 

Mauck, 13-15, 59-61, 65-85, 89-92. See also, James A. Huston, The Sinews of 

War: Army Logistics, 1775-1953 (Washington, DC: Center of Military History, 

1966); Francis Paul Prucha, The Sword of the Republic: The United States Army 

on the Frontier (Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press, 1969); William B. 

Skelton, An American Profession of Arms: The Army Officer Corps, 1784-1861

(Lawrence, KS: University Press of Kansas, 1993); Samuel J. Watson, Peacekeepers and Conquerors: The Army Officer Corps on the American Frontier, 

1821-1846 (Lawrence, KS: University Press of Kansas, 2013).

10. Pletcher, Diplomacy of Annexation, 461-70; 482, 535-36, 554-55, 600-

601; Walter Borneman, Polk: the Man Who Transformed the Presidency and 

America (New York: Random House, 2008), 90-92. See also, Allan Nevins, ed.,
102

Polk: Diary of a President, 1845-1849 (New York: Longmans, Green, and Co., 

1929), 95. The President’s diary offers a unique glimpse into the highest level of 

decision making. The example cited is but one instance of the level of detailed 

planning into which Polk and his advisors ventured.

11. See for example, Milan Vego, “Operational Art and Doctrine,” in Anthony D. McIvor, ed., Rethinking the Principles of War (Annapolis, MD: Naval 

Institute Press, 2005), 167-187; Edward N. Luttwak, “The Operational Level of 

War” International Security, 5:3 (Winter 1980-81), 61-79. Official Department 

of Defense definition and discussion of the term may be found in United States 

Joint Forces Command, Joint Publication 3-0: Joint Operations (Washington, 

DC: Joint Staff J-7, 11 August 2011), xii-xiii, I-12-I-14, II-3-II-4, GL-14.

12. The best biographies of Zachary Taylor are: K. Jack Bauer, Zachary 

Taylor: Soldier, Planter, Statesman of the Old Southwest (Baton Rouge, LA: 

Louisiana State University Press, 1985); Holman Hamilton, Zachary Taylor 

(2 vols., Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1941, 1951). Bauer’s biography is the 

accepted standard; he is also generally critical of Taylor as an army commander. Hamilton’s is both less critical and less scholarly. Taylor’s reputation has 

consistently suffered at hands of historians. This largely stems from Winfield 

Scott’s published assessment of him, but also with the US Army’s concern with 

“useable” history—in this case, Taylor’s lack of commitment to intellectual 

self-development does not mesh well with the modern Army’s focus on professional military education. For a few negative assessments of Taylor, see Winfield 

Scott, Memoirs of Lieutenant General Scott, LL.D. Written by himself (New 

York: Sheldon and Co., 1864), 381-383; Richard W. Stewart, ed., American Military History: Volume 1—The United States Army And The Forging Of A Nation, 

1775–1917 (Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History, 2005), 184; Allan R. 

Millett and Peter Maslowski, For the Common Defense: A Military History of 

the United States of America (New York: Free Press, 1984), 141; Bauer, Zachary Taylor, 214. On the image of Taylor in the American mind, see Johannsen, 

To the Halls of the Montezumas, 115. On politics, President Polk, and the war 

effort, see especially Winders, Mr. Polk’s Army, 186-201.

13. Will Fowler, “The Repeated Rise of General Antonio López de Santa 

Anna in the so-called Age of Chaos,” in Authoritarianism in Latin America since 

Independence, Will Fowler, ed. (Westport, CT: Greenwood, 1996), 1-30; Oakah 

L. Jones, Jr., Santa Anna (New York: Twayne Publishers, 1968); Wilfred Hardy 

Callcott, Santa Anna (Hamden, CN: Archon Books, 1964); Robert L. Scheina, 

Santa Anna: A Curse Upon Mexico (Dulles, VA: Brassey’s, 2002); Santoni, Mexicans at Arms.

14. The account of the operational context prior to the battle of Buena Vista 

is based upon: Polk, Diary, 93-94, passim; Borneman, Polk, 229-231, 233-249; 

Bauer, Mexican War, 71-78, 81-102, 127-141, 145-159, 164-177, 183-196, 201-

208; Eisenhower, So Far From God, 86-177; Lewis, Trailing Clouds of Glory, 

90-194; Lavender, Climax at Buena Vista, 80-171; Smith, War with Mexico, 

Vol. 1, 204-383; Executive Document Number 60, House of Representatives, 

Messages of the President ... Mexican War, 30th Congress 1st, Session, April 
103

28, 1848, 325-327, 1097-1102, 1106-1113; Zachary Taylor to Adjutant General, 

US Army, February 7, 1847, reprinted in Niles’ National Register, Vol. 72., 27 

March 1847; DePalo, Mexican National Army, 92-110; Alcaraz, The Other Side, 

56-121; Henderson, A Glorious Defeat, 158-164.

15. Daniel Webster to Fletcher Webster [son], 6 August 1846, quoted in 

Pletcher, Diplomacy of Annexation, 461.

16. The account of the battle of Buena Vista and its aftermath is based upon: 

Bauer, Mexican War, 208-221; Eisenhower, So Far From God, 178-191; Lewis, 

Trailing Clouds of Glory, 195-216; Lavender, Climax at Buena Vista, 171-215; 

Smith, War with Mexico, Vol. 1, 384-400; Smith, War with Mexico, Vol. 2, 1-16; 

DePalo, Mexican National Army, 110-120; Alcaraz, The Other Side, 121-141; 

Henderson, A Glorious Defeat, 164-165.

17. [_] Cameron, “‘A little more grape Capt. Bragg’—General Taylor at the 

Battle of Buena Vista, Feby 23d, 1847,” N. Currier, lith. & pub., (New York: N. 

Currier, 1847). This lithograph is only the most famous example of the use of 

this often repeated phrase. “Grape” refers to fixed canister anti-personnel rounds 

used by the American artillery. Grapeshot is a naval term; its use is probably a 

literary device.

18. Taylor’s leadership style enabled small unit leaders the latitude to deal 

with problems as they arose. For example, when informed by his chief of staff 

Major Bliss that the volunteers were hard-pressed, Taylor responded: “I know it, 

but the volunteers don’t know it. Let them alone, we’ll see what they do.” Bauer, 

Mexican War, 214.

19. Bauer, Mexican War, 217. Bauer gives the number of US forces engaged 

as 4,594. Allowing for the garrison at Saltillo, Taylor certainly had fewer than 

this on the field at Buena Vista, most probably approximately 4,400 men.

105

Chapter 6

 Pea Ridge, 1862

Terry Beckenbaugh

The election of 1860 is the only election in United States’ history 

that has resulted in widespread violence. When the Republican—and anti-slavery—candidate, Abraham Lincoln of Illinois, won the election with 

a plurality of the popular vote, seven slave states followed through on 

their threats to secede from the nation. Before Lincoln’s inauguration on 

4 March 1861, South Carolina, Mississippi, Florida, Alabama, Georgia, 

Louisiana, and Texas all seceded. After those seven states joined to create 

the Confederate States of America on 4 February 1861, President Jefferson 

Davis sent Brigadier General P.G.T. Beauregard to take command of the 

Provisional Confederate forces in and around Charleston, South Carolina. 

Federal troops in Fort Sumter, in the middle of Charleston harbor, refused 

to give up the installation. On the morning of 12 April, Confederate forces 

began a bombardment of Fort Sumter, resulting in the surrender of that 

post the following day; thus began the American Civil War (1861-1865).1

President Lincoln needed an army to put down the rebellion. At the 

start of the Civil War, the US Regular Army had slightly over 16,000 men 

scattered all over the country. While this force could act as the foundation 

for a greatly-expanded force, its main purpose pre-war was a constabulary 

to maintain peace along the immigrant trails to the west and along the 

frontier. The Regular Army was too small to subjugate a region the size 

of the American south. That was why, two days after Fort Sumter surrendered, Lincoln issued a call to the states for 75,000 volunteers to put down 

the rebellion.2

The states’ response to the call for volunteers varied wildly. In most 

of the Free States, volunteers were turned away. However, the reaction to 

the call for volunteers in the upper south slave states of Arkansas, Tennessee, North Carolina, and Virginia pushed those states into secession. That 

left several key border slave states, Missouri, Kentucky, Maryland and 

Delaware, still in the Union. Missouri had already overwhelmingly voted 

against secession before the attack on Fort Sumter,but there was a tremendous amount of unrest in that state.3

Missouri was a strategically vital state for the Lincoln administration 

in 1861. St. Louis was crucial for maintaining federal control of the Mississippi River. The city was also an industrial hub and a potential forward operating base for operations down the river. The Missouri River 
106

was a crucial highway into the west and northwest and it ran the width 

of the state. Furthermore, if Missouri seceded it would further complicate the Lincoln administration’s already strategically challenging picture: 

the state occupied a giant salient surrounded by the free states of Iowa to 

the north, Illinois to the east, and Kansas to the West. Incursions into the 

Confederacy in the Trans-Mississippi, or the Indian Territory, north of the 

Arkansas River, would have to be launched from Missouri.4 Finally, the 

overland trails to the west had their launching point in western Missouri: the 

Santa Fe, California, Mormon, and Oregon Trails all had their origins in and 

around Independence, Missouri. The Federal government needed to assert 

its control in Missouri to retain overland connection with the western states 

and territories. Thus, Missouri was absolutely vital to the Lincoln administration’s evolving strategy. Of course, there were elements within Missouri 

that wished to move the state to the Confederate side of the ledger.

In 1860, Claiborne Fox Jackson ran for election as Missouri Governor 

claiming to be a Stephen A. Douglas Democrat. The problem was that 

Jackson was really a John C. Breckinridge Democrat. Douglas, from Illinois, represented the Northern wing of the Democratic Party. When, at the 

Democratic National Convention in Charleston, South Carolina, Douglas refused to allow Southern Democrats to insert a plank in the Democratic platform that was openly pro-slavery, many Southern delegates left 

the convention. When it reconvened in Baltimore, Maryland, almost two 

months later, the Democratic Convention witnessed a fight over whether 

to readmit the Southern delegates who had left in Charleston or give their 

spots to pro-Douglas Democrats. Douglas won that fight, but many more 

Southern delegates now left the convention and held their own meeting. 

The Southern Democrats nominated Vice-President John C. Breckinridge 

of Kentucky. The split proved fatal for Democratic chances of winning the 

Presidency, opening the door for Lincoln and the Republicans. Claiborne 

Jackson campaigned as a moderate, but once he won the election and Lincoln won the Presidency, he made no secret of his support for the Confederacy. Jackson’s inaugural address urged the Missouri state government 

to convene a convention to examine its relationship to the United States.5

The convention met from late February through most of March but overwhelmingly rejected secession.6

 This happened several weeks prior to the 

Confederate attack upon Fort Sumter. With the outbreak of hostilities, all 

eyes in Missouri—and many eyes in Washington, DC and Richmond, Virginia, as well—turned to St. Louis. More specifically, those eyes focused 

on the Federal Arsenal in St. Louis, the largest US government armory still 

remaining in a slave state.
107

Control of the Federal Arsenal by Governor Jackson’s pro-secession 

faction would give the Missouri state forces a tremendous boost. Unfortunately for Governor Jackson, the man who presented the most formidable 

obstacle to his control of the arsenal was US Army Captain Nathaniel Lyon. 

As much as Jackson coveted the arsenal and its 60,000 small arms,Captain 

Lyon was absolutely determined to prevent the Missouri state forces from 

obtaining them.7 Lyon, a radical Republican, quickly clashed with his immediate superiors, Brevet Major Peter V. Hagner, commander of the arsenal, and Department of the West commander Brigadier General William S. 

Harney, who were at best moderate Unionists, at worst closet secessionists. 

Lyon immediately caused friction with Hagner and Harney by insisting on 

making Federal forces much more conspicuous in the area, especially in St. 

Louis. Hagner and Harney wanted to keep a low profile so as not to provoke 

a backlash;they underestimated Lyon’s tenacity and connections.8

Lyon formed a close, personal alliance with Missouri Republican 

Francis “Frank“ Preston Blair, Jr., who led the Unionists in the state. Blair, 

too, was suspicious of Harney and Hagner’s loyalties. They seemed to 

Blair to be far too conciliatory to Southern elements in the state and specifically to Governor Jackson’s openly pro-Southern sympathies. However, 

there was little Blair could do as long as Jackson attempted no overt action 

against the Union. Events elsewhere forced the hand of many to choose 

sides before they were ready.9

The Confederate attack on Fort Sumter forced Missourians to choose 

sides—whether they wanted to or not. After the surrender of Fort Sumter, 

the Lincoln administration issued the call for volunteers and Missouri’s 

share of the 75,000 requested was four thousand. Governor Jackson adamantly refused to fill Missouri’s quota. His response left no doubt about 

his feelings on the subject:

Sir: Your dispatch of the 15th instant, making a call on Missouri for four regiments of men for immediate service, has been 

received. There can be, I apprehend, no doubt that the men are 

intended to form a part of the President’s army to make war 

upon the people of the seceded states. Your requisition, in my 

judgment, is illegal, unconstitutional, and revolutionary in its 

object, inhuman, and diabolical and cannot be complied with. 

Not one man will the State of Missouri furnish to carry on any 

unholy crusade.10

Lyon and Blair were livid at Governor Jackson’s response to the President’s call for troops. They were also frustrated with Harney’s inaction 
108

in the face of what Lyon and Blair believed were Jackson’s treasonous 

actions. Although Jackson was the elected governor of Missouri, Harney 

was still a member of the United States military. Blair used his influence 

to get Lyon promoted to colonel and placed in command of the arsenal 

and surrounding territory above Hagner. Furthermore, Blair returned from 

Washington, DC with authorization from the US War Department to raise 

5,000 troops. Blair promptly raised 5,000 men from German pro-Union 

para-military groups in and around St. Louis and was appointed colonel 

of the regiment. He obtained the armaments for his regiment from Lyon’s 

US Arsenal in St. Louis. After arming Blair’s regiment, Lyon moved the 

rest of the weapons and munitions across the Mississippi River to Alton, 

Illinois. While Blair and Lyon’s decisive action saved St. Louis for the 

Union, Governor Jackson and the pro-secessionists were also very busy.11

Governor Jackson called out the Missouri Volunteer Militia (MVM) 

commanded by Brigadier General Daniel Frost. Frost realized he needed 

the armaments at the US Arsenal and initially wanted to establish his camp 

just outside the arsenal and from there lay the groundwork for its capture. 

Jackson negotiated with the Confederacy for artillery and that arrived by 

9 May. Lyon learned of the artillery’s arrival at the MVM’s encampment, 

which Frost had named Camp Jackson, and decided he could wait no longer. Lyon’s actions the following day had significant repercussions for the 

course of the war in Missouri.12

Lyon moved his men on 10 May to subdue the MVM force at Camp 

Jackson. Lyon had not only reached the 5,000 quota from the Federal government, he doubled it and so had close to 10,000 men surround Camp 

Jackson. Frost had approximately 700 men and saw his position was hopeless so he surrendered without a fight. Lyon had no idea what to do with 

the prisoners, so he decided to make them march into St. Louis where they 

would be paroled and released. This proved to be an exceedingly bad idea, 

as large, hostile crowds formed to watch the MVM march through the city. 

The largely German volunteers had no experience in crowd control, and 

when the mob started throwing rocks and threatening violence, they fired 

into the crowd. The firing started a riot that left 28 dead and scores more 

wounded.13 This was known, depending on one’s viewpoint, as either the 

Camp Jackson Affair or the Camp Jackson Massacre. Either way, it proved 

a turning point in the struggle for Missouri.

There is little doubt that Lyon’s actions helped secure St. Louis, and 

by extension, Missouri for the Union cause. However, those actions also 

alienated many moderate Unionists who believed that Lyon had gone well 

beyond any legal action against the governor and the Missouri Volunteer 
109

Militia. While it is safe to say that a majority of Missourians favored staying in the Union, many of those same Missourians also decried Lyon’s 

actions. Most Missourians preferred to remain neutral and stay out of the 

rapidly expanding conflict that would be called the Civil War. Neutrality 

was not a reasonable outcome and Lyon’s actions started a guerrilla conflict that lasted for the remainder of the war and devastated the interior of 

the state. While Lyon was not the sole cause of Missouri’s misfortune, his 

actions pushed many Missourians who may have remained neutral into 

active support for the Confederacy.14

The Missouri state legislature passed the Military Bill at Governor Jackson’s request on 14 May. It organized Missouri’s militia administratively 

and allowed for its expansion and drastically increased funding. The newly-named Missouri State Guard (MSG) was viewed even by Harney, who 

had returned to Missouri in the wake of the Camp Jackson episode, as a 

threat. Harney hoped to avoid further bloodshed, so he negotiated an agreement with the recently-appointed commander, Major General Sterling Price, 

which essentially gave control of the area outside of St. Louis to the MSG, 

while Lyon’s force controlled the environs and suburbs of St. Louis. Each 

side pledged to protect the other side’s adherents in their respective areas.15

Price’s role to this point had been mainly political, as he chaired the state 

secession convention that overwhelmingly voted against secession, but his 

appointment thrust him into a leading military role in Missouri.

 Price seemed like the perfect man to command the Missouri State 

Guard. Born in Virginia in 1809, Price had studied at Hampden-Sydney 

College. He moved to Missouri in 1831 and was elected to the Missouri 

state legislature. During the Mexican War, Price was elected colonel of the 

2d Missouri Volunteers, and was eventually promoted to brigadier general 

of volunteers. Upon reaching Santa Fe after marching the Santa Fe Trail, 

Price was named the military governor of New Mexico. While governor, 

Price brutally put down the Taos Revolt of Native Americans and Mexicans in 1847. Price returned to Missouri after the war and was widely 

viewed as a hero. He used this popularity to become governor of the state 

from 1853 to 1857, and chaired the Missouri state secession convention in 

early 1861. Price’s supporters hoped that his role in that convention would 

attract more moderate Missourians to the MSG. Thus, Price’s background 

and Mexican War experience seemed to make him the logical choice to 

command the MSG.16 It never prepared him to deal with a man like Nathaniel Lyon.

Lyon was not one to compromise. His reward for the incident at Camp 

Jackson was promotion to Brigadier General of Missouri Volunteers on 12 
110

May, and Brigadier General of US Volunteers five days later.17 With greater 

authority, and with Harney’s removal—thanks to Blair on 31 May—Lyon 

agreed to meet with Price and Jackson at the Planter House Hotel in St. 

Louis on 11 June. Lyon now commanded the reorganized District of Missouri, and after listening to Jackson’s terms, he bluntly ended the meeting 

with what amounted to a declaration of war against Jackson, Price, and the 

Missouri State Guard:

Rather than concede to the state of Missouri for one single 

instant the right to dictate to my Government in any matter however unimportant, I would see you, [standing up as he said this 

and pointing at each member of the Missouri delegation] and 

you, and you, and you, and every man, woman, and child in the 

State, dead and buried. [Lyon then looked at Governor Jackson] 

This means war.18

And so began the military struggle for control of Missouri.

Lyon did not waste time. He immediately moved to control Missouri 

and maintain its place in the Union. While Governor Jackson, Price, and 

the Missouri State Guard attempted to concentrate men and materiel in the 

interior, Lyon moved aggressively to trap them. He sent one detachment 

southwest, toward Springfield, to cut off the MSG from any help from Arkansas. Lyon and the main body pursued the MSG up the Missouri River 

toward the capital of the state, Jefferson City. The MSG evacuated the capital without a fight on 15 June and Lyon quickly took over and restored order. Leaving behind a detachment to guard the capital, Lyon continued up 

the Missouri River to capture the MSG. The Missouri State Guard, commanded by Governor Jackson at the moment, decided to make a stand at 

Boonville. Lyon landed his force downstream from the MSG positions. He 

attacked and forced the State Guard to retreat headlong upstream. While a 

small affair, the Battle of Boonville, fought on 17 June, proved significant. 

The victory gave Lyon firm control of the Missouri River Valley deep 

into the interior of the state. Jackson and the MSG continued their retreat 

toward the southwest corner of the state and hoped to link up with Confederate forces in the northwest corner of Arkansas commanded by Brigadier 

General Ben McCulloch.19

By the time the Civil War broke out in 1861, Ben McCulloch was 

already a legend. McCulloch was born in Tennessee in 1811 and went to 

Texas, following in the footsteps of his fellow Tennessean Davey Crockett. McCulloch missed the Alamo, but was in time to fight in the decisive 

Battle of San Jacinto, Texas, on 21 April 1836, southeast of modern-day 
111

Houston. McCulloch was also a former Texas Ranger, Mexican War veteran, a “Forty-Niner,” and United States Marshal. McCulloch’s biggest 

shortcoming, at least in the eyes of Confederate President Jefferson Davis, 

was that he lacked formal military training; in its stead, he had a lot of 

practical military experience and, perhaps more importantly, he was loved 

and respected by his men. McCulloch had years of experience fighting 

Native Americans on the Texas frontier and performed exemplary service 

for Zachary Taylor during his campaigns in northern Mexico during the 

Mexican War. He took pride in the fact that he was no political appointee 

and displayed little patience for those that were. This had significant repercussions for the Wilson’s Creek and Pea Ridge campaigns.20

Both Price and Jackson viewed cooperation with McCulloch as essential to retaking Missouri for the Confederacy. The Missouri State Guard 

needed weapons, supplies, and other material, not to mention men, from 

the Confederacy to eject Federal forces from the state. To them, it was 

obvious. Unfortunately for Price and Jackson, McCulloch did not view the 

situation in the same light they did. And for good reason: Missouri had yet 

to secede. McCulloch’s responsibility was to defend northwest Arkansas 

and the Indian Territory from Federal invasion. This would also shield his 

beloved Texas from any overland threat from the north. Furthermore, as 

long as Missouri was not a member of the Confederacy, any incursion into 

a foreign country—as Missouri clearly was at that point—did not mesh 

with the Confederate government’s claim that it desired no territorial expansion and merely wished to be left alone. In addition to the legal and 

diplomatic issues McCulloch faced, he and Price developed a strong dislike for each other upon their first meeting. McCulloch viewed Price as a 

political general, and Price did not believe McCulloch treated him with the 

respect he deserved.21

Price and Jackson needed McCulloch more than they realized, because 

the force Lyon sent into southwest Missouri threatened to block the Missouri 

State Guard from any retreat into Arkansas or help from the same. The Federal 

force was commanded by Brigadier General Franz Sigel. Sigel’s force caught 

up to the MSG just outside of Carthage, Missouri. Although outnumbered at 

least four-to-one, Sigel attacked anyway. He was repulsed by the MSG under 

the command of Jackson on 5 July, and forced to retreat northeast toward 

Springfield. The MSG victory at Carthage afforded them some breathing 

room in the Cowskin Prairie, nestled in the southwest corner of the state. This 

allowed for training of the MSG to start in earnest and it gave the State Guard 

access to Confederate forces and resources in Arkansas. The question was, 

would those forces and resources be made available to them? For Lyon, his 
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attempt at trapping the MSG ended in failure. However, the campaign was 

certainly not a loss for him. He had cleared out the main elements of the MSG 

from central Missouri and the Missouri River Valley and secured those areas 

for the Union. St. Louis was firmly under Federal control, and the war effort 

in Missouri and the Mississippi River Valley was centered there. All things 

considered, despite his political blundering and polarizing actions, Lyon had 

subdued the bulk of Missouri for the Union.22

Lyon concentrated available forces at Springfield, eyeing the Missouri State Guard warily. Lyon needed more men from his superior, the commander of the recently created Western Department, Major General John C. 

Fremont. Fremont faced a myriad of challenges, not to mention Confederate threats to eastern Missouri as well as Cairo, Illinois. Fremont decided 

that those threats deserved the bulk of his available manpower. As such, 

Lyon was denied reinforcements for his showdown with Price. Through his 

spy network, Lyon realized that McCulloch and Price had, at the very least, 

put aside their personal dispute and by late July were jointly moving northeast toward Springfield. McCulloch viewed Lyon’s actions as a threat to 

northwest Arkansas and thus justified his advance into Missouri. The Confederates also reasoned that since the states were sovereign, Missouri was 

essentially a foreign country requesting Confederate aid against an outside 

aggressor. With this rather shaky justification, the combined force of the 

Missouri State Guard and Confederate troops was more than twice the size 

of Lyon’s. Lyon was discouraged, but not deterred.23

Lyon, determined to maintain the initiative, aimed to hit the allied force 

before it had a chance to attack him. He decided upon a very risky plan; he 

split his already inferior force in two and attempted a complicated pincer 

movement that required more competence and training than his men were 

capable of at this juncture of the Civil War. Lyon also placed Sigel in charge 

of the flanking force. The design was rather precarious, but offered great rewards. Lyon achieved surprise when he hit the enemy force on the morning 

of 10 August 1861, just outside of Springfield. Sigel’s flanking attack failed, 

and he retreated without bothering to inform Lyon. Lyon waited in vain for 

Sigel and finally fell while repelling repeated Confederate attacks on his 

position. With casualties mounting and no help in sight, Lyon’s successor, 

Major Samuel Sturgis, decided that the only recourse was retreat. The Federals retreated all the way to Rolla, Missouri. If the combined Missouri State 

Guard and Confederate force had a chance to make significant headway in 

its goal of conquering Missouri, now was the time.24

Tensions between Price’s Missouri State Guard and McCulloch’s 

Confederate forces thwarted any coherent, combined action. When Stur-
113

gis retreated to Rolla, he abandoned the interior of the state. How best to 

follow-up on the victory? Jackson and Price wanted to move north into 

the Missouri River Valley, an area called “Little Dixie,” which strongly 

supported the Missouri State Guard. There were a variety of reasons why 

the governor wanted to move to Lexington, in the heart of Little Dixie. 

First, it reconnected with recruiting grounds north of the Missouri River 

that Lyon’s initial campaign had cut off from the southern portion of the 

state. Secondly, the local banks in Lexington had 750,000 dollars in specie 

that was desperately needed by the MSG for weapons, ammunition, and 

supplies. Finally, with the loss of the interior of the state Jackson needed to 

give his supporters some hope, and flying the flag in the heart of the state 

would be a big boost to the pro-secessionist fortunes. Price also believed 

that a move was necessary to Lexington, as he believed it was the center 

of Federal power in the interior. Defeating and dispersing the Federals was 

a vital step towards reclaiming the state.25 McCulloch, the former Texas 

Ranger, did not see it that way.

McCulloch saw little benefit to moving on Lexington. Even if the 

MSG managed to recruit more men, how would they arm them? McCulloch was very critical of the MSG’s performance during the time his forces 

operated with them. The State Guard was chronically short of arms, ammunition, and supplies—even uniforms—and recruiting more men at this 

time would only exacerbate an already difficult supply situation. The time 

could also be spent drilling and training the Missouri State Guard, an effort that could mitigate a slew of discipline problems. McCulloch further 

argued that even if the MSG did capture Lexington, how could it hold the 

town or the Missouri River Valley when the inevitable Federal counter-offensive occurred?26

Price and the Missouri State Guard moved into the heart of “Little 

Dixie” and captured the town of Lexington after a three-day siege on 20 

September. While ultimately successful, the siege demonstrated that McCulloch’s concerns had merit. The MSG captured the town after cutting 

the small garrison off from water sources and relying on the ingenious 

device of using soaked hemp bales as a moving breastwork to encircle the 

Federal position. The Union defenders threw back several assaults on their 

fortifications despite their severe disadvantage in troop strength. Recruits 

did pour into Price’s lines, but as McCulloch predicted, he was forced to 

send many of them home simply because he and Governor Jackson had 

no means to outfit or feed them. Despite their success, these limitations 

forced Price and the MSG to retreat back to Cowskin Prairie with a hollow 

victory and some specie to show for their efforts.27
114

The debacle at Lexington threw the Federal command structure in 

Missouri into chaos. Blame for Lexington fell on the commander of the 

Department of the West, General Fremont, also known as “the Pathfinder” 

for his explorations of the American west. Fremont had a checkered career prior to the Civil War. The son-in-law of deceased Missouri Senator 

Thomas Hart Benton, Fremont was an explorer, a failed Presidential candidate in 1856, a dishonorably discharged US Army officer who was convicted of, among other things, mutiny during the conquest of California 

in the Mexican War, and a former Senator from California. Desperate for 

experienced military leadership at the outbreak of the Civil War, Lincoln 

recalled Fremont and awarded him a major general’s commission in the 

Regular Army.28 Unfortunately for the Union, Fremont was not up to the 

task of bringing order out of the chaos in the emerging Federal war effort. 

Lexington completed the President’s loss of faith in Fremont’s ability.29

With Fremont sidelined, Lincoln needed someone to pick up the pieces of 

the war effort in Missouri and the Trans-Mississippi.

The president decided to make a clean sweep of the command 

structure. On 9 November 1861, he created the Department of the 

Missouri which encompassed the states of Missouri, Iowa, Minnesota, 

Wisconsin, Illinois, Arkansas, and a section of Kentucky west of the 

Cumberland River.30 Lincoln assigned Major General Henry W. Halleck command of the newly-created Department of the Missouri on 19 

November. Halleck was a West Point graduate and Army intellectual 

who had left the army in 1854 and enjoyed a wildly successful civilian life in California. When the Civil War broke out, General Winfield 

Scott recommended that Halleck be made a major general and Lincoln 

agreed. Halleck finally took command of the newly-constituted Department of the Missouri in November.31

Halleck’s task was clear. He needed to bring coherence to Federal 

policy in the department. Fremont seemed awfully frenetic, but accomplished little during his tenure in Missouri. Halleck had a clear grasp of 

the strategic situation not only in Missouri, but in the Mississippi Valley in 

general. The Federal government needed to control the Mississippi River, 

not only to split the Confederacy in two, but to open avenues of advance 

into the Confederacy via the Mississippi River system. However, before 

any serious advance could be attempted down the Mississippi from the 

upper Midwest, Missouri needed to be cleared of any threat to the Federal center of gravity in the state, St. Louis. Once these defensive goals 

were accomplished, the Union could then go on the offensive and make 

their way down the Mississippi River into Confederate territory.32 Halleck, 
115

headquartered in St. Louis, did not look far to find the man to implement 

his plan for ejecting the MSG from the state.

Halleck placed Brigadier General Samuel Ryan Curtis in charge of 

the District of Southwest Missouri on 25 December 1861.33 Curtis was in 

command of Benton Barracks in St. Louis when tapped to lead the forces 

of the District of Southwest Missouri, what became the Army of Southwest Missouri, or more simply, the Army of the Southwest. Curtis graduated from West Point in 1831, left the army shortly thereafter, studied 

law, passed the Ohio bar, and served as an engineer prior to the outbreak 

of the Mexican War in 1846. Curtis accepted a colonel’s commission in 

command of the 2d Ohio volunteers and went to Mexico. He spent most of 

his time fighting guerrillas and, upon his return to the US, continued as an 

engineer before becoming involved in Republican Party politics. He was 

elected to three terms as a Republican member of the US House of Representatives from Iowa starting in 1856. He was in the midst of his third 

term in Congress when the war started in 1861. Curtis resigned his seat 

to accept election as the Colonel of the 2d Iowa, but Winfield Scott urged 

the administration to make Curtis a brigadier general of Volunteers, which 

it did on 17 May.34 When Halleck tapped Curtis to command the Army of 

the Southwest it placed Missouri’s military under the control of two West 

Point graduates; Confederate President Jefferson Davis definitely noticed.

Jefferson Davis remained concerned about events in Missouri. On 3 

November 1861, Governor Jackson signed the secession ordinance submitted to him by the rump Missouri state legislature in Neosho, Missouri. 

The Confederate government recognized Missouri’s secession in short order thereafter.35 With that formality out of the way, Davis fixed his attention on the infighting between the Missouri State Guard and the Confederate forces from Arkansas, Louisiana, and Texas. The disputes between 

Price and McCulloch became ever more personal and pointed and Davis 

was clearly not happy with the two “amateurs” running the show in the 

Trans-Mississippi. Price focused on Missouri’s liberation and generally 

ignored anything that did not involve his state. That kind of parochial 

thinking did not sit well with McCulloch, who was tasked to defend Arkansas, Texas, and the Indian Territory. Personality conflicts also drove 

the two men apart. McCulloch considered Price a political general with 

no skill who wasted the potential of the Missouri State Guard through his 

sloppiness in administrative duties and lackadaisical application of discipline. For his part, Price treated McCulloch as an inferior and was infuriated by what he believed was the latter’s lack of respect for him and his 

accomplishments.36 President Davis’ concerns about what he perceived to 
116

be a lack of professionalism in the strategic planning of the war in Missouri 

were about to be validated.

Halleck wanted to begin the campaign to clear the Missouri State Guard 

out of the state immediately. He urged Major General George B. McClellan, General-in-Chief of all Federal armies, to authorize a campaign against 

Price. Halleck eventually lost patience and authorized Curtis and the Army 

of the Southwest to begin its campaign against Price on 13 January 1862. 

A winter campaign in the Ozarks would be a daunting task. The area from 

which the Federals hoped to expel Price was rugged, hilly, and sparsely populated. Furthermore, the railroad network stopped at Rolla, Missouri, the 

launching point for the Army of the Southwest. The riverboats that supplied 

the Federals in the Missouri River Valley would also be of no use, because 

they would not be able to keep in contact with the troops. So the bluecoats 

would have to travel light and largely on foot, hauling the supplies along 

with them using horses and mules. Curtis understood the difficult task ahead 

and he reorganized the force to exert control over it and yet allow it to be 

flexible in an essentially frontier environment.37

Curtis decided to split the Army of the Southwest into four divisions. 

To defuse a potentially dicey situation, Curtis placed the two “German” 

divisions under Major General Franz Sigel. Sigel had graduated from 

the military academy in Karlsruhe, Germany, and acted as Minister of 

War for the revolutionary forces in the Revolutions of 1848. When Prussian counter-revolutionary forces crushed the rebels, Sigel left for the 

United States and proved to be adept at recruiting German-Americans, 

especially recent German immigrants to the US, for the Union cause. As 

such, the Lincoln administration believed it could not afford to alienate 

the many Germans who fought for the Union and thus kept Sigel around 

despite his military shortcomings.38 The First Division was commanded by Colonel Peter J. Osterhaus. Osterhaus came from Prussia, where 

he had received military training before supporting the Revolutions of 

1848. Upon the defeat of the revolutionaries, Osterhaus immigrated to 

the United States, and his skill at command started a meteoric rise during 

the American Civil War that culminated in his appointment to major 

general. Osterhaus would play a vital role in the upcoming Pea Ridge 

campaign, and demonstrated an ability that made him arguably the most 

successful foreign-born general on either side of the war.39 The Second 

Division was commanded by another immigrant, Brigadier General Alexander Asboth. Asboth was another refugee from the Revolutions of 

1848, but he was from Hungary. Of his division commanders, Curtis was 

most wary of Asboth’s capabilities.40
117

Curtis kept the “American” divisions under his direct control. Colonel Jefferson C. Davis commanded the Third Division. Davis was born 

in Indiana, had served in the Mexican War (1846-1848) in the 3d Indiana 

Regiment and saw action at the Battle of Buena Vista. Davis received a 

commission into the US Regular Army shortly after the termination of 

that conflict. Davis, like many Regular officers, was awarded a Colonel of 

Volunteers commission after the war broke out in 1861.41 Colonel Eugene 

Carr commanded the Fourth Division, and was probably Curtis’ ablest division commander. Carr graduated from West Point in 1850, saw action 

fighting Comanches in Texas in the mid-1850s, fought at Wilson’s Creek, 

and shortly thereafter accepted a volunteer commission as Colonel of the 

3d Illinois.42 Taken together as a group, Curtis was fortunate to have such 

talented subordinate commanders serving under him. They generally communicated well with him and each other and understood their commander’s intent. Curtis did not have to micromanage his subordinates.

With the Army of the Southwest organized, Curtis began the advance 

from Rolla with a clear mission: Destroy the Missouri State Guard Confederate forces or at least drive them out of Missouri so that they could no 

longer threaten St. Louis. Halleck ordered Curtis to march on Springfield 

and clear out the advance elements of Price’s force. The Federals began 

what became an epic march on 13 January. It took six days of hard marching to reach Lebanon, Missouri. There, the Army of the Southwest had 

approximately 12,100 men, including 9,600 infantry and 2,500 cavalry.43

It was only 63 miles from Rolla to Lebanon, but marching in winter over 

dirt roads proved to be a difficult task. The campaign was just beginning.

Curtis started the Army of the Southwest in motion on 10 February, with the aim of engaging Price’s forces that were encamped in and 

around Springfield, Missouri, 50 miles away from Lebanon. Price frantically sought reinforcements, and when he realized they weren’t coming 

he decided that the best course of action was a retreat southwest along the 

Telegraph Road toward Fayetteville and McCulloch’s forces in northwest 

Arkansas. Thus began one of the rare instances in the Civil War where one 

army hotly pursued an enemy army for a prolonged time and distance. 

Several times, the Federals came close to trapping significant portions of 

Price’s force, but each time the Confederates managed to escape. The pursuit continued across the state line, which the Unionists reached on 17 

February, still hot on the heels of the Missouri State Guard. On that same 

day, lead elements of the Federal force finally ran into a Rebel force that 

was clearly not just trying to buy time to cover the retreat. This sharp fight, 

known as the Battle of Dunagin’s Farm, proved to be significant because 
118

this was the first time that Curtis’ men ran into elements of McCulloch’s 

force. The Confederates eventually retreated, but maintained good order 

and discipline. Instead of pursuing Price’s Missourians, now Curtis faced 

the united force of both Price and McCulloch—and their combined numbers significantly outweighed the Army of the Southwest’s.44

Despite the stiffening resistance encountered at Dunagin’s Farm, the 

Federals continued their pursuit of the Confederates. The day after the fight 

at Dunagin’s Farm, McCulloch returned to his force in Northwest Arkansas. 

He was not pleased with what he found. While Price begged for McCulloch’s force to come to Springfield, he had not informed McCulloch—who 

was in Virginia fighting to keep his job against the machinations of Price and 

Governor Jackson’s lobbying of Confederate President Jefferson Davis—or 

McCulloch’s subordinates of the state of affairs in Missouri. As a result, 

neither McCulloch nor his subordinates had time to ensure that the supplies 

accumulated in Fayetteville, Arkansas, were moved south, out of reach of 

the Federals. Thus, when the Confederate retreat went through Fayetteville, 

McCulloch ordered the men to just take what they could carry and destroy 

the rest. The distribution of Confederate stores on 20 and 21 February was 

not controlled and it degenerated into what has been called the Sack of Fayetteville. Several blocks of the town of Fayetteville burned in the Confederates’ attempts to destroy surplus supplies.45

The Confederate retreat continued south well into the Boston Mountains toward Van Buren, Arkansas, and Fort Smith. Finally, they escaped 

the vigorous Federal pursuit. The Confederates stopped at Stricker’s Station on 22 February. By this time, Price and McCulloch were not even on 

speaking terms. Their feud was already public knowledge and Confederate President Davis had decided long ago that something had to be done to 

change the direction of the war north of the Arkansas River. Davis realized 

that both Price and McCulloch were popular in their respective states and 

with their men, so with the direction of the Federal war effort under West 

Point-trained officers Halleck and Curtis, Davis looked to put the Confederate war effort in the region under similar leadership.46

Finding an academy-trained officer who wanted to take command 

in this volatile situation proved harder than Davis imagined. The Confederate President’s initial choice was Colonel Henry Heth—a Virginia 

native—who was unenthusiastic about the job. Moreover, Heth was an 

unknown entity in Missouri and Arkansas, and protests there allowed Heth 

the opportunity to turn down the job without giving offense. The next 

choice was Major General Braxton Bragg. In comparison to Heth, Bragg 

was older and had much more experience. Yet, Bragg also did not believe 
119

that he would enhance his career by serving in a secondary theater where 

a lot of training, organization, and administrative work was needed. On 

10 January 1862, Davis finally settled upon another West Point graduate, 

Major General Earl Van Dorn from Mississippi. Unlike Heth and Bragg, 

Van Dorn enthusiastically accepted the job.47

On the surface, Van Dorn seemed a good choice to head the Confederate Army of the West. He had the West Point credentials that Davis craved, 

graduating in 1842. He was a Mexican War veteran who was brevetted for 

gallantry in action. He saw service after the Mexican War in the 2d US 

Cavalry, where he served under such luminaries as Albert Sidney Johnston 

and Robert E. Lee and with George H. Thomas. When the Civil War came, 

Van Dorn left the US military and joined Confederate forces. In short, Van 

Dorn exhibited an intriguing combination of dash, potential, and practical experience.48 Unfortunately for the Confederacy, the traits Van Dorn 

needed were patience, administrative skill, an understanding of logistics, 

a willingness to listen, and the ability to adapt on the fly. These were traits 

he would not exhibit during the upcoming campaign.49

Van Dorn immediately wanted to reverse Confederate fortunes in the 

Trans-Mississippi. He wasted little time in getting to know his command, 

including the two significantly different organizations commanded by 

Price and McCulloch. He believed that with his numerical superiority—a 

luxury rarely enjoyed by the Confederates in any theater—combined with 

an aggressive campaign to surprise the Federals, he could turn the war 

completely around in the Trans-Mississippi and even capture St. Louis 

and take the war across the Mississippi into Illinois.50 Speed, quickness, 

and surprise were the elements Van Dorn believed would give him a tremendous victory, as well as earn him great glory. Due to scant supplies, 

the Army of the Southwest was forced to split into two sections to better 

forage for food. The key to the entire campaign rested on whether or not 

the Rebels could capture the road junction at Bentonville that split the 

Federal force in two. Then, Van Dorn could destroy the two parts of the 

Union force in detail, capture their supplies and continue to advance into 

Missouri. If only the Federals would cooperate.51

Realizing that his already taut supply lines would not support an advance into the Boston Mountains south of Fayetteville, Curtis decided to 

take his portion of the Army of the Southwest and establish a blocking 

position just south of the Elkhorn Tavern atop a series of steep bluffs overlooking Little Sugar Creek. He ordered Sigel to move his two divisions 

west toward Bentonville along McKissick’s Creek. The elements of the 

Army of the Southwest were still within supporting distance of each other 
120

should the Confederates decide to come back north and attack the isolated, 

outnumbered Union force. The Rebel offensive was to begin immediately. 

The question was why?

There were many factors that should have given Van Dorn pause to 

wait a week or two before taking the offensive. First, the weather was still 

brutal. While spring in the Ozarks was approaching, it had not yet arrived. 

The temperatures at night fell well below freezing and there was still snow 

on the ground. Secondly, Van Dorn was still recuperating from an accident he sustained while traveling to meet the Army of the West. Van Dorn 

fell into an icy stream and battled high fever and chills throughout most 

of the Pea Ridge campaign. Rarely did a Civil War commander conduct 

campaigns while in top physical and mental condition, especially when 

one considers the relatively small size of staffs and the heavy responsibilities required. Yet, there was no pressing need for the campaign to begin 

immediately. In fact, had Van Dorn waited a week or even two it would 

have allowed him to gain a better appreciation for not only the officers 

serving under him, their relative strengths and weaknesses, but also the 

characteristics of the units that comprised the Army of the West. They, 

too, had their relative strengths and weaknesses. In addition to that, the 

elements under Price were still recuperating from their grueling, running 

retreat from Missouri. Finally, the Federals were at the end of a very long, 

and tenuous, supply line. A week or two would have strained that already 

stretched supply line even further, perhaps to the breaking point. But, it 

was not in Van Dorn’s nature to wait, it was in his nature to attack.

The Confederate offensive to conquer Missouri began on 4 March 

1862. The campaign launched in horrible weather, when a strong snow 

and ice storm moved into the Ozarks. The roads were icy and the pace that 

Van Dorn demanded was just too much to ask of his men. McCulloch’s 

force had been in winter quarters for several months and was not used to 

that kind of hard marching. Price’s men were still recovering from the retreat from Springfield. What this meant was a lot of straggling that steadily 

attritted Van Dorn’s numerical advantage. He began the campaign with 

16,000 men, but no one really knows how many he had after two days 

of hard marching.52 What proved more unsettling for Van Dorn was that 

many of the residents of northwest Arkansas were Unionists.

Van Dorn was correct in one assumption: Curtis did not expect a Confederate offensive in the awful weather. But on 5 March, Unionist civilians 

found Curtis’ headquarters and informed him that the Confederates were 

a mere 12 miles away from the Army of the Southwest and still moving 

north, hoping to gain a position between the two sections of the Federal 
121

force. Curtis realized that he was outnumbered and he quickly ordered 

Sigel to join him, concentrating the Army of the Southwest atop the bluffs 

overlooking Little Sugar Creek.53

Sigel had a lot to prove. During the Battle of Wilson’s Creek on the 

previous 10 August, just outside of Springfield, Missouri, he commanded 

the flanking force that Lyon depended upon to defeat the combined Missouri State Guard and Confederate forces. Sigel failed miserably in that 

assignment. He had a chance to redeem himself at Pea Ridge, but his performance at this crucial battle was decidedly mixed. The action at Bentonville on 6 March was not a redemption and should never have happened.

Sigel received Curtis’ message to join his force with the main body 

at Little Sugar Creek on the evening of 5 March. The following morning, 

Sigel casually started the 1st and 2d Divisions marching toward the Little 

Sugar Creek positions. But for some unexplained reason, Sigel decided 

to have breakfast in Bentonville with the rear guard of his two divisions. 

They were nearly cut off by the advancing Confederates proceeding up the 

Elm Springs Road. After a brief skirmish, Sigel’s rearguard managed to 

get away with little damage done. He had been fortunate that the exhausted Confederates did not advance more quickly and cut off a larger portion 

of his command. Had that happened, the results of Pea Ridge would most 

likely have been significantly different.54

Van Dorn’s initial bold gamble failed. The Confederates lost the element of surprise and the attempt to get between the two separate wings 

of the Federal force miscarried. Van Dorn now faced a united Federal 

force atop a strongly fortified position—and his supply situation was 

becoming increasingly desperate. Van Dorn had several options at this 

juncture: call off the offensive and return to Van Buren, Arkansas, and 

try again later; try a limited flanking march that came in on the Federals 

from the west; or roll the dice on a dramatic envelopment that brought 

the Army of the West in behind the Federals. The latter was the most 

risky, but given Van Dorn’s flair for the dramatic it should have come 

as no surprise that he chose the envelopment. And so, on the night of 

6 March, with his men already exhausted, Van Dorn sent his force on a 

road known as the Bentonville Detour to come in behind the Federals. 

This maneuver would put the Confederates behind the Federals and allow them to cut the Unionists’ long line of supply and communications 

north to Rolla. Van Dorn’s daring gambit also had a downside: It put the 

Federals on the Rebels’ line of communications and supply as well. Van 

Dorn had no choice but to defeat Curtis now. Otherwise he and the Army 

of the West would be in deep trouble.55
122

The Federals knew the Confederates were close, but what would their 

next move be? Curtis hoped that Van Dorn would attack him atop the Little Sugar Creek fortifications. Still, when Colonel Grenville Dodge, commander of the First Brigade of Carr’s Division, suggested that his men cut 

trees down to obstruct the Bentonville Detour, Curtis prudently agreed.56

While the exhausted Confederates trudged north along the Bentonville 

Detour at a snail’s pace, the obstructions slowed them even further. The 

eight-mile detour along with the Union obstructions took the lightning 

out of Van Dorn’s command. The movement was so slow that it forced 

Van Dorn to divide his force as the two sides positioned themselves for 

the first day of fighting. After conferring with his commanders, Van Dorn 

took Price’s Left Wing of the Army of the West, mainly the Missouri State 

Guard, and continued the march on the Bentonville Detour. McCulloch 

and the Right Wing were to take a short cut called Ford’s Lane and the two 

elements were to reunite the following day around noon and then attack 

the Federals in the rear.57 Once again, Van Dorn assumed the Federals 

would sit tight atop their strong position at Little Sugar Creek. Once again, 

Van Dorn was wrong.

Curtis began receiving reports that the Rebels were behind him and sent 

the First Division under Colonel Osterhaus to determine the whereabouts of 

the Confederate forces. Osterhaus moved his command north toward LeeFigure 19. Action on 7 March 1862
123

town and was amazed by the sight that greeted him: an entire wing of the 

Army of the West lay before him moving slowly along Ford Road. Osterhaus knew he was outnumbered, but he understood the situation clearly: he 

was less than two miles from the Army of the Southwest’s supply trains and 

the rear of the army as well. He would have to find some way to delay or 

stop the large force in his front. So he ordered a battery of the 3d Iowa Cavalry, under the command of Colonel Cyrus Bussey, to unlimber and open 

fire on the Confederate column, opening the fighting at Leetown. While the 

damage done to the Rebel force was light, Bussey’s battery forced McCulloch to stop and find out the size of the force on his right flank.

58

McCulloch responded decisively to this threat. He ordered Brigadier James McIntosh to disperse the Federal force to his rear. McIntosh’s 

Cavalry Brigade had plenty of men and horses to disperse Bussey’s small 

command and he sent cavalry elements as well as Native American regiments under the command of Brigadier General Albert Pike to attack the 

Unionists. The attack overran the small battery and sent the 3d Iowa flying 

southward to the Federal lines. Bussey’s men ran into and through more 

of Osterhaus’s troops moving up, specifically the 36th Illinois Volunteer 

Infantry Regiment, led by Colonel Nicholas Greusel.59 Greusel took stock 

of the situation, did what he could to stop the panicked survivors of the 

3d Iowa Cavalry, and ordered his men to take up their positions, and his 

artillery to unlimber. After roughly an hour of an uneasy quiet, Greusel 

ordered his batteries to send a few rounds over a belt of trees that lay between the Federals and the Confederates.60

McCulloch was concerned about the artillery fire his force took from 

Greusel. He did not know the size of the force, but reasoned that he 

could not leave a sizeable Federal force in his rear, so he decided to form 

the bulk of his infantry into battle formation and attack the Unionists. 

However, before he sent his men to attack the Federals, McCulloch decided to do a personal reconnaissance to see just what his men faced. He 

rode through a band of trees that shielded the two forces from each other. Unbeknownst to him, just beyond the belt of trees were skirmishers 

from the 36th Illinois. They saw a solitary figure dressed in black move 

through the belt of trees and then unleashed a volley that dropped him. 

No Confederate saw McCulloch fall. His body was not discovered by the 

Rebels until 1330—which meant that no one knew that the commander 

of the Right Wing of the Army of the West had been dead for close to two 

hours.61 When McIntosh, the next highest-ranking officer, found out that 

McCulloch was dead he decided to push forward the attack McCulloch 

had ordered.
124

McIntosh’s decision to push the attack was correct, but how he choose 

to lead it was not. He decided that instead of coordinating the attack on 

the Federals from the rear, he would lead his former unit, the 2d Arkansas Mounted Rifles, in the charge. When the 2d Arkansas Mounted Rifles 

came through the belt of trees, another group of skirmishers from the 36th 

Illinois took aim and killed McIntosh. Unlike McCulloch’s death, McIntosh fell in full view of many of his men. His death caused the attack 

to stall and eventually to turn back. The command structure of the Right 

Wing of the Army of the West was in chaos, as no one seemed to know 

what to do. Command of the Right Wing fell to the next-highest ranking 

officer, Colonel Louis Hebert.62

Hebert commanded a brigade that was the lead element on the morning march to link-up with Van Dorn at Elk Horn Tavern and it was already 

east of the Leetown Road when it stopped. After McIntosh ordered the 

attack to go forward, no one had bothered to tell Hebert that McCulloch 

and McIntosh were dead and that he was in command of the Right Wing 

of the Army of the West. So Hebert led his brigade into Morgan’s Woods 

and engaged with the Federals there. The fighting in Morgan’s Woods was 

fierce and confused, as the woods were very thick and the smoke from the 

fighting hung low and significantly hampered visibility for both sides. The 

conditions blunted the numerical superiority the Confederates enjoyed and 

the battle hung in the balance before the arrival of the Federal Third Division under Colonel Jefferson C. Davis finally ended the threat at Leetown. 

To make matters worse, Hebert and Colonel William C. Mitchell got lost 

in the thick woods and were captured by the Federals. The Confederate 

Right Wing’s command structure was falling apart as its top three ranking 

officers were, in order, killed, killed, and captured.63

The rest of McCulloch’s force, still largely intact with the exception 

of Hebert’s Brigade, essentially stood around waiting for orders that never 

came. The Confederates were not sure who was in charge and after some 

wrangling between Pike and some of McCulloch’s subordinates who did 

not trust him, the Right Wing of the Army finally started moving westward 

and eventually made a long, hard march over the Bentonville Detour to 

join Price and Van Dorn. It was late afternoon and the fighting at Leetown 

was over. The Right Wing would not see action until the following day, but 

the battle at Elkhorn Tavern was well under way.64

Curtis was apprehensive of reports of Confederates on the Telegraph 

Road, so he sent Colonel Eugene Carr and the Fourth Division to guard the 

Army of the Southwest’s supply trains, which were less than a mile south 

of Elkhorn Tavern. Carr pushed north past the old tavern and established a 
125

blocking position at that point. He was not a moment too soon, as shortly 

after Carr’s arrival, Van Dorn and Price’s Left Wing arrived and deployed 

into battle lines upon realizing that the Federals blocked Telegraph Road. 

The Left Wing suffered from serious straggling, but Van Dorn and Price 

were down to approximately 5,000 men. They still outnumbered Carr 

roughly five-to-one.65

Carr had a good view into the valley the Confederates attacked out of, 

so he knew he was seriously overmatched. With the Army of the Southwest’s wagon trains only a few hundred yards south of his position, he sent 

word to Curtis about his situation and prepared to delay the Rebels as long 

as possible. Carr was a skilled commander and he initially stymied the 

Confederate attack. However, the superior numbers Van Dorn and Price 

brought to bear eventually began to tell on Carr’s command. Still, the 

Fourth Division fought stubbornly, hoping for reinforcements while maintaining order and discipline in the face of the increasingly severe Confederate attacks. Finally, around 1730 or 1800, the Unionists retreated in 

good order. Rebel numbers were too much and Curtis had been dribbling 

units into the fight at Elkhorn Tavern to slow down the Confederates. One 

final Rebel charge to break the Federal line failed and the two sides settled 

down for the night.66

The day’s fighting had been ferocious, but there was still no clear 

victor. The Confederate Right Wing had its leadership decimated and 

throughout the night of 7 March the men trudged along the Bentonville 

Detour to join the rest of the Army of the West. The temperatures again 

fell below freezing and the men had not received food from their quartermasters. The only way most of the Confederates ate was by rifling 

through dead and wounded Federals who might have some food on 

them. The way the two respective armies spent the night of 7 March said 

much about their leadership.

Curtis spent the night repositioning and provisioning his force. He 

made sure that the supply trains were safe in the rear and he ensured that 

the men got food, water, and ammunition to renew the struggle the following day. The fighting on 7 March had been a close-run affair for the 

Federals, but Curtis kept his cool. He realized that the attacks at Leetown 

and at Elkhorn Tavern were by the entire Army of the West and the Federal commander eventually moved his force to meet it. It is not often that 

an army does a 180-degree turn to meet the enemy and still maintain its 

cohesiveness. That Curtis was able to do this and prepare his outnumbered 

force to continue the battle on 8 March said much about not only his administrative capability, but the quality of staff work being done for him as 
126

well. So while the Federals endured a cold night, most of them managed 

to get some rest, food, and replenished their ammunition.67 That was more 

than could be said for their Confederate counterparts lying several hundred yards away.

Van Dorn’s evening was not so profitably spent. He worked to prepare 

the alignment of his forces for the next day’s fight and he held conferences 

with Price and many other officers in the Army of the West. He helped 

guide elements of the Right Wing of the Army of the West into position for 

what he hoped would be the final assault that broke the Federals and scattered them across the Ozarks. Van Dorn had good reason to be optimistic 

about the continuation of the fight on 8 March: The Army of the West still 

lay astride the Federal line of supply and communication, the two separate 

Confederate wings were now rejoined and they still held a numerical advantage over the enemy.68 He and his staff, however, overlooked one rather 

important detail: Where were their own supply and ammunition trains?

The Confederates started the final day at Pea Ridge with an artillery 

barrage preparatory to an infantry assault. The Federals not only responded in kind, but with a much more intense and accurate counter barrage 

that began knocking out Rebel batteries. Van Dorn frantically called for 

the Confederate supply train to re-supply the gunners who were quickly 

running out of ammunition. That is when he learned the awful truth: the 

Figure 20. Action on 8 March 1862
127

Confederate supply train was still 12 miles away. The earliest that the extra 

ammunition could be available was probably five or six hours; Van Dorn 

and Price were floored. Their preparatory artillery bombardment failed to 

silence the Union batteries and the Federals did not appear to be making 

any preparations to retreat. Furthermore, the Army of the Southwest’s twohour barrage was one of the most effective and deadly bombardments of 

the entire Civil War. Confederate batteries and infantry formations took 

significant casualties that eroded their combat capability. Van Dorn had 

finally run out of options, so he ordered a retreat.69

Curtis sensed the declining fire from the Confederates, so at approximately 1030 he ordered the First and Second Divisions to advance. Shortly thereafter, the Third Division joined in the attack, but 

they hit the Confederates after they had already begun their retreat. 

Because the Federals attacked from west to east, they forced the retreating Confederates east along the Huntsville Road—and away from 

the route they had taken to arrive at Elkhorn Tavern via the Bentonville 

Detour. The bulk of the Confederate forces retreated eastward toward 

Huntsville, over rugged, undeveloped Ozark terrain to make their way 

back to Van Buren, Arkansas.70

The Battle of Pea Ridge, as the Federals named it, or the Battle of 

Elkhorn Tavern, as the Confederates dubbed it, was over. It was a decisive 

Federal victory. Curtis had won what was the most strategically significant 

battle fought west of the Mississippi River and the prize was Missouri. 

Van Dorn waited for the emaciated and demoralized elements of the Army 

of the West to straggle into Van Buren and he hoped to have another crack 

at the Federals. He would get it, but not in Arkansas. Instead, General 

P. G. T. Beauregard ordered Van Dorn and the Army of the West to the 

east bank of the Mississippi River to defeat the Federals in the wake of 

Brigadier General U.S. Grant’s victories at Forts Henry and Donelson in 

February. Van Dorn readily jumped at the chance and took his entire force 

east of the Mississippi. Van Dorn did not make it in time for the Battle of 

Shiloh in Tennessee on the 6th and 7th of April, but his desertion of Arkansas completed the work already begun by Curtis at Pea Ridge.71

Never again would the Confederacy have such an opportunity to lay 

claim to Missouri as it had in the last few weeks of February and early March of 1862. Rebel forces did return to Missouri in large numbers 

during Price’s Raid in the fall of 1864 and Confederate guerrillas plagued 

the state for the entire war, but with Missouri firmly under the Union’s 

control, Grant’s campaigns down the Mississippi River could proceed 

without any significant threat to St. Louis.
128

The Battle of Pea Ridge did not follow many of the same rules being 

laid down in the Eastern Theater of Operations. The new technology in the 

form of railroads was largely a non-factor out on the Arkansas-Indian Territory border. Railroads made it possible for Civil War era armies to swell 

to massive size, yet stay concentrated. The low-density population and undeveloped economic infrastructure of much of the Trans-Mississippi made 

the contesting forces operate largely as Napoleonic armies had done. The 

distances were greater, resources were scarcer, and the need for skilled 

logisticians was acute. This is an area where Federal forces held a consistent advantage throughout the war, and the Pea Ridge campaign is a good 

example of this. One of the unsung Federal heroes of the Pea Ridge battle 

was Captain Phil Sheridan, the Army of the Southwest’s quartermaster. 

Sheridan’s untiring efforts to keep the Unionists fed and equipped with 

what would be charitably called a ramshackle logistical system this early 

in the war proved to be absolutely crucial to the Army of the Southwest’s 

success despite the daunting odds. The professionalism of not only Curtis, 

but his staff and most of his division, brigade and regimental commanders 

stands in stark contrast to the amateurish Confederate logistical efforts. 

In the Trans-Mississippi, good administrative skills, ability to train and 

discipline troops and a basic understanding of logistics were as much a 

requirement as Clausewitz’s coup d’oeil. Curtis and many other Civil War 

commanders learned their basic skills in a wartime environment in Mexico 

in 1846-1848.

The Mexican War experiences of Van Dorn and Curtis proved to be 

crucial in the Pea Ridge campaign. Van Dorn saw action at the Battle of 

Monterrey, 21-23 September 1846, the siege of Veracruz, 9-29 March 1847 

and the Mexico City campaign. He received brevet promotions to captain 

and major for his actions during the Battles of Cerro Gordo, Contreras, 

Churubusco and the storming of the Belen Gate in August and September 

1847. He was also wounded twice in that period. A West Point graduate 

with such an enviable combat record would have been warmly received 

by either side in 1861.72 Yet, Van Dorn saw a lot of fighting and did little in the way of administrative work. He apparently did not learn from 

his commander in the Mexico City campaign, General Winfield Scott, the 

importance of logistics and staff work. By contrast, Curtis served as the 

colonel of the 3d Ohio Volunteers, was the military governor of Camargo 

and did not see action in any large battles. But he did manage the Mexican 

War equivalent of a forward operating base for supplies for US soldiers 

in Northern Mexico, and he dealt with civilians and guerrillas and needed 

to rely on his experience as a soldier, engineer, lawyer and politician in 
129

keeping the peace between the occupying US forces and the locals. This 

experience proved to be invaluable for Curtis as he needed to keep the supply lines open to General Zachary Taylor’s troops operating in Northern 

Mexico.73 There may not have been much glory in Curtis’ time in Mexico, 

but it certainly proved invaluable in northwest Arkansas in the early part 

of 1862.

Notes

1. David J. Eicher, The Longest Night: A Military History of the Civil War

(New York: Simon & Schuster, 2001), 39-41.

2. Eicher, The Longest Night, 58.

3. William E. Parrish, Turbulent Partnership: Missouri and the Union, 

1861-1865 (Columbia, MO: University of Missouri Press, 1963), 12-14.

4. Barry R. Sude, “Federal Military Policy and Strategy in Missouri and 

Arkansas, 1861-1863: A Study of Command Level Conflict,” (Philadelphia: Ph. 

D. Dissertation, Temple University, 1986), 1-2.

5. Parrish, Turbulent Partnership, 6-7.

6. Parrish, Turbulent Partnership, 13-14.

7. Parrish, Turbulent Partnership, 15.

8. Louis S. Gerteis, The Civil War in Missouri: A Military History (Columbia, MO: University of Missouri Press, 2012), 14-15.

9. Parrish, Turbulent Partnership, 18.

10. United States War Department, The War of the Rebellion: A Compilation 

of the Official Records of the Union and Confederate Armies (Washington, DC: 

Government Printing Office, 1880-1901), Series 3, vol. 1, 82-83. Henceforth 

referred to as the O.R.. Missouri was supposed to raise four regiments.

11. Gerteis, The Civil War in Missouri, 16-17

12. Parrish, Turbulent Partnership, 21-23.

13. Gerteis, The Civil War in Missouri, 24-25; Parrish, Turbulent Partnership, 23-24.

14. Bruce Nichols, Guerrilla Warfare in Civil War Missouri, 1862 (Jefferson, NC: McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers, 2004), 40-41.

15. Gerteis, The Civil War in Missouri, 25-26.

16. Ezra J. Warner, Generals in Gray: Lives of the Confederate Commanders (Baton Rouge, LA: Louisiana State University Press, 1999), 246-247. Originally published in 1959.

17. Mark M. Boatner III, The Civil War Dictionary (New York: Vintage 

Books, 1991), 497-498. Originally published in 1959.

18. Louis Gerteis, Civil War St. Louis (Lawrence, KS: University of Kansas 

Press, 2001), 124.

19. Gerteis, Civil War St. Louis, 34-35, 38-39. Price fell ill and went to his 

home in Keytesville to recover.

20. Warner, Generals in Gray, 200-201.

21. Warner, Generals in Gray, 36-37.
130

22. Warner, Generals in Gray, 43-49.

23. Warner, Generals in Gray, 53-57.

24. Warner, Generals in Gray, 54-73.

25. Parrish, Turbulent Partnership, 66-67.

26. Thomas W. Cutrer, Ben McCulloch and the Frontier Military Tradition

(Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 1993), 246-251.

27. Parrish, Turbulent Partnership, 67-68.

28. Warner, Generals in Gray, 160-161.

29. O.R., Series 1, volume 3, 540-549.

30. Boatner, The Civil War Dictionary, 556.

31. Ezra J. Warner, Generals in Blue: Lives of the Union Commanders 

(Baton Rouge, LA: Louisiana State University Press, 1992), 195-196. Originally 

published in 1964.

32. O.R., Series 1, volume 8, 462-463.

33. O.R., Series 1, volume 8, 462.

34. Warner, Generals in Blue, 207-208; Boatner, The Civil War Dictionary, 215.

35. Parrish, Turbulent Partnership, 34-35.

36. William L. Shea and Earl J. Hess, Pea Ridge: Civil War Campaign in 

the West (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 1992), 17-19.

37. O.R., Series 1, volume 8, 448-449.

38. Warner, Generals in Blue, 447-448.

39. Warner, Generals in Blue, 352-353.

40. Warner, Generals in Blue, 11-12; Samuel P. Curtis, “The Army of the 

South-West, and the First Campaign in Arkansas,” Annals of Iowa, 1st Series, 

volume 4 (1866), 644-645.

41. Warner, Generals in Blue, 115-116.

42. Warner, Generals in Blue, 70-71.

43. Shea and Hess, Pea Ridge, 14.

44. Shea and Hess, Pea Ridge, 27-44.

45. Shea and Hess, Pea Ridge, 45-54.

46. Shea and Hess, Pea Ridge, 17-19.

47. Shea and Hess, Pea Ridge, 19-20; Franz Sigel, “The Pea Ridge Campaign,” in Battles and Leaders of the Civil War, vol. I, edited by Robert Underwood and Clarence Clough Buel (Edison, NJ: Castle, n.d.), 319.

48. Warner, Generals in Gray, 314-315.

49. Shea and Hess, Pea Ridge, 19-23.

50. Dabney H. Maury, “Van Dorn, The Hero of Mississippi,” Annals of the 

War: Written by Leading Participants North and South (Edison, NJ: Blue & 

Gray Press, 1996), 461. Originally published in 1879.

51. O.R., Series 1, volume 8, 283.

52. Shea and Hess, Pea Ridge, 62-65; O.R., Series 1, volume 8, 283.

53. O.R., Series 1, volume 8, 297.

54. Shea and Hess, Pea Ridge, 67-70.

55. Shea and Hess, Pea Ridge, 283.

56. Shea and Hess, Pea Ridge, 197.
131

57. Shea and Hess, Pea Ridge, 284.

58. Shea and Hess, Pea Ridge, 217.

59. Shea and Hess, Pea Ridge, 217

60. Shea and Hess, Pea Ridge, 107.

61. Shea and Hess, Pea Ridge, 109-111.

62. Shea and Hess, Pea Ridge, 114-116.

63. Shea and Hess, Pea Ridge, 116-119.

64. Shea and Hess, Pea Ridge, 135-150.

65. Shea and Hess, Pea Ridge, 151-155.

66. Shea and Hess, Pea Ridge, 176-206

67. O.R., Series 1, volume 8, 201.

68. O.R., Series 1, volume 8, 284.

69. O.R., Series 1, volume 8; Maury, “Van Dorn, The Hero of Mississippi,” 

462.

70. O.R., Series 1, volume 8, 201 and 284.

71. O.R., Series 1, volume 7, 900-901.

72. Trevor N. Dupuy, Curt Johnson and David L. Bongard, The Harper 

Encyclopedia of Military Biography (Edison, NJ: Book Sales 1992), 771

73. Joseph E. Chance, ed., Mexico Under Fire: Being the Diary of Samuel 

Ryan Curtis,3rd Ohio Regiment During the American Military Occupation of 

Northern Mexico, 1846-1847 (Fort Worth, TX: Texas Christian University Press, 

1994), xi-xii.

133

Chapter 7

The Somme, 1916

Mark M. Hull

Introduction

The 141-day clash between Allied and German forces along the Somme 

in the summer and fall of 1916 is difficult to evaluate. While the surviving 

participants were perhaps too damaged for reflective analysis, the more 

distant leaders on both sides were more sanguine and certain they had 

achieved success, by whatever definition. After the war, memories of the 

event – some more accurate than others – propelled this complicated series 

of unit actions into the position it has held since: a by-word for the hemorrhage of lives for no gain, and for military leaders’ uncaring sacrifice 

of an entire generation of young men. Some more recent scholarship has 

attempted to rehabilitate the cultural legacy, arguing that from the British 

perspective, at least, the deaths of so many achieved a positive result even 

if that result was unintended or unappreciated at the time. These historians 

argue that in an attritional struggle the enemy’s manpower and resources 

must be worn down to the breaking point, and contend that the hundreds 

of thousands of German casualties on the Somme, combined with their 

staggering losses at Verdun, were integral to their defeat, even though the 

Allied victory was more than two years away. Whether or not that arithmetic comforted the families of those lost over that bloody period in 1916 is 

another issue entirely. Regardless of which interpretation is most persuasive, based on the evidence, the Somme was decisive – even if in ways the 

participants could neither predict nor afford.

The Reason Why

The Somme River Valley theater of operations stretched some 15 

miles, with the British sector neatly divided by the old Roman road that 

ran from Albert (British side of the line) to Bapaume (under German ownership). German forces occupied the key terrain feature – a ridge running 

west to east from Thiepval to Morval. The terrain was lightly wooded with 

a scattering of small villages and towns, although by 1916 the trees were 

gone and the towns were little more than standing ruins. War came early 

to these parts and stayed.

The Somme did not suddenly become a battlefield in 1916. On the 

contrary, it had been the established demarcation between German and 

Allied forces since August 1914, when the Kaiser’s army lost its mobil-
134

ity and with it, any chance of realizing the quick victory that Germany 

required. The resulting stalemate did not mean an end to aspirations of 

offensive success; as different schemes were tried throughout 1915, the 

Germans asked themselves where the Allies were vulnerable rather than if 

the war was still winnable. Chief of the German General Staff Erich von 

Falkenhayn determined that the French fortress town of Verdun was the 

new “where.” He reasoned – somewhat sensibly – that the French would 

sacrifice almost anything to hold it, and that France would be “bled white” 

in the attritional struggle that ensued.1 By the early months of 1916, although it cost the Germans almost as much as the French, Falkenhayn still 

believed he was close to realizing the strategic goal of exhausting enemy 

manpower and with it, the enemy’s political will to continue the fight. If 

the French were to survive, they required immediate assistance from their 

British allies.

With the public failure of peripheral operations at Gallipoli, the British 

returned to the continent as the main theater of operations, and prior to 

the Verdun crisis, envisioned the main attack by Commonwealth forces at 

Ypres in 1916 with the aim of reaching the Belgian coast. For a variety of 

reasons, the plan collapsed due to the inability of their Russian allies to put 

together an offensive on the Eastern Front until summer and the Belgians’ 

refusal to support operations in Flanders. By February, both British and 

French staffs had scrapped their initial plans in favor of a joint Somme 

operation in July along a broad front – and it was just then Falkenhayn 

launched the Verdun operation that forced the Allies to rethink yet again 

the questions of where, when, and to what extent.

Historians have long debated the true goals of the 1916 Somme offensive. It was at least partially designed to divert German reserves and 

thereby take pressure off the French to the southeast. But was the aim 

more ambitious than that? The commander in chief of the British Expeditionary Force (BEF), General Sir Douglas Haig, seemed of two minds. 

When writing about the upcoming operation in April 1916, he wrote that 

“I think we can do better than this by aiming at getting a large combined 

force of French and British across the Somme and fighting the enemy in 

the open!”2 This would appear to indicate unambiguously that the goal (at 

least at that time) was just that – a war-ending breakthrough that would collapse German resistance and pierce the equilibrium on the Western Front. 

His subordinate field army commanders were less optimistic, and doubted 

the chances for the rosy outcome Haig put forth. Fourth Army commander 

Lieutenant General Henry Rawlinson believed that the attack was likely to 

be “sustained over a considerable period of time” – meaning an attritional 
135

wearing out of the enemy rather than a decisive breakthrough. In response 

to this, Haig insisted, “The enemy must be beaten!” This schism of expectations between commanding general and key subordinates did not bode 

well for what was to follow. Haig was further prompted by the operational 

directive from the French Marshal Joffre, “We can envision knocking out 

the German army on the Western Front, or at least an important part of 

their forces.”3 As the time for the July offensive neared, Haig was watchful for any signs that Fourth Army’s planning embraced objectives that he 

thought too timid.4 In any event, as historian W. J. Philpott observed, “For 

Britain the Somme was a battle fought for intangible strategic gains, to 

sustain an ally as much as defeat the enemy.”5

One thing was clear – after the German onslaught at Verdun, the 

French contribution to any offensive in the Somme would be significantly 

reduced, as would the horizontal frontage of the battlespace. The British 

would not be making the push alone, but for most British units engaged, it 

would feel as though they were.6 With the Allied decision to attack and the 

general operational guidelines established, the British next had to consider 

how to best assemble sufficient manpower and material resources.

Pals

While the Somme was tragic on many levels, the first operational 

employment of the “Pals” units during the battle certainly ranks as one of 

its most poignant tragedies. Britain’s losses in 1914 alone had essentially 

destroyed the pre-war army of professionals, and in a political atmosphere which did not allow for conscription, it became necessary to rely 

on other means to fill the ranks with volunteers. The rise in overt patriotism (ably assisted by a mass-marketing campaign) helped, but continuous adjustments were necessary to insure the maximum amount of bodies 

in uniform without having to consider more draconian and politically 

unpalatable methods. Lord Kitchener is credited with the idea of the New 

Armies, that is, units raised (and named) for geographic identity such as 

the Grimsby Chums (10th Battalion, Lincolnshire Regiment) or for social 

affiliation (Public Schools Battalion – Royal Fusiliers, City of London 

Regiment) to fill the gaps in the force structure.7 The men would enlist 

together, train together, and serve together, thereby reaping the benefit of 

steadiness in combat that only strong personal ties can confer.8 At least 

that was the theory. The New Army concept was applied initially to Great 

Britain but soon spread to the remainder of the Empire and Dominions as 

casualties continued to rise throughout 1915, and the manpower shortage became ever more acute. For the Dominions’ citizens in particular, 

joining a “pals” unit was an effective way of showing loyalty to the 
136

Empire, while 

at the same 

time reinforcing 

the distinctive 

identity of a 

particular place 

within it.9 The 

British reserve 

army, called 

the Territorial 

Force, was 

also expanded 

during 1915. 

Despite the 

new measures 

and appeals 

to the spirit of 

volunteerism, 

the country was 

forced to introduce conscription in 1916, 

although the 

drafted soldiers did not arrive at the front in sufficient numbers to play a 

major role in the opening rounds of the Somme offensive. That army, the 

one soon to be tested in France, was almost entirely a volunteer citizen 

force – the modern version of the French Revolution’s levée en masse.

The Newfoundland Regiment was one such unit. Visitors to modern 

battlefields in Flanders can see distinctive “Caribou” memorials at five 

sites, mute testimony to the unit’s service and sacrifice in World War I. The 

greatest of these monuments at Beaumont-Hamel commemorates their 

role on the first day of the Somme offensive. In recognition of its bravery, 

it was the only regiment in British service honored with the addition of the 

title “Royal” during the conflict.10 Given Newfoundland’s small population (250,000 in 1917), its citizens volunteered in disproportionate numbers. Some 6,000 served in the RNR (Royal Newfoundland Regiment), 

more than 2,000 served in the Royal Navy, and thousands more served in 

the Forestry Corps.

The army component, The Newfoundland Regiment of just under 800 

men, arrived at the Somme in April and on 30 June made their way to the 

Figure 21. The Somme Battlefield
137

front line trenches in preparation for the main assault. Predicated on their 

experience in 1915, British units left behind the lines the “ten percent,” 

that portion of a regiment which would form the nucleus of a reconstituted 

unit in case of catastrophic losses.11

Preparations

British units were supported by the most extensive logistics preparation ever to accompany a field army. Still, preparing British forces for 

the battle was a daunting, perhaps impossible task. The campaign plan 

envisioned some 400,000 men in the ranks who in turn needed 100,000 

horses to haul supplies from rear echelon depots to the front lines. Men 

and horses had specific minimum daily requirements of food and water, 

and faced with the ever-present danger of reaching a logistical culmination point where the amount of food and water necessary for the draft 

animals exceeded the volume of cargo they were employed to carry. Machines of all descriptions required petroleum, oil, and lubricants; artillery 

required shells (more than a million were fired in the week preceding the 

1 July attack) and every rifle and machine gun demanded cartridges on 

a scale never imagined in the first months of the war – a conflict never 

envisioned to last for more than a couple of months.12 Even if Douglas 

Haig’s offensive succeeded, it is doubtful whether the fragile logistics 

tether could have supported any of it, particularly over roads which were 

nearly impassible from so many months of continuous shelling.

In one aspect, though, the news was encouraging. British aviation had 

spent much of 1915 on the receiving end of the “Fokker scourge” – the 

domination of the Imperial German Air Service over the Western Front, 

aided by a synchronized forward-firing machine gun that allowed a pilot 

to shoot through the propeller without unwelcome results. By 1 July 1916, 

the Royal Flying Corps managed to achieve at least air parity with their 

German opponents and were able to field an effective force of photo reconnaissance aircraft which were, in turn, supported by improved Allied 

(mostly French) fighters.13 With the addition of observation balloons to 

the reconnaissance flights, the British were better positioned to see the 

German defenses before the assault and to make tactical adjustments as 

necessary once the attack began.

The plan for the great offensive was fairly straightforward: an assault by 

four British corps (a total of 13 infantry divisions – seven New Army, two 

Territorial, and four regular) and the French Sixth Army (composed of six divisions). A week-long preparatory bombardment was to destroy German field 

fortifications, take out German artillery, kill and wound enemy personnel, and 
138

damage the morale (and hearing) of those who remained alive. Fourth Army 

– the main British attacking force – used over a thousand field guns and howitzers, 182 heavy guns, and 245 heavy howitzers.14 The French contribution 

was less – 40 howitzers and guns and an additional 60 75mm pieces reserved 

for firing gas shells. Just as vital, much of the artillery fire was designed to cut 

the enemy barbed wire entanglements to shreds, an essential component to 

the anticipated successful infantry assault. Yet, as with so many parts of the 

British plan, that aspect would fail.

Following on the initial disagreement between Haig and Rawlinson 

about the objectives and scope of the attack, the 1 July plan was further 

compromised by a difference in expectations. Rawlinson championed a 

“bite and hold” strategy which emphasized modest attacks for limited objectives, probably to a depth of no more than 1250 yards, which would be 

within effective direct-fire British artillery support. Haig, however, insisted on a 20,000 yard frontage, and called for 2500 yards of penetration, a 

demand that would prove impossible to achieve given the width and depth 

of the front and the amount of guns available.

Mining

The British also learned another lesson from 1915: subterranean warfare could substantially aid what happens on the surface. Mining (digging a tunnel to plant an explosive charge underneath the enemy lines) 

is an ancient practice but refinements in tools and techniques permitted 

the relatively static Western Front to become a virtual warren of tunnels, 

chambers, and explosives, all supported by men who spent most of the war 

underground with a high likelihood of death from cave-in or direct enemy 

action. British and Germans both used civilian coal miners as the backbone of the mining units: German miners from the Saar and Ruhr against 

the Welsh miners for the British. Military mining did not fully mature until 

1917, but a series of mines were an important part of the British plan for 

the Somme attack at Beaumont-Hamel. The Royal Engineer 252d Tunnel Company dug a passage some 1000 yards long and 57 feet below the 

key German terrain feature, the Hawthorn Redoubt. The mine chamber was 

packed with 40,000 pounds of ammonal explosive, waiting only on the start 

of the offensive to fire the electrical ignition system. In the initial plan, the 

mine was to be detonated as the troops went forward. As with other aspects 

of the operation, senior British officers disagreed over how and when to best 

employ the Hawthorn mine. General Aylmer Hunter-Weston, the VIII Corps 

commander, wanted it blown four hours before the infantry assault so that 

British troops (specifically his 29th Division) could capture the resulting 

crater and set up enfilade fire of the German trenches, and to divert German 
139

attention to this section of the line and thus give the corps attacks in other 

places a greater chance of success. British command disagreed with the 

idea of allowing the enemy so much time to respond and ordered that the 

mines could be detonated no more than eight minutes before the main 

assault at 0730. Not satisfied with that decision, Hunter-Weston managed 

to get grudging permission to blow the Hawthorn mine at 0720, at which 

time the heavy guns would cease firing and his troops should then be able 

to occupy the mine crater just in time. As it happened, that ten minutes 

would make quite a considerable difference although not in the way that 

Hunter-Weston envisioned.

The German army on the Somme had likewise learned lessons that it 

put into practice in 1916. Following their experiences at Loos and other 

battles, the fixed German positions on 1 July were of a different nature 

than constructed previously. General von Falkenhayn ordered a number of 

improvements, that were to include increased width and depth of barbed 

wire, obstacles, concrete-reinforced strongpoints, underground telephone 

lines between the trenches and artillery batteries, fixed machine guns to 

anchor the defense, and several changes to the number and nature of dugouts. While most of these were implemented by 1 July, some German positions were still situated on front slopes of high ground, making it likely 

that those troops would suffer from the kind of bombardment the Allies 

were preparing to send their way.

Figure 22. The German Front Line at the Somme River
140

At Beaumont-Hamel, the unique terrain heavily favored the Germans. 

The key to the defense was the Y-Ravine, immediately behind the forward German position, and about 500 yards from the first British trench. 

A natural gully, the Y-Ravine allowed for deep dugouts at right angles to 

the front, with entrances on the reverse side – impossible for the British 

to either see or target, regardless of the type and amount of artillery used. 

Like most of the other German fixed defenses, the Y-Ravine position was 

heavily reinforced with concrete and even had its own railway spur to ease 

resupply to the forward trenches and short-range artillery batteries.

The Assault

For the British at Beaumont-Hamel, the early morning of 1 July came 

with a mix of optimism and concern. Three regiments would attack from 

here: The Essex, The Lancashire Fusiliers, and the Newfoundland. The 

mine would go off at 0720, the supporting artillery would cease, and then 

the men would go up and over, oriented by a scraggly group of trees midway between friendly lines and the German Y-Ravine.15 Experience had 

taught them that reinforcement after a successful attack could be delayed 

so every man went over the top with a full, heavy pack loaded with extra 

ammunition, food, entrenching tool, ladders, “portable” trench bridges, 

and any other supplies that his squad might need.

The Hawthorn Mine exploded on schedule, 300 German defenders 

were vaporized, and the artillery lifted to allow British troops to take possession of the newly-created high ground over the German trenches.16 But 

they lost the fight for the crater and the German position remained intact, 

waiting on the next attack they now knew was imminent.

Planning for the best, the Newfoundlanders were to be in the second assault wave, passing through the breaches created by the 2d Battalion/South 

Wales Borderers and the 1st Battalion/Border Regiment.17 Their intent was 

to occupy the Puisieux Trench, some two miles away from the start line. 

They had trained for months on terrain similar to what they would likely 

encounter but they never got far enough for this training to be of any use. 

The combined 2d Battalion and South Wales Borderers attack was stopped 

by a murderous hail of machine gun fire from German defenders who had 

not been disoriented by either the mine or the bombardment. The Border 

Regiment met the same fate, in some cases being trapped on the portable 

bridges they brought along to enable them to cross the trenches.

The 29th Division commander, Major General Henry de Lisle, did not 

yet realize the catastrophe. He had no control over the corps’ heavy howitzers – which might have made a difference – and at this pivotal moment 
141

received a report that white flares had been spotted on the division’s right 

– the signal that the first objective was in British hands. Unfortunately, 

and unknown to de Lisle, it was actually the signal from German forward 

observers that their artillery was falling short. At 0837 hours, de Lisle 

ordered the 88th Brigade (to which the Newfoundlanders belonged) in to 

support what he wrongly believed was a British penetration of German 

trenches.

The Newfoundlanders launched at 0915 but first had to negotiate shell 

holes and some 250 yards of friendly barbed wire and obstacles, all under 

German artillery and machine gun fire, and with the flawed assumption 

that the Y-Ravine would have be clear of Germans after the Hawthorn 

Mine and earlier British attacks. Instead, the Germans in that position 

were able to pour enfilade fire to accompany the artillery and machine 

gun rounds that were already killing and maiming the Canadians as they 

cleared a low ridge. One private later recalled:

I kept my eye on the officer just ahead. He turned to wave us fellers 

on and then down he went – just as though he was bloody poleaxed. I just kept moving. I wasn’t thinking really straight. My job 

was to keep with the gun-team. ‘Don’t lose me,’ the Number One 

had said. So I kept on. And there were blokes laying everywhere.18

By 0945 hours, the Newfoundland Regiment’s attack came to a halt. 

The regimental commander, Lieutenant-Colonel Arthur Hadow, reported 

to his brigade commander that the Newfoundland effort was a costly failure. He was ordered to reform the survivors and make another attempt. 

Hadow obeyed and only a countermanding order from a corps staff officer 

prevented what could only have been a further slaughter of troops.19

The 29th Division commander likewise ordered a continued assault 

by the 4th Battalion, Worcester Regiment, but fortunately this never came 

about due to hopeless confusion in the British trenches. Although accurate casualty figures were unavailable in the immediate aftermath of the 

morning’s assaults, it was clear that they were heavy. For the Newfoundland Regiment – soon to become the Royal Newfoundland Regiment – the 

butcher’s bill was steep. Of 780 officers and men who participated in the 

attack on 1 July, only 68 were available for roll call the next morning, a 

casualty rate of 90 percent. This horrific number was only exceeded by 

the West Yorkshire Regiment, which was eviscerated during the attack 

near Fricourt on the same day.20 Every officer who went over the top became a casualty. Fourteen of them were killed, as were 129 enlisted men. 

Ninety-one men were missing and never found.21 In a letter to the Canadi-
142

an Prime Minister, Major General de Lisle noted that the Newfoundland 

attack “was a magnificent display of trained and disciplined valor, and its 

assault only failed of success because dead men can advance no further.”

The Newfoundlanders came off the line on 8 July, and Colonel Hadow 

–who had no sympathy for soldiers with shell-shock (also known as battlefield psychosis and post-traumatic stress disorder) and certainly no time to 

commiserate in any case – immediately began to reform the regiment from 

both the “tenth” that had been reserved from the 1 July attack and new 

troops arriving from Canada. Within weeks, the unit was ready to resume 

its place in the line. The Beaumont-Hamel position which the unit tried so 

desperately to take on that first day finally fell to the British in November, 

only to be briefly retaken by the Germans in March 1918.

Lessons Learned

Despite the staggering losses on that first day, political and military 

considerations made it inevitable that the British would persevere. The 

tantalizing near-success by some units on the southern portion of the British front encouraged the idea that the game could still be won under the 

right circumstances and with the right attitude. As the German offensive at 

Verdun continued, so too would the British offensive on the Somme. For 

the next ten days, the British – much to the consternation of their French 

allies – launched a series of disconnected operations that cost another 

25,000 casualties without achieving a breakthrough.

A different kind of attack on 14 July was more promising. After assembling troops in darkness and stealthily pushing them forward, the attack 

to capture Longueval Ridge began at dawn with only an intense five-minute bombardment; every yard of German trench on the narrow frontage 

received 660 pounds of explosive shell. By midmorning, all the initial 

objectives had been taken. Failure to push the units to expand the success 

and inexcusable delays in deploying the cavalry to exploit the infantry 

gains negated any lasting result. To some officers, at least, the allies had 

finally cracked the code on how to use artillery in connection with an infantry advance: not in mass quantities or along an entire front but in short, 

intense barrages on a narrow sector followed immediately by the assault. 

Sadly, these lessons were not fully appreciated by the senior command and 

disseminated to subordinate units. Throughout July and August, attacks 

continued in some parts of the sector as if they had learned nothing at all.

The Germans had suffered during the initial two weeks. They reorganized their defenses and fed reinforcements into the stressed lines, leaving the OHL (Army high command) with practically no reserves left, and 
143

forcing a premature halt to the attritional struggle at Verdun. If for no other 

reason, forcing the Germans to shift from an offensive to defensive posture on the Western front might be enough justify the view the battle of the 

Somme as an Allied operational success – although that was not the goal 

that Haig had in mind and this subtle shift of initiative was too ethereal for 

most Britons.

With the failure at Verdun and the nightmarish casualty figures that resulted, Falkenhayn was replaced in August by Paul von Hindenburg – who 

was in many ways the figurehead for his deputy, Erich Ludendorff. In addition to the shift of initiative as a result the Somme, the German conduct 

of the war evolved and the Hindenburg/Ludendorff team gradually absorbed the power that had once been the exclusive province of the Kaiser. 

Their conclusion was that due to the state of the German economy and the 

near depletion of manpower reserves, no possibility for a decisive victory 

remained on the Western front in the foreseeable future. Hindenburg and 

Ludendorff reasoned that the only chance for a German victory in 1917 

was a move akin to total war: unrestricted submarine warfare designed to 

destroy the British economy and starve the enemy into submission. They 

also enagaged in reckless diplomatic communication with Mexico offering financial aid in their efforts to reclaim lands lost in the Mexican War if 

Mexico joined the Central Powers after the US inevitably entered the war 

on the Allied side. This strategy failed in ways that made Falkenhayn’s 

missteps seem insignificant. The combination of unrestricted and wanton 

U-boat attacks on neutral shipping and the Zimmermann telegram finally 

led to the US declaration of war against German in April 1917. From that 

moment, Germany’s fate was sealed.

The Fourth Army finally had some more promising success in September at Morval. They used a creeping barrage, with the frontline troops 

moving forward just behind the shell impacts. The objectives were limited and these were accomplished by units of the XV and XIV Corps. 

They could not, however, effect more than an incremental change in the 

front lines, capturing a maximum of 2000 yards in depth but no farther. 

The British hoped for better results starting on 13 November when Fifth 

Army began operations in the northern sector that had seen the worst of 

the fighting on 1 July. Beaumont-Hamel was included among the operational objectives for the first time since that earlier bloodbath. This time, 

though, the artillery-infantry coordination was based on lessons learned 

since, and another Hawthorn Mine was ready for detonation. This attack 

was carried out by the 51st (Highland) Division, followed by the capture 

of Beaucourt by the men of the 63d (Royal Naval) Division.22 While the 
144

November operations did not by any means crack the front – and indeed, 

if anything reinforced the idea that a pure breakthrough might never happen – those operations proved that the British had improved and learned 

effective combinations that would result in incremental gains against the 

German army. Like Verdun, it was a campaign of attrition but at least the 

math now favored the Allies in France.

Conclusion

What did it cost and what did it achieve? Total Allied losses for the 

campaign were 623,000 while German losses (estimated) ran to about 

500,000.23 Some Allied units during the summer offensive seized a few 

miles of German-held territory but many units made few, if any gains. 

Most typically, such success as they achieved was fleeting – enemy positions taken by the British were soon recaptured by German counterattacks.24 The question was never whether to attack because that decision 

made itself; the British and French sustained heavy daily losses from German artillery even in a pure defensive posture, although they gave as good 

as they got. Attempts to circumvent the Western Front stalemate (e.g. Gallipoli) floundered and unless decisive victory was achieved, it was possible 

– perhaps even likely – that their own war-weary, economically-strained 

populations would demand an end to the war at any price. The French crisis at Verdun was part of the decision to launch the Somme offensive, but 

an offensive somewhere along the front was inevitable, whether the Germans attacked Verdun or not. Germany had to be beaten, and the offensive 

was the only logical way to achieve that in the short term.

The British learned lessons on the Somme that were later applied in 

Western Front actions that proved decisive, to the extent that anything on 

that front was every truly decisive until the internal collapse of the German 

army in 1918. British tanks (model Mark I) made their first appearance on 

the Somme in September 1916, although their combat record was inauspicious and heralded little of what these clunky and clumsy machines would 

achieve by 1918. Artillery shells and fire control techniques improved substantially as a result, although the failure rate (easily one-third) remained 

alarmingly high.25

The important question then is why continue with the attacks after 1 

July when it was, or should have been, apparent to everyone in the Allied 

command structure that no significant breakthroughs were made and that 

their men were being killed and wounded in overwhelming numbers. There 

is no easy answer. While the battalion and brigade commanders closer to 

the front understood the situation rather more clearly, the picture at divi-
145

sion, corps, and army level was more opaque. Certainly, some units did 

push into the German lines, so perhaps their success could be replicated if 

only the right mix of artillery, infantry, and subterranean mining could be 

properly coordinated – and this seems to be exactly what happened in the 

auspicious attack on 14 July and in the final attacks in November. And in 

any case, the Allies were convinced that the Germans must have sustained 

significant casualties from the pre-attack bombardment, and that German 

capability could not help but be degraded. Accordingly, German reserves 

intended for Verdun would have to be rerouted to stop the Allies attack 

on the Somme. These estimates were partially correct, and partly wishful 

thinking.

Of course, the Allies won the Great War, more than two years after 

the Somme offensive. Did the Somme play a vital role in that success? 

Was this an important aspect of the attritional struggle that collapsed the 

German army in October and November 1918? Did the more than 19,000 

men who died on 1 July alone contribute to that first V-E day? How should 

we interpret the greater meaning of what happened on the Western Front 

in 1916? Unfortunately, none of these questions have a satisfying answer, 

and perhaps that is why our cultural memory of this long-ago event is so 

ambiguous. For understandable reasons, the British have faithfully kept 

the traditions of memorializing World War I. Remembrance Day, marked 

by displays of poppies and dignified public ceremony, has a somber connection to what happened in France in 1916. Selfless service and heroism 

are recognized from a war now removed from personal memory. Rightly 

or wrongly, 11 November also brings with it hazy images of a command 

being given, a whistle blowing, lines of brown-uniformed men slowly 

climbing ladders, going over the top of the trenches, all heading for a certain, futile death. The Somme has become the centerpiece of that cultural 

narrative. The truth here, as with most things, probably lies in the middle. 

A fair assessment is that the Somme was a necessary and painful place of 

transition from the Allied army that often floundered in the first two years 

of war to the Allied army that was qualitatively and quantitatively superior 

to its German opponents by 1918. That transition came at a terrible cost 

but was nonetheless a decisive pivot from what had come before and the 

more effective things that would eventually come after.

Visitors to the battlefield should take time to see the Thiepval Memorial to the Missing of the Somme, located a few kilometers southwest 

of the site of the original village, which was destroyed during the war, in 

the Somme Department of the Hauts-de-Fance region in Northern France. 

Dominating the high ground near Beaumont-Hamel, it towers over the 
146

fields which saw so much death in the summer and autumn of 1916. It 

would be natural for strangers to assume that the 72,195 names carved 

all around the massive granite pillars are those of the dead, but they are 

not. They are the names of the missing: only British, Commonwealth, and 

South African, and only from the Somme. Their moment of sacrifice and 

significance in 1916 came at a human and emotional cost that modern descendants can no longer fathom.

Notes

1. This leaves aside the strategic and operational wisdom of initiating an attritional battle with an army which was designed for quick decision, not the Ermattungskrieg – “war of exhaustion” – that Falkenhayn apparently desired at Verdun.

2. W. J. Philpott, Three Armies on the Somme: The First Battle of the Twentieth Century (New York: Knopf, 2009), 106.

3. Philpott, Three Armies on the Somme, 119.

4. Peter Hart, The Somme: The Darkest Hour on the Western Front (New 

York: Pegasus, 2008), 67.

5. W. J. Philpott, Anglo-French Relations and Strategy on the Western 

Front, 1914-18 (London, 1996), 128.

6. Robin Prior and Trevor Wilson, The Somme (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2005), 29.

7. The Grimsby Chums attacked at La Boisselle on 1 July 1916 and were 

decimated. 810 soldiers from this battalion died during World War I.

8. In speaking of one of the first of these units, Lord Derby remarked, “This 

should be a battalion of pals, a battalion in which friends from the same office 

will fight shoulder to shoulder for the honour of Britain and the credit of Liverpool.” http://www.theliverpoolpalsmemorialfund.com/history.php

9. Britain alone created 142 locally raised “pals” battalions and 68 local 

reserve battalions. E. A. James, British Regiments 1914-18 (London: Samson 

Books Ltd., 1978).

10. Newfoundland was a self-governing colony during World War I. It was 

united with Canada in 1949.

11. Nigel Cave, Beaumont Hamel: Newfoundland Park (London: Leo Cooper, 1994), 58. Experience at Loos in 1915 also ended the practice of regimental 

commanders going “over the top” with their men. Significant losses in command 

personnel resulted in units being practically leaderless after the initial waves. 

Accordingly, higher-level commanders were to wait until the enemy trenches 

were secured before joining their soldiers.

12. The British and Germans were right about artillery, at least in the sense 

that shrapnel caused almost 60 percent of the wounds suffered in World War 

I, rifle and machine guns another almost 40 percent with the bayonet – that 

weapon so beloved by those that advocated the aggressive and offensive infantry 

spirit – causing less than 1 percent (Cave, Beaumont Hamel, 101)
147

13. British fighter aircraft designers had yet to produce anything to rival the 

German Fokker and Albatros models but the French Nieuport 11 proved effective as operated by the RFC.

14. The heavier guns remained under the control of the Corps and Army 

level. This meant a significant delay for fire requests passed along from battalion 

or brigade units. If the batteries were supporting another sector or engaging in 

counter-battery fire against German artillery, units could wait in vain for friendly 

artillery to arrive or shift to new targets as the changing situation demanded. 

Also, given the shell hole-littered terrain, it was impossible for the artillery to 

move forward across the front lines to keep up with advancing units.

15. “The Danger Tree,” remains at the Beaumont-Hamel battlefield today.

16. George Malins took what is certainly one of the most iconic moving 

film images of all time, the Hawthorn Mine explosion. Malins was one of a 

small group of war photographers and had received permission from the 29th 

Division to operate with units on 1 July. His still photos of the Lancashire Fusiliers getting ready to attack are equally evocative.

17. Under its earlier regimental incarnation, the 24th Regiment of Foot, this 

unit took part in the Zulu War (1879), most famously at Rorke’s Drift where its 

men were awarded 11 Victorian Crosses.

18. Cave, Beaumont Hamel, 63.

19. Cave, Beaumont Hamel, 64.

20. Gerald W. L Nicholson, The Fighting Newfoundlander Carleton Library 

Series 209 (Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2007), 274. The dead 

included two sets of brothers, and one family lost four cousins killed.

21. In the aftermath of the assault, the Germans and British had an informal 

truce to allow medical parties to recover the wounded and dead.

22. Prior and Wilson, The Somme, 294-9.

23. Philpott, Three Armies, 519.

24. The German doctrine of counterattack was still in the development stage 

but would eventually evolve into a system by which the front positions were less 

heavily defended, with the decisive action to take place during the counterattack 

phase, well beyond the effective range of Allied artillery. By 1917, the Germans 

had mastered the techniques of indirect artillery fire which, in turn, accounted 

for some of their initial success in the “Ludendorff offensive” (actually Operation Michael) in March 1918.

25. Tim Saunders, West Country Regiments on the Somme (Philadelphia: 

Casement, 2003), 63. The high failure rate was largely due to unskilled factory 

workers necessarily brought in for the war effort and the sheer volume of shells 

(a billion for just Great Britain and Germany alone) needed.

149

Chapter 8

Operation ARGUMENT

“Big Week,” February 20-25, 1944

John M. Curatola

 The United States Army Air Corps (USAAC) developed the idea of 

daylight precision bombing during the interwar years of the 1930s. The 

concept was an elegant idea that hoped to bring victory earlier, cheaper, 

and without the long bloody stalemate experienced during the First World 

War. The USAAC based this concept on the idea that a modern industrial 

military power had various points of vulnerability. If these points of vulnerability were identified and targeted correctly, the enemy nation’s military would suffer from a lack of infrastructure and war material. Simultaneously, with the bombing of civilians, a steep decline in national morale 

would also result. While the First World War offered scant evidence to 

prove this contention, as aircraft performance grew during the 1920s and 

1930s, air minded officers in both Great Britain and the United States saw 

great promise in the concept of strategic bombing.

 At the Air Corps Tactical School (ACTS) at Maxwell Field, Alabama, 

officers began to outline the doctrinal precepts of daylight precision bombing. By 1935, ACTS solidified ideas regarding the use of strategic bombing by arguing “the principal and all important missions of air power when 

its equipment permits is the attack of those vital objectives in a nation’s 

economic structure which tend to paralyze the nation’s ability to wage 

war and thus contribute to the attainment of the ultimate objective of war, 

namely the disintegration of the will to resist.”1 However, while targeting 

the production facilities of an enemy nation, ACTS doctrine did not subscribe to the idea of wanton killing of civilian populations. In trying to 

maintain a moral high ground, the USAAC argued that the “direct attack 

of civilian populations is most repugnant to our humanitarian principles 

and certainly it is a method of warfare that we would adopt only with great 

reluctance and regret.”2 As a result, for the Americans, the strategic bombing of the enemy nation did not need to be wholesale, but had to be aimed 

directly at the key components of the industrial base.

 Also in 1935, the prototype B-17 “Flying Fortress” strategic bomber 

took to the air and promised to fulfill the Air Corps doctrinal precepts. 

With its four Wright Cyclone 1820 engines producing 1200 horsepower 

(HP) each, the plane had a range of 2000 miles, and could carry five tons 

of bombs. The “Flying Fortress” got its name as it eventually bristled with 
150

ten .50 caliber machine guns that would protect the plane as it flew over 

enemy territory. By 1941, the USAAC bomber fleet also began to include 

the B-24 “Liberator” that used four Pratt and Whitney Twin Wasp engines 

producing 1000 HP each, had a range just over 2000 miles, and could carry 

ten tons of bombs. Like the B-17, the Liberator also had ample defensive 

armament and carried ten .50 caliber machine guns.

 In addition to these two airframes, and key to the idea of precision 

bombing, the USAAC also procured the Navy-developed Norden Mark 

XV bombsight. The Mark XV could supposedly place 90 percent of bombs 

dropped from an airplane and have them land within one mile of the aim 

point with 40 percent landing within 500 yards. The marriage of the B-17 

and B-24 with the Norden sight promised a formidable combination to the 

proponents of strategic bombardment.

 When the United States finally entered World War II, the renamed US 

Army Air Force (USAAF) was eager to test its new strategic bombing doctrine and provide proof of the efficacy of airpower. The 8th Air Force began flying strategic bombing missions out of England in August 1942 and 

was complemented in the role by the 15th Air Force flying out of bases in 

the Mediterranean by November 1943. However, once the USAAF bomber fleets took to the European skies, the strategic bombing effort failed to 

meet initial expectations. Overcast clouds and weather often precluded the 

precision bombing patterns the USAAF expected as bombardiers could 

not see their targets and high level winds also affected bombing accuracy. 

Bombing from altitudes of 20,000 feet, early raids placed an average of 

only 20 percent of bombs within 1,000 feet of the target area.3 Compounding the weather problems, aircrews also had to deal with the Luftwaffe’s 

extensive Flak (antiaircraft) defenses placed at strategic locations. Flak

was a chief source of stress for aircrews, particularly during bombing runs; 

B-17s and B-24s were required to fly straight and level to accurately drop 

their bombs on the target. One crewman admitted, “Flak scared the hell 

out of me. When it burst around us I stood in my turret and cringed and 

shivered.”4

 In addition to the weather and the Flak, bomber crews found that they 

were also easy prey for the German ME-109 and FW-190 single engine 

fighters that regularly challenged the bombing formations as they flew 

over the Third Reich. Despite the defensive firepower of the B-17 and 

B-24, the German fighters were too quick and their attacks too furious 

for the USAAF bomber crews and their handheld machine guns. Despite 

wild claims of the bomber’s gunners as to the number of Luftwaffe fighters shot down, the USAAF began losing crews at an alarming rate. Loss 
151

rates for 1943 hovered around 8 to 10 percent of the bombing force for 

a given mission. While aircrew were required to fly 25 missions before 

rotating back home, it did not take long for the men to realize that, statistically, they would never make it to the end of their tours. The odds of 

survival, given the 8 to 10 percent loss rate, meant that an individual crewman would be lost, killed, or captured somewhere around his 10th to 12th 

combat mission. In the first ten months of operation, the 8th Air Force lost 

188 bombers and approximately 1,900 crewmen.5 These numbers meant 

that 73 percent of combat fliers who arrived in Great Britain in mid to late 

1942, failed to complete their assigned tours.6 The prewar doctrine that 

promised precision was only tested over the clear and peaceful skies of the 

United States. However, the war torn-condition over Europe proved to be 

a very different and difficult environment. One USAAF officer quipped, 

“there is a lot of difference between bombing an undefended target and 

running a barrage of six-inch shellfire while a swarm of pursuit [fighters] 

are working on you.”7

 Another problem with the American doctrine was that it neglected the 

requirement for long range fighter escort for the bombing fleet. Believing 

that the bomber’s own defensive armament would be enough to fend off 

enemy attacks, the USAAF failed to develop a fighter plane that could 

escort the slow and lumbering bombers to and from the target areas. Once 

the USAAF realized the need for fighter escort, developing that capability 

also proved to be problematic. The primary USAAF fighter until January 

1944 was the P-47 “Thunderbolt.” The plane was powered by a powerful 

R-2800 Pratt and Whitney 2,500 HP engine. Armed with eight .50 caliber 

machine guns, the P-47 was surprisingly nimble despite its short, stubby 

appearance. However, with its own internal fuel tank, the P-47 could only 

fly 230 miles – as far as Antwerp or Amsterdam – hardly sufficient range 

to protect the bomber formation during a mission deep into Germany. In 

August 1943, P-47s equipped with a 108 gallon belly fuel tank could provide fighter escort duties for the bombers as far as 375 miles. This meant 

that once the bombers flew as far as Bremen, the P-47s had to return to 

base and leave the bombers naked to the German defenses. As a result, 

Luftwaffe fighters needed only to wait until the P-47s returned to base to 

then begin their attacks on the hapless bombers. Even with the introduction of a 150 gallon belly tank, or use of two 108 gallon tanks, the P-47s 

could still only escort the bombers some 475 miles, as far as cities such as 

Frankfurt or Hamburg.

 Technology was not the only limitation to the American problem. 

American doctrine at the time required the fighter escort to remain with 
152

the bomber formation in order to provide maximum defensive power. The 

1942 Army Air Force Manual 1-15 stipulated that “Their [fighter aircraft] 

mission precludes their seeking to impose combat on the other forces except as necessary to carry out the defensive.”8

 As a result, the individual 

fighter pilot was hamstrung as to his ability to pursue and destroy enemy 

fighters as they slashed their way through the bomber formations. When 

Jimmy Doolittle replaced Ira Eaker as the commander of the 8th Air Force 

in January 1944, he changed fighter applications and did away with the defensively minded tactics of his predecessor. To Doolittle, “the role of protecting the bombardment formation should not be minimized [but] fighters 

should be encouraged to meet the enemy and destroy him rather than be 

content to keep him away.”9

 After taking command, Doolittle walked into the office of the VIII 

Fighter Command and saw a sign that read, “The First duty of the Eighth 

Air Force Fighters is to bring the bombers back alive.”10 Doolittle asked 

General William Kepner, the new Commander of VIII Fighter Command, 

“Bill, who dreamed that up?” Kepner replied, “it was here when we arrived.” To this Doolittle replied, “Take that damn thing down and put up 

another saying ‘The first duty of the Eighth Air Force is to destroy the Ger-

•Antwerp

North Sea

• Bremen

•

Munich

• Stuttgart

Frankfurt•

• Hamburg

• Berlin

• Laipzig

Paris

Prague

Vienna

London

New Market

English

Channel

2 x 108 gal Wing Tanks

0 50 100 150 mi

Escort Ranges

for the

P-38 and P-51

P-38

P-51 Baltic Sea

Figure 23. Escort Ranges for the P-38 and P-51

N
153

man fighters.’”11 Doolittle continued “We’ll still provide reasonable escort 

for the bombers, but the bulk of the fighters will go out hunting ‘Jerries.’ 

Flush them out in the air and beat them up on the ground on the way home. 

Your first priority is to take the offensive.”12 Kepner and his fighter pilots 

were happy to comply.

 Toward this end Doolittle instituted a policy called “ultimate pursuit” and 

turned fighter doctrine on its head.13 He directed that the fighter escort turn into 

the aggressors and attack enemy fighters instead of just counter attacking. VIII 

Fighter Command pilots were now authorized to pursue and destroy the enemy.14 This change in doctrinal thought translated into different tactics for the 

escorting fighters. In late January USAAF fighters began to spread out about 30 

miles wide and with lead elements ahead of the bomber formations.15 Fighters 

provided “area coverage” for the heavy bomber formations and not the usual 

“close coverage” that restricted offensive action. Each fighter group designated 

one of its three squadrons to be the “bouncing squadron” that could be released 

to seek and destroy enemy aircraft not operating around the bomber formation.16

If no enemy approached, a majority of the fighters were allowed to search the 

flanks of the bomber formations at all altitudes. If no enemy aircraft still presented themselves, the American fighters were free to go look for targets of opportunity.17 As a result American fighters were now on the hunt.

 In addition to the offensive mind set, the USAAF also targeted the 

weakest link in the Luftwaffe—its ability to man its defensive fighter force 

•

Antwerp

Bremen•

• Munich

•Stuttgart

• Frankfurt

Hamburg

• Berlin

•Leipzig

Paris

London

New Market

English

Channel

•

North Sea Baltic Sea

475mi Feb 1944

0 50 100 mi

Escort Ranges

for the P-47

Initial Range P-47

& RAF Spitfire

Figure 24. P-47 Ranges

N
154

with adequately skilled pilots. The manpower demands of the war placed 

a huge strain on the German population. In addition to having to mobilize 

its population, training was also required. This was especially problematic 

for the Luftwaffe as skilled airmen were in short supply as the war dragged 

on. Many of Germany’s best pilots remained in combat for years with 

several meeting their fate at the hands of the Allied air forces. Seasoned 

fighter pilots were becoming a scarce commodity and the Luftwaffe could 

ill afford to pull these experienced pilots off the front lines and turn them 

into flight instructors. As a result, newly minted Luftwaffe pilots lacked 

the skill and finesse required to take on the ever increasing Allied threat. 

As Allied airpower matured, so too did its ability to mobilize and train 

aircrews for combat. In his 1944 New Year’s message to his field commanders, USAAF Chief “Hap” Arnold tasked his airmen to “destroy the 

enemy air forces wherever you find them, in the air, on the ground, and 

in the factories.”18 In this vein, and as a result of the Allied superiority in 

both men and machines, mass and attrition were now becoming elements 

of the air war.

 In addition to the doctrinal change, the American air forces also received a new technological advantage. The P-51 “Mustang” single engine 

fighter was arriving at operational units in late 1943. Carrying six .50 caliber machine guns and powered by a Merlin Packard V-1650 engine that 

boasted some 1,700 HP, the plane had both firepower and performance. 

When the streamlined P-51 was fitted with long range fuel tanks, the maneuverable fighter could travel some 850 miles and escort bombers as far 

as Vienna. Prewar technological blinders precluded the development of a 

long range fighter that would have the maneuverability to hold its own in 

aerial combat. Engineers thought that in order to have a long range fighter, 

it would require two engines and a huge fuel tank that would subsequently 

make the plane a sitting duck to single engine defensive fighters. The P-51 

broke that paradigm and had both the range and maneuverability needed 

to best the German defensive fighters. By 1944, the American bombers 

had effective fighter escort to almost any target over Germany. The speed, 

range, and maneuverability of the P-51 combined with the new tactics was 

a “game changer” in the air war.

 As 1943 closed, the US air fleet in Europe was growing in size and 

capability. Following Arnold’s dictates, planners focused the growing 

American air armada directly on the German Luftwaffe and its supporting 

aviation industry. In order to establish air supremacy for the upcoming 

OVERLORD cross channel invasion, the Allies needed to attrite the Luftwaffe and remove it as a threat to the amphibious assault and subsequent 
155

operations ashore. Operation ARGUMENT was the plan specifically designed to attack high priority German aircraft industry targets such as final 

assembly plants, anti-friction bearings, and component part manufacturing 

plants. In addition, the plan was designed to force the Luftwaffe into a 

decisive fight and grind the German air force down through attrition. ARGUMENT was a week long campaign aimed at the major German aircraft 

industries that utilized both the 8th and 15th Air Forces in the daytime and 

leveraged help from the Royal Air Force’s Bomber Command at night. 

This operation was designed to be a “maximum effort” for the Allied air 

forces and as was looked upon as the climactic moment in the European 

air war.

 With a plan in place, what the Allies needed now was clear skies over 

Europe to begin the aerial assault. Good weather was not just required 

over the 8th Air Force bases in East Anglia, but also over the target areas in Germany. In order to help determine when ARGUMENT could be 

launched, Arnold sent pioneering meteorologist Dr. Irving Krick to Europe to help determine when a high pressure pattern would move into the 

region proving good weather for the operation. On 18 February 1944, Dr. 

Krick saw a high pressure system over the Baltic and Ireland promising 

a good weather pattern over Germany starting on the 20th.19 However, 

the down side was that Krick also predicted overcast for much of East 

Anglia. As a result, a decision was needed as to when to launch to aerial 

offensive. Despite protestations from other air commanders regarding the 

weather conditions, on Sunday morning General Fred Anderson, Deputy 

Commander for Operations for US Strategic Air Forces (USSTAF) and 

chief planner for ARGUMENT, considered the situation and eventually 

issued the order to conduct the operation starting 20 February. Anderson 

was ordering, for the first time, more than a 1,000 US bombers over the 

Channel to bomb Nazi Germany. He recorded his decision simply in his 

diary by writing, “Let ‘em go.”20

Day 1

 Operation ARGUMENT became known as the “Big Week” and targeted the large Me-109 fighter assembly plant at Leipzig, the Ju-88 factory at Bernberg, a wing assembly plant at Halberstadt, Messerschmitt 

component factories at Regensburg and Brunswick, and final assembly 

plants at Gotha and Augsburg. Additionally, many other smaller assembly 

plants and factories were also included in the target list. On the first day, 

20 February, the 8th Air Force sent its bombers to Germany targeting aircraft production plants at Leipzig, Gotha, and Brunswick that produced 

Me-109s, FW-190s, and Ju-88s. In addition to the bombers, VIII and IX 
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Fighter Commands, with accompanying RAF Squadrons, sent some 73 

P-51s, 94 P-38s, and 668 P-47s to hunt for the Luftwaffe.21 The 15th Air 

Force was still committed to operations in the Mediterranean during the 

initial sorties and did not launch any planes in support of ARGUMENT 

until 22 February.

 Six bomb wings headed to targets to northern Germany while ten 

bomb wings headed to Germany’s industrial heartland in the south. The 

northern force flew unescorted while the southern force had fighters accompanying the armada. The USAAF hoped that by splitting the bombing force, the Luftwaffe might focus their fighter’s efforts on the southern 

force leaving the unescorted northern force unmolested. The American 

ruse worked relatively well, except that the German fighters pounced upon 

3d Bomb Division in the north, near the coast of Denmark. Americans 

were attacked by twin engine and single engine fighters firing rockets and 

20mm cannons. As a result of this initial fray, two B-17s were downed. 

Figure 25. Main USAAF targets 20-26 February 1944

•

• •

•

•

• •

•

•

•

• •

• •

Rostock

Tutow

Diepholz

Brunswick

Halberstadt Bernberg

Aschersleben

Leipzig

Gotha

Schweinfurt

Furth

Regensburg

Stuttgart

Augsburg

Steyr

France

Great Britain

Netherlands

Belgium

Spain

Germany

Italy

Switzerland

Poland

Slovakia

Hungary

Yugoslavia

Mediterranean Sea

Corsica

Sardinia

North Sea

Baltic Sea

Adriatic Sea

N
157

The Division continued to its primary targets. Included in the target were 

Luftwaffe facilities at Tutow, the Kreising airfield and factory near Posen, 

and as secondary targets the towns of Stettin and Rostock, home of Heinkel aircraft factories. However, the clear weather the northern force was 

expecting failed to materialize and many bombers dropped using radar 

bombing methods through the under cast with generally good results.

 The 1st Bomb Division’s target in the southern force was the many 

aircraft plants and subcontractors in and around the town of Leipzig. Defended with some 1,200 Flak batteries the town was a hub of the German 

aircraft industry. Despite the German defenses, the bombers were met by 

clear air and dropped their bombs with great accuracy. The 2d Bomb Division in their B-24s headed for production facilities in Brunswick producing engines for FW-190s and for armored vehicles. The southern force hit 

eight aircraft factories and 11 industrial plants. Post war analysis showed 

that Ju-88 production was delayed for a month, with 32 percent of Me-109 

production capacity also damaged.22 In addition to the bombing, the American fighters claimed 61 Germans for a loss of four of their own. However, 

in the aerial duels, 21 heavy bombers were shot down.23

 In addition to the material damage, extreme bravery was a part of the 

operation as two separate actions occurred that first day resulting in the 

awarding of three Medals of Honor. Lieutenant William Lawley of the 

305th Bomb Group was in the raid over Leipzig when his B-17 was attacked by approximately 12 German fighters. As a Luftwaffe fighter made 

a head on pass at the bomber, the German pilot fired his 20mm cannon and 

hit the cockpit area of the B-17. The 20mm strike hit Lawley’s co-pilot, 

Lieutenant Paul Murphy, in the face, spraying blood and flesh in the cockpit area. Murphy’s body slumped forward and fell over the B-17s control 

yoke forcing the bomber into a dive. The plane was at an altitude of 28,000 

feet and spiraled down to 12,000 feet before Lawley was able to remove 

Murphy’s body from the control column with his right arm and steady the 

plane with his left. Others in the group observing the plane reported that 

the crew had spun to their deaths. It was not until after he arrested the dive 

when Lawley realized he too was badly injured in his right arm.

 With the damage in the cockpit, the bomber also had one engine on 

fire and was riddled with damage from multiple enemy attacks. Wiping the 

blood and flesh from the remaining windshield and cockpit instruments, 

Lawley leveled the ship and ordered the crew to bail out. The flight engineer made it out of the crippled plane, however, the radio operator reported that the two waist gunners were injured and could not jump. As a result, 

Lawley decided to fly the plane for the five hour return trip to England. 
158

At one point the plane’s bombardier made his way to the flight deck and 

asked the injured pilot “Can we make this thing fly?” Lawley replied dryly “I don’t know. We’ll try.”24 Fighting to stay conscious from his own 

injuries and with freezing air hitting him in the face through the damaged 

windscreen, Lawley and his crew reached England. Flying at only 1,500 

feet and with only one engine operating, Lawley found the nearest airfield. 

When the landing gear failed to cycle down, Lawley made a crash landing 

on the grass next to the landing strip at the Canadian air base at Redhill. 

Skidding to a stop, all the men aboard the plane survived—except for the 

co-pilot who had died over Leipzig. In 1999, one of the surviving crewmen visited an elderly Bill Lawley. The pilot’s hands were now crippled 

by age and arthritis. Despite Lawley’s arthritic disfigurement, the crewman studies the aged pilot’s hands and remarked “They’re beautiful. They 

saved my life.”25

 A second action occurred in the 351st Bomb Group flying also as part 

of the 1st Bomb Division’s Leipzig raid. A B-17 named “Ten Horsepower” 

in the “tail end Charlie” position of the bomber formation was attacked by 

a Me-109 also firing directly into the B-17’s cockpit. The resulting explosion decapitated copilot, Ronald Bartley, and inflicted significant injuries 

on pilot Dick Nelson’s head and arm and he fell unconscious. As a result 

of the attack the bomber went into a spiraling dive from 20,000 feet until 

flight engineer Carl Moore took control of the plane and arrested the spin 

at about 5,000 feet. Ball turret gunner Staff Sergeant Archie Mathies made 

his way to the flight deck and helped remove Bartley’s body from the 

co-pilot seat, then took over control from Moore. Realizing that Nelson 

was still alive despite his injuries, the men decided to leave the pilot in 

place in order to avoid injuring him further. Navigator Lieutenant Wally 

Truemper made his way from the bomber’s nose compartment to the blood 

splattered flight deck. Recognizing that the plane was largely still intact 

despite the cockpit’s condition, the two men decided to fly the bomber 

back to England. Luftwaffe fighters continued to attack the wounded 

bomber, but it remained airworthy.

 Mathies and Truemper had enough basic flight training knowledge 

and steered the bomber on a northwesterly course. The two men swapped 

control responsibilities as the freezing wind rushed into the cockpit. Eventually the plane made its way to its home base at Polebrook. Contacting 

the home tower, the navigator asked for landing instructions. The group 

commander told the surviving crew members to bail out of the aircraft 

as it overflew the field at a safe altitude. He also instructed Mathies and 

Truemper to fly the plane toward the North Sea and bail out over the wa-
159

ter. Both men refused because pilot Dick Nelson was still inexplicably 

alive and the two makeshift pilots would not abandon him. After the other 

crewmen safely bailed out over Polebrook, Mathies, and Truemper made 

a number of attempted landings on the paved runway with coaching from 

another B-17 flying alongside. Despite multiple attempts, their nascent 

flying skills prevented them from landing the plane safely on the runway. 

Finally, Truemper tried to set the plane down in a nearby field, but crashed, 

killing the two acting pilots. Nelson amazingly survived the crash, but 

died shortly afterward. For their devotion to their wounded comrade, both 

Truemper and Mathies were posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor.

Day 2

 On 21 February, 30 bomb groups and 15 fighter groups were launched 

against 14 targets in central Germany. 1st Bomb Division went after the 

large Luftwaffe base Diepholz Militar-Flughaven near the town of Bremen. The Liberators of 2d Division were sent to hit Luftwaffe bases deeper in Germany, but overcast skies forced then to attack secondary targets at 

Lingen, Hesepe, and Verden. Weather precluded effective bombing operations for some 1st Division groups so the crews had to go on a “scavenger 

hunt” looking for possible targets.26 Targets of opportunity consisted of 

rail yards, airfields, or cities. Following a rail line, 2d Division B-24s flew 

over the town of Lingen, found a collection of railroad tracks and buildings and dropped their ordnance. One ball turret gunner had a panoramic 

view over Lingen and saw “a train puffing along the track. Our bombs 

smothered some buildings along the tracks and some of them overflowed 

onto the tracks, right where the train had been.”27 However, the bombers 

found clear air over Diepholz and attacked the airfield effectively. One 

crewman in a follow up raid reported “We sure hit something at this aerodrome. There was a horrible mess of smoke and flames coming up. Somebody was there before us, so we just added a bit to the general damage.”28

Losses were not especially heavy as the 8th Air Force lost 19 out of 617 

Fortresses launched as well as four of the 244 Liberators, while bomber gunners claimed 19 Luftwaffe fighters.29 However, for the American 

fighters the day was somewhat better. While losing only six fighters, the 

Americans claimed 24 Luftwaffe defenders.30

Day 3

22 February was troublesome almost from the start. Aircraft from 

the 8th Air Force planned to attack airfields and production facilities at 

Schweinfurt, Gotha, and Bernberg. Joining the fray for the first time was 

the 15th Air Force flying out of Italy and attacking the heavily defended 
160

aircraft production facilities at Regensburg. While the bombing was generally good at Regensburg, bomb damage assessment done after the raid 

showed that it was not as effective as initially thought. As the Italian-based 

planes began their trek home, the Luftwaffe followed. Flying back over the 

Alps, one bombardier recalled “[our] formation was so tight that it seemed 

that anyone could walk from one plane’s wing tip to another...I’ll never 

forget coming back from Regensburg and seeing all those funeral pyres on 

the ground marking where the shot down planes hit.31 Another crewman on 

the mission echoed this observation by stating “on the return to base, I could 

see fires all over the Alps. The place was covered with wrecked, burning 

planes.”32 In addition to bombing Regensburg, the 15th also hit a target of 

opportunity, bombing the rail yards at Olching with another 42 aircraft.33

 The 3d Bomb Division, commanded by General Curtis LeMay, was scheduled to attack Schweinfurt. While clear skies were expected over the target area, 

overcast conditions at home bases caused several bombers to collide during the 

formation rendezvous. As a result of the weather, miscommunication, and confusion, LeMay had to call off his command’s raid altogether.34 The 2d Bomb 

Division’s B-24s were scheduled to attack production facilities at Gotha, but 

this too had to be recalled as the weather precluded formation flying with aircraft 

strung out for miles. However, some B-24s made it as far as Germany and hit 

targets of opportunity. 74 bombers of the 2d Division misidentified the Dutch 

cities of Arnhem, Nijmegen, and Deventer as German and unfortunately killed 

many civilians in the occupied country. Another 64 B-24s found targets in Denmark but overcast and obscuration resulted in a “no drop.”35

 The 1st Division also experienced bad weather and was forced to hit 

mostly targets of opportunity. However, parts of the 1st Division were 

successful in hitting the Ju-88 plant at Aschersleben causing a 50 percent 

reduction in production for two months.36 A navigator on the Aschersleben 

raid reported the city “doesn’t exist anymore. Our bombs made a beautiful 

bull’s eye smack on that plant...we had a clear shot and the bombardiers 

certainly made the most of it.37 An attack on Bernberg also affected Ju-88 

production by destroying 70 to 80 percent of the assembly buildings.38

Losses for the 8th Air Force included 41 bombers out of a sortie total of 

430 with the 15th Air Force losing 14 bombers out of 183.39 However, US 

fighters claimed 60 German fighters while losing only 11 of their own. 

While some bombers made the most of the situation, as a result of bad 

weather, only 99 out of 466 8th Air Force bomber launched, hit their primary targets, and only 255 planes bombed any target.40

 After three days of continuous operations and seeing the assessments 

and losses coming in, Doolittle became concerned for his aircrews and 
161

contacted his higher headquarters at USSTAF. Complaining to Anderson 

at USSTAF, Doolittle argued that his crews were surviving on Benzedrine 

and sleeping pills.41 The three days of flying, dying, and fighting were beginning to be too much. Despite Doolittle’s protestations, Anderson continued to order planes in the air. Understanding that this situation was a 

key moment in the air war, Anderson reportedly had to tell the commander 

of the 8th Air Force, “to shut up...and carry out his orders.”42

Day 4

 On 23 February weather precluded the 8th Air Force from launching 

bomber formations, giving Doolittle’s crews the rest they needed and a 

respite from flying. After three days of sending over 800 or more bombers into combat, the stand-down was welcome. The high pressure system 

that provided the relatively clear air over Germany had dissipated. But 

Dr. Krick analyzed the situation and forecasted that clear air would return 

to the European continent the next day. However, the weather on 23 February did not affect the 15th Air Force as it launched 102 bombers. The 

target for the day was the Walzlagerwerke in Steyr, Austria, that produced 

ball bearings. Results were good as the raid destroyed 20 percent of the 

plant area, resulting in a 10 to 15 percent drop in overall production for 

the factory.43 The price was high as the attacking force lost 17 bombers. 

The Steyr raid made a lasting impression on B-24 crews flying that day. A 

tail gunner observed, “never before or since did I see the enemy so wildly 

aggressive, pressing their attacks in very close. I could actually see debris 

fly from the nose and cowl of a Me-109 as I fired point blank. [I] thought 

he might collide.”44 The gunner further remembered thinking “If I don’t 

get this bastard he’s gonna kill me. His [German] fire was just above my 

head...I think he hit the top turret...the enemy attacked almost to a man 

from the rear and not too high, and they just lined up and bored on in...

we were in a good place in the formation, but three or four planes behind 

us were shot down so we became ‘tail end Charlie’ and getting a drubbing 

when the attack [finally] broke off.”45

Day 5

 Thursday, 24 February, the clear air that Dr. Krick had forecasted 

returned. The 8th Air Force was also back in the air again, launching over 

800 bombers and 700 fighters. Remembering what has happened four and 

six months earlier, aircrews of the 1st Bomb Division were chagrined to 

learn that Schweinfurt was their target for the day. Earlier, in August and 

October 1943, 8th Air Force crews suffered horribly while attacking the 

city’s ball bearing production factories. In both the August and October 
162

raids the 8th Air Force lost approximately 20 percent of the bomber force, 

equating to a total of some 1,200 aircrew lost. As one crew member remembered “It’s a death sentence for some of us. Everyone looks grim. 

Some are obviously frightened. A fellow next to me covers his face and 

mumbles that he wishes he’d written his wife last night.”46

 The three air divisions of the 8th Air Force took to the skies. The 

3d Division targeted aircraft plants again in the north, unescorted by 

fighters and proceeded to Tutow to bomb the FW-190 factory. However, 

upon arriving over the target, the bombers were forced by cloud cover 

to divert to their secondary target near Rostock. Also similar to Monday, 

the B-17s again met enemy resistance even though the split operations 

were intended to draw the enemy to the other inbound divisions. After 

bombing, the departing formation took a route over the North Sea and 

eventually found safety over the open waters, away from the ground 

based defenders. As a result of the raid and enemy defenses the division 

lost five out of 236 aircraft.47

 The B-24s of 2d Division attacked the Me-110 plant near Gotha and 

other targets of opportunity. Attacked by German defenders en route, the 

Liberators found their targets and dropped their bombs in the clear air above 

the target. Once the bombers cleared the defending Flak barrage, the Luftwaffe fighters appeared again, taking a toll on the Americans. When the 2d 

Combat Wing cleared the target area, B-24s were again set ablaze by the 

Luftwaffe defenders. One crewman remembered seeing “men bailing out 

randomly from positions in these planes, nose to bomb bay to tail...some 

chutes opened right away...some came very close to our planes...the sky 

was a mass of parachutes and I estimated 25 all around us.”48 The results 

of the Gotha raid were exceptional as almost every building in the factory 

was damaged and the eastern half of the plant, where most of the aircraft 

assembly took place, was destroyed.49 Post war analysis found that the raid 

cost the Germans six to seven weeks’ worth of production, the equivalent 

of some 140 aircraft.50 However, the Division paid a heavy price as 33 out 

of 213 sortied bombers were lost.51

 In the meantime the 1st Division launched 266 bombers against Schweinfurt and initially received little enemy resistance while inbound to 

the target. Bombing accuracy on the Schweinfurt plant was very good and 

reduced production by ten percent. However, by 1944 the Germans had 

dispersed much of their ball bearing production industry, so the strategic 

effects were negligible. During the mission the division lost 11 aircraft of 

the 238 that actually reached the target with a loss of only 4.6 percent—a 

far cry from the 20 percent loss experienced from the earlier 1943 raids.52
163

Additionally, the American fighters also experienced success that day as 

they claimed 38 German fighters for a loss of ten.

 15th Air Force again struck the same general location near Steyr 

Austria, but now targeted the Daimler-Puch aircraft component factory. 

Although 114 bombers took off, only 87 B-17s from the 15th made it to 

the primary target area due to weather, and these bore the brunt of Luftwaffe attacks. German fighters fired long range rockets, dropped aerial 

bombs, and conducted coordinated fighter attacks on single bombers using 

four to six planes.53 On this day, the Germans focused their efforts entirely 

on the 2d Bombardment Group which made up the last assembly in the 

15th Air Force bomber formation. Ten of the 17 planes lost for the 15th 

Air Force came from this group. Tragically, the ten losses represented the 

entire 2dBombardment Group’s compliment for the raid.54

Day 6

25 February was the last day of the operation. As the weather cooperated with the American plans, all units were able to bomb their primary targets with generally good accuracy. The three 8th Air Force bomb divisions 

initially traveled together, in what must have been a spectacular sight, with 

an escort of almost 900 fighters. Unlike the previous few days, every bomber group hit its primary target on the last day of the operation. With clear 

weather over Germany, both the 8th and 15th Air Forces coordinated attacks 

and again struck the large Messerschmitt factories in the Regensburg area. 

This was the first time both Air Forces coordinated a “maximum effort” 

attack on the same city on the same day. The clear weather allowed great 

accuracy by the bombardiers and the “one-two punch” of the two raids had 

good effect. When General Spaatz, head of the USSTAF, looked at the post 

strike photos he remarked, “I consider that superior results were obtained...

the 15th Air Force accomplished a superior job of bombing...in the face of 

heavy air attack.”55 The raids affected aircraft production significantly as 

it fell from 435 planes in January to just 135 in March and did not recover 

full scale production until the summer.56 The 15th also sent bombers to the 

ports of Fiume and Zara on the Adriatic coast, the rail yards at Zell-am-See 

Austria, and the airfield at Graz-Thalerhof. Unfortunately for the 15th, the 

Luftwaffe focused much of its efforts on the Italian based bombers as it lost 

33 of the 116 bombers sortied on the Regensburg raid for a loss rate of almost 28 percent.57 Regarding the heavy losses by the 15th, Spaatz remarked 

‘the results far outweigh the losses.”58 The 8th Air Force’s 3d Division arrived about an hour after the 15th and did not meet the same level of resistance, but was hammered by defenders as soon as they flew into German 

airspace. While some B-17s were shot down en route, those making it to 
164

the target experienced a less ferocious defense as many enemy fighters were 

still refueling or rearming from the earlier raid. The 3d Division lost 12 out 

of the 267 effective sorties for a loss rate of 4.5 percent over Regensburg.59

In addition, the 1st Division from the 8th Air Force attacked the aircraft 

plant at Augsburg and the VFK ball bearing plant at Stuttgart. The Augsburg 

raid was largely successful as 500 tons of bombs demolished 30 buildings, 

reduced production capacity about 35 percent, and destroyed one-third of 

machine tools and 70 percent of the stored materials.60 The lead bombardier 

on the raid reported “The bombing was very good...we knocked out at least 

three quarters of the factory. We had a good formation and made an ideal 

bomb run, laying our bombs in a tight pattern. All we could see was smoke 

when we turned to head back.”61 While the raid was devastating, the plant 

was back in production in a month. In these raids the 246 sorties experienced a loss of 13 aircraft, or approximately five percent.62 The 2d Division 

with 161 B-24s raided the Me-110 assembly factories at Furth and lost six 

Liberators.63 Fighter operations were not as successful on the last day as the 

planners had hoped. Both the VIII and IX Fighter Commands launched almost 900 fighters but at days end, claimed only 26 kills with a loss of three.64

Analysis

For the entire operation the 8th Air Force launched over 3,300 bombers while the smaller 15th Air Force launched over 500.65 Over 6,000 

bombing sorties were generated and both commands combined dropped 

more than 19,000 tons of bombs on 18 German airframe and two ball bearing factories.66 Tonnage dropped in this one week surpassed the 8th Air 

Force’s total amount for all of 1943. In the conduct of combat the 8th lost 

137 heavy bombers with the 15th losing 89, a combined loss rate of about 

six percent.67 While six percent was still high, it did not come close to the 

ten percent experienced in the previous year. In total the Americans wrote 

off 299 bombers as a result of the operation and resulted in the 8th Air 

Force losing a fifth of its combat power!68 For the fighters, the VIII Fighter 

Command launched 2,548 aircraft, 712 from the IX Fighter Command, 

and 413 from the 15th Air Force.69 From all these sorties, the USAAF lost 

only 28 fighters and would claim some 600 Luftwaffe fighters – a vastly 

exaggerated claim.70 Overall American personnel losses for the campaign 

totaled 2,600 seriously wounded, killed, or missing.71

 On the German side of the equation the losses were equally staggering. Despite the claims of the USAAF, the Luftwaffe lost only between 225 and 275 aircraft during the week. While actual losses pale 

in comparison to the USAAF claims, the number was still significant. 
165

This figure equated to a third of the Luftwaffe’s single engine fighters 

and 18 percent of its scarce pool of pilots.72 More importantly, given 

the Luftwaffe’s paucity of trained and seasoned fighter pilots, the Germans could hardly recover from such losses. While the US forces suffered at the hands of the Luftwaffe, the Americans were in a much better position to absorb such punishment and could easily replace losses 

in both planes and pilots. In fact, by the end of the “Big Week” VIII 

Fighter Command received 90 percent more P-51s than the number 

with which it began.73

Overall German fighter production numbers would fall for a short 

time, but astonishingly, would rebound strongly. In January 1944, the German aviation industry produced some 1,316 single engine fighter aircraft 

and the figure dropped to only 1,016 for the month of February.74 But by 

March, the figure again rose to 1,377 and would continue to rise about 

300 additional aircraft a month up to a peak of 3,031 in September!75 In 

fact, the US Strategic Bombing Survey conducted after the war reported 

that the German aircraft industry produced 39,000 aircraft of all types in 

1944 and that strength in units at the end of the year was almost unchanged 

from the January figure.76 American planners failed to realize that sufficient surge capacity existed within German aircraft production and that 

the industry was not initially operating at 100 percent of capability. After 

the “Big Week,” American intelligence officers overvalued their effect on 

the Germans when they estimated that the Germans produced only 655 

fighters per month, when on average they were producing 1,581!77 While 

bomb damage analysis would at times claim that 70 percent of an aircraft 

industry building was damaged or destroyed, the machinery and lathes 

in these buildings often remained in working condition and could still be 

operated or moved to another location. In addition, the Germans assigned 

a labor pool of over 300,000 workers to repair the damage infrastructure.78

As a result the German aircraft industry proved surprisingly resilient and 

would later cause many military planners to reassess the idea of strategic 

bombardment and its effect.

However, in order to thwart the bombing of its large production centers in the future, the Germans started a large scale dispersal program 

and divided 29 aircraft production centers into 85 different locations and 

spread power plant production to 249 sites.79 As a result, targeting and 

bombing of the German aviation industry became much more difficult, 

but the spreading of the production capacities did reduce overall efficiency by 20 percent.80 While the diaspora of German aviation had its 

inefficiencies, the Germans also mobilized their workforce by imposing 
166

a seven day work week with double shifts in the factories.81 Even with 

this increase in aircraft production, the German industry could not compete with Allied manufacturing capacities and continued to fall behind 

despite industrial miracles in a bombed-out landscape.

While aircraft production would climb in subsequent months despite 

the Allied strategic bombing effort, the building of airplanes was meaningless if there was no pilot to fly the plane. The attrition of the air war began 

to take its toll as seasoned pilots were killed and the overall quality of the 

German pilots began to wane. In the next month, March 1944, Germany 

would lose another 22 percent of its single engine fighter pilots.82 While 

replacement was the answer, new Luftwaffe pilots did not receive the same 

quantity or quality training that their predecessors enjoyed years earlier. 

While the Luftwaffe pilots received over 75 hours of training in their operational aircraft in the first years of the war, by 1944 the average new Luftwaffe pilot received only about 25 hours.83 This was especially relevant as 

their USAAF counterparts received over 100 hours in 1944—and this was 

exacerbated as the number of Allied fighters in the air climbed appreciably. Forced on the defensive, Luftwaffe General der Flieger Adolf Galland 

admitted “our units forgot how to conduct a dogfight. Now it had come to 

banking and diving away. Naturally, any cohesion of the unit was lost and 

singly our fighters were finished off the by the enemy who outnumbered 

us greatly.”84 This attrition of Luftwaffe pilots continued. A shortage of 

fighter pilots became so bad that Galland requested that experienced pilots 

from bomber and ground attack units be used in the fighter arm. After the 

war, Galland admitted that “when the US fighters went on the offensive, 

Germany lost the air war.”85

The change in fighter doctrine and tactics also played a role. In going 

after the Luftwaffe in the air and on the ground, German losses began to 

mount. Free to roam and hit Luftwaffe airfields, US fighter pilots wreaked 

havoc on the German bases. In March a secret Ultra message was intercepted that recognized the USAAF’s change in fighter tactics by stating 

“...in the west the enemy has recently put aside a part of the escorting 

force to attack aircraft taking off and forming and has achieved success.”86

On 20 February 1944, a newly operational Me-110 “Zerstorergeschwader” squadron launched a group of 13 aircraft with a group of three more 

taking off minutes later. When the group of three arrived at the designated 

rendezvous point to meet with the other 13, there was not much left of the 

first group. By the time the later three arrived, 11 of the 13 Me-110s from 

the first group were already shot down.87 While the Me-110s were busy in 

the sky, American fighters attacked the Zerstorergeschwader home airfield 
167

and damaged nine more aircraft. Losses of this nature continued for the 

Germans even after the ARGUMENT offensive.

However, it should not be concluded that operation ARGUMENT and 

the air battles that ensued during that week in February 1944 constituted 

a complete victory over the Luftwaffe. Both air forces would continue to 

slug it out over the skies of Europe for months to come. The next month 

the 8th Air Force alone wrote off another 349 bombers and the damage 

inflicted upon the command would remain at this level until May.88 What 

“Big Week” signified was the beginning of a decisive, attritional campaign 

in the skies. Both sides were massing their airpower in ways never done 

before. The weight of the Allied onslaught eventually ground down the 

Luftwaffe making it a hollow force incapable of mounting an effective 

defense. In the spring and summer of 1944 Allied airpower succeeded in 

removing the Luftwaffe as a significant threat. While still capable of providing some point defense and harassing raids, the Luftwaffe was “on the 

ropes” by summer 1944. This reduction of the Luftwaffe was a result of 

the aerial battle of attrition that began during the “Big Week.”

Notes

1. Air Corps Tactical School (ACTS), A Study of Proposed Air Corps Doctrine, based on a memorandum dated 21 December 1934, furnished by the War 

Plans Division, General Staff, 31 January 1935 quoted in Frank Futrell’s Ideas, 

Concepts, and Doctrine Basic Thinking in the United States Air Force, 1907-

1960 (Maxwell AFB, AL: Air University Press, 1989), 77.

2. ACTS Lecture, “The National Economic Structure,” 5 April 1939, file 

248.2020A-25, Albert F Simpson Historical Research Center, Maxwell AFB, AL.

3. US Strategic Bombing Survey (USSBS), Statistical Appendix to Overall 

Report (European War) (Washington, DC: US Government Printing Office, 

1947), Bombing Accuracy Exhibit H.

4. Gerald Astor, The Mighty Eighth (New York, NY: Penguin Press, 1997), 76.

5. Donald Miller, Masters of the Air, (New York: Simon and Shuster, 

2006), 143.

6. Miller, Masters of the Air, 143.

7. Astor, The Mighty Eighth, 76.

8. Richard Davis, Bombing the European Axis Powers (Maxwell AFB, AL: 

Air University Press, 2006), 266.

9. Davis, Bombing the European Axis Powers, 266.

10. Miller, Masters of the Air, 247.

11. Miller, Masters of the Air, 248.

12. R. Cargill Hall Ed., Case Studies in Strategic Bombardment, (Washington DC: Air Force History and Museums Program, 1998), 212.

13. Miller, Masters of the Air, 267.

14. Miller, Masters of the Air, 267.
168

15. Miller, Masters of the Air, 267.

16. Hall, Case Studies in Strategic Bombardment, 212.

17. Hall, Case Studies in Strategic Bombardment, 212.

18. Hall, Case Studies in Strategic Bombardment, 213.

19. Bill Yenne, Big Week: Six Days that Changed the Course of World War 

II (New York: Berkeley-Caliber, 2012), 145.

20. Yenne, Big Week, 146.

21. Wesley Craven and James Cate, The Army Air Forces in World War II, 

Volume 3 Europe: Argument to V-E Day January 1944 to May 1945, (Chicago: 

University of Chicago Press, 1951), 33; Yenne, Big Week,155.

22. Craven and Cate, Army Air Forces in World War II, Vol 3, 35.

23. Davis, Bombing the European Axis Powers, 283.

24. Hall, Case Studies in Strategic Bombardment, 216.

25. Miller, 262.

26. Yenne, Big Week, 179.

27. Yenne, Big Week, 181.

28. Yenne, Big Week, 181.

29. Yenne, Big Week, 184.

30. Yenne, Big Week, 184.

31. Yenne, Big Week, 194.

32. Yenne, Big Week, 194.

33. Craven and Cate, Army Air Forces in World War II, Vol. 3, 37; Davis, 

Bombing the European Axis Powers, 283.

34. Craven and Cate, Army Air Forces in World War II, Vol. 3, 37.

35. Davis, Bombing the European Axis Powers, 283.

36. Craven and Cate, Army Air Forces in World War II, Vol. 3, 37.

37. Yenne, Big Week,192.

38. Craven and Cate, Army Air Forces in World War II, Vol. 3, 37.

39. Craven and Cate, Army Air Forces in World War II, 38.

40. Craven and Cate, Army Air Forces in World War II, Vol. 3, 37.

41. Yenne, Big Week, 196.

42. Yenne, Big Week, 196.

43. Craven and Cate, Army Air Forces in World War II, Vol. 3, 37.

44. Yenne, Big Week, 201.

45. Yenne, Big Week, 201.

46. Yenne, Big Week, 205.

47. Davis, Bombing the European Axis Powers, 284.

48. Yenne, Big Week, 211.

49. Craven and Cate, Army Air Forces in World War II, Vol. 3, 40.

50. Craven and Cate, Army Air Forces in World War II, Vol. 3, 40.

51. Craven and Cate, Army Air Forces in World War II, Vol. 3, 39; Davis, 

Bombing the European Axis Powers, 284-285.

52. Craven and Cate, Army Air Forces in World War II, Vol. 3, 285.

53. Craven and Cate, Army Air Forces in World War II, Vol. 3, 39.

54. Yenne, Big Week, 214.
169

55. Yenne, Big Week, 226.

56. Craven and Cate, Army Air Forces in World War II, Vol. 3, 42.

57. Craven and Cate, Army Air Forces in World War II, Vol. 3, 41; Davis, 

Bombing the European Axis Powers, 286.

58. Yenne, Big Week, 214.

59. Davis, Bombing the European Axis Powers, 286.

60. Craven and Cate, Army Air Forces in World War II, Vol. 3, 42.

61. Yenne, Big Week, 220.

62. Davis, Bombing the European Axis Powers, 286.

63. Davis, Bombing the European Axis Powers, 286.

64. Davis, Bombing the European Axis Powers, 286.

65. Craven and Cate, Army Air Forces in World War II, Vol. 3, 43.

66. Hall, Case Studies in Strategic Bombardment, 216.

67. Craven and Cate, Army Air Forces in World War II, Vol. 3, 43.

68. Craven and Cate, Army Air Forces in World War II, Vol. 3, 43.

69. Craven and Cate, Army Air Forces in World War II, Vol. 3, 43.

70. Craven and Cate, Army Air Forces in World War II, Vol. 3, 43.

71. Craven and Cate, Army Air Forces in World War II, Vol. 3, 43.

72. Williamson Murray, Strategy for Defeat (Maxwell AFB, AL; Air University Press, 1983), 243; Davis, Bombing the European Axis Powers, 287, 289.

73. Hall, Case Studies in Strategic Bombardment, 216.

74. USSBS.

75. USSBS.

76. USSBS.

77. Craven and Cate, Army Air Forces in World War II, Vol. 3, 45.

78. USSBS.

79. Davis, Bombing the European Axis Powers, 288.

80. Davis, Bombing the European Axis Powers, 288.

81. Davis, Bombing the European Axis Powers, 288.

82. Murray, Strategy for Defeat, 243.

83. USSBS.

84. Hall, Case Studies in Strategic Bombardment, 219.

85. Hall, Case Studies in Strategic Bombardment, 219.

86. Murray, Strategy for Defeat, 244.

87. Murray, Strategy for Defeat, 244.

88. Murray, Strategy for Defeat, 243.

171

Chapter 9

Budapest, 1944-1945

Sean N. Kalic

Introduction

From the perspective of the United States and its western allies, the 

invasion of Normandy and the successive fights that took place after Operation Overlord were the decisive victories of the Second World War. 

However, from the perspective of the Soviet Union, the operations in 

Western Europe were but a distraction for Germany and its allies and the 

second front that Stalin had been angrily asking the allies to open. Having 

stemmed the seemingly unstoppable momentum of the German ground attack, the Red Army, by spring 1943, had begun to roll back across the large 

tracts of Soviet territory that the Germans had captured in the previous 

two years. Starting at Stalingrad and Kursk, the Red Army entered a new 

phase of the war in which it assumed the role of the seemingly unstoppable 

offensive power and the Germans and their allies had to halt their advance 

to Berlin.

The Battle for Budapest, or from the German perspective, the Siege 

of Budapest, is a forgotten decisive battle within the context of World 

War II. This fight is significant for many reasons. Primarily, Hungary, by 

the late fall 1944, was the last remaining German ally, as the Romanians 

surrendered to the Red Army in the late summer of 1944. Second, having 

lost Romania, which was a significant source of strategic oil reserves, 

Germany now only had the oil fields of Hungary to rely on as its major 

source of oil.

Third, in an attempt to hold Budapest as a fortress to guard the access to the eastern oil fields, Adolf Hitler eventually committed approximately one-third of all Panzer (German Armor) units to defend and 

fight for Hungarian territory. Hitler’s commitment to defend his strategic resources in Hungary forced him to divert a significant amount of 

combat power away from the western front. Fourth, a victory in Hungary provided Joseph Stalin with significant political advantage as he 

negotiated with Franklin D. Roosevelt and Winston Churchill at Yalta 

in February 1945. In a related geopolitical point, winning in Budapest 

also provided access to Vienna and Southern Bavaria, which placed 

additional demands on German defenses, as they would need to defend 

Germany against an attack coming from the Red Army in the north as 

well as the south. Germany therefore would have to defend across a 
172

wide variety of possible attack azimuths. This was a very precarious 

position for the Germans, as the western allies also placed significant 

pressure on the western borders of Germany.

Finally, the Red Army’s victory in Budapest provided it with a significant geopolitical landmark that allowed the Soviet Union to build a large 

security buffer for the duration of the Cold War. In fact, the most significant decisive factor of this forgotten battle of the Second World War is 

that it shaped the Soviet Union’s perception of the Cold War, by allowing 

it to build and maintain a strong military presence in central and Eastern 

Europe. The lasting occupation of Hungary, as well as the forcible process 

of making Hungary a communist nation, presented long-term issues for 

the Soviet Union. The Hungarian people welcomed the Red Army as liberators from the Nazis and the equally brutal Hungarian Arrow Cross party, 

yet they never expected to endure a 50 year occupation under the yoke of 

a communist government. As a result of this uneasy relationship with its 

past, the battle of Budapest has a unique place in the history of the Second 

World War, of the Hungarian people, and of the Cold War.

Understanding the Context

Understanding the significance of the Siege of Budapest, and how 

this “forgotten victory” becomes decisive is critical to a solid understanding of how the eastern and western fronts of the Second World 

War synchronized with one another in the greater context of the war 

in Europe. Often when studying the Second World War, historians and 

laypeople alike tend to focus on either the allied operations in the west; 

or Soviet operations in the east; seldom are both fronts considered in 

conjunction.

Starting with the eastern front, beginning in November 1942 the Red 

Army stopped and ended Germany’s siege of Stalingrad. For many, this 

event served as a transition point of the war on the eastern front, as the Red 

Army began slowly pushing the Germans and their allies back toward Berlin. Though it took an additional two years before the Red Army reached 

Berlin, the tide turned at Stalingrad. On their heels, but by no means out of 

the fight, the Germans organized Operation Citadel in July 1943 in an effort 

to capture Kursk and make up for the loss at Stalingrad. Having advanced 

intelligence, the Soviet Union began constructing anti-tank barriers and preparing defenses for the German attack. In conjunction with their defensive 

efforts at Kursk, the Soviet Union’s Red Army also unleashed Operation 

Kutuzov as a major counter-offensive against Germany and its allies. Within 

a year, the Red Army made significant strides across the swath of their terri-
173

tory. During eight days in June 1944, the Red Army smashed Hitler’s Army 

Group Center. Two months later, during the Iassy-Kichinev Operation, the 

Red Army overran Romania and in the process destroyed Germany’s Army 

Group South in Ukraine. This operation severed the alliance between the 

Germans and the Romanians. Knocked out of the war, the Romanians then 

joined the forces of the Soviet Union as they marched across eastern and 

central Europe. The VII Romanian Army Corps, commanded by General 

Nicolae Sova, fought alongside Soviets as they attempted to take Budapest, 

and ultimately secured Pest during the operation.

While the Red Army found success on the eastern front in the aftermath of Stalingrad, Citadel, and Kutuzov, on 6 June 1944, the Allies 

launched Operation OVERLORD in France. From Stalin’s perspective, 

this was the ground invasion that he had been demanding of Roosevelt and 

Churchill since the end of 1942. After fighting hard to establish a foothold 

on the European continent, the Allies liberated Cherbourg, Caen, and St. 

Lô by the middle of July 1944. Here the Allied breakout came at the end 

of July with Operation COBRA.

Less than a month after COBRA, the allies retook Paris and moved 

toward Rouen, Antwerp, and Brussels. Despite the failure of Operation 

MARKET GARDEN, the allies began to rebound in September, leading 

Figure 26. German Front Lines, October-November 1944 
174

to a large-scale surrender of the German forces in Aachen by mid-October. As the Soviet Army prepared to launch its invasion into Hungary, the 

Allies placed significant pressure on the Germans from the west.

The success of the Red Army from 1943 through the first half of 1944 

provided the Soviet Union and Stalin with a significant amount of success 

and political advantage in 1945. Furthermore, the success across the northern tier and central front in Europe opened the way for the Red Army’s 

advance into Poland, the Balkans, Hungary, and ultimately Germany.1 At 

the same time, the allies achieved significant success against the Germans 

in Western Europe.

Having to fight on two major fronts nearly simultaneously placed Hitler in a very precarious position, as his strategic resources withered along 

with his allies. In fact, once the Soviet Union forced the Romanians to 

surrender, Germany’s only remaining ally in Europe were the Hungarians, more specifically the Arrow-Cross Party. Furthermore, with Romania 

firmly in the hands of the Soviet Union, the Red Army severely curtailed 

Germany’s access to oil. Germany’s last strategic oil reserves remained in 

Hungary, which made that territory much more valuable to Hitler, as he 

lost access to vital raw materials.

Preparing for the Attack

The size and scope of the Soviet Union’s operation to take Budapest was 

indicative of the importance of this key geopolitical point. As the Red Army 

pushed Hitler’s forces back toward Germany, Stalin started to think about 

shaping the post-war strategic environment in a way that would be favorable 

to the Soviet Union. Having seen Russia, and later the Soviet Union, invaded from the west twice in the past three decades, Stalin strove to establish a 

security buffer in central and Eastern Europe. The Red Army’s hard-fought 

victories throughout the campaigns of 1943 and 1944 provided the Soviet dictator with the military capital to establish a firm political foundation in Poland, 

Romania, Bulgaria, Czechoslovakia, and Hungary. Stalin’s obsession with a 

security buffer was apparent in his determination to capture Budapest.

Stalin telephoned Marshal Rodin Malinovsky, commander of the Second Ukrainian Front, on 28 October and relayed his intentions vis-à-vis 

Budapest. Stalin began the conversation with his intent:

Stalin: Budapest...must be taken as soon as possible, to be more 

precise in the next few days. This is essential. Can you do it?

Malinovsky: The job can be done within five days, when the 

Fourth Guards Mechanized Corps arrives to join the 46th Army.
175

Stalin: The supreme command cannot give you five days. You 

must understand that for political reasons we have to take Budapest as quickly as possible.

Malinovsky: If you give me five days I will take Budapest in 

another five days. If we start the offensive right now, the 46th 

Army—lacking sufficient forces—will not be able to bring it to a 

speedy conclusion and will inevitably be bogged down in lengthy 

battles on the access roads to the Hungarian capital. In other 

words, it will not be able to take Budapest.

Stalin: There is no point in being stubborn. You obviously do not 

understand the political necessity of an immediate strike against 

Budapest.

Malinovsky: I am fully aware of the political importance of the 

capture of Budapest, and that is why I am asking for five days.

Stalin: I expressly order you to take Budapest tomorrow!2

Malinovsky, who had been in almost constant combat with his forces since June, now had to reset and prepare hastily to capture Budapest. 

Malinosvky’s Second Ukrainian Front advanced from Romania across the 

eastern portion of Hungary to focus on securing Pest on the east side of 

the Danube. His forces had the assistance of Seventh Army Corps from 

Romania, commanded by General Nicolae Sova.

In addition to Malinovsky’s Second Ukrainian Front, Marshal Fedor 

Ivanovich Tolbukhin, commander of the Red Army’s Third Ukrainian 

Front, had just liberated Belgrade from the Germans and waited for additional orders before moving north to assist Malinovsky. The eventual 

plan was to attack north along an axis parallel to Lake Balaton and into 

Buda on the west side of the Danube. The objective of the Red Army’s 

plan was to squeeze the German and Hungarian forces through two huge 

pincers that met on opposing sides of the Danube in Buda and Pest.

To understand the ensuing battle, one must look at the force structure 

of Malinovsky’s front in comparison to the German and Hungarian defenders in Hungary and around Budapest. The Second Ukrainian Front, 

including the Romanian Seventh Corps, encompassed approximately 

650,000 troops. Accompanying these forces, Malinovsky had approximately eleven thousand artillery pieces, 3,700 mortars, and 564 tanks and 

assault guns.3 Though smaller, Tolbukhin’s Third Ukrainian Front included approximately 450,000 troops, as well as the supporting combat power 

necessary to seize Budapest.
176

Facing the two approaching Soviet Army Fronts, SS Obergruppenführer 

Karl Pfeffer-Wildenbruch commanded the IX SS Mountain Corps with its 

headquarters in the Castle District in Budapest. This corps had approximately 127,000 troops to defend around Budapest, including Hungary’s I Corps 

commanded by Colonel-General Ivan Hindy.4 Beyond the forces associated 

with Hungary’s I Corps, the Arrow-Cross Party had police forces, university student groups, and other civilians organized as defensive units in and 

around Budapest. Supporting the ground troops in Budapest, Pfeffer-Wildenbruch had roughly 2,800 artillery pieces, 880 mortars, and 140 tanks and 

assault guns. In Budapest proper, the Germans and Hungarians had 70,000 

troops, of which 13,000 were combat soldiers, supported by 250 artillery 

pieces, 38 tanks, and approximately 550 anti-tank guns.5

Thus, the Soviet Union had a four to one superiority in troops, artillery 

pieces, mortars, tanks, and assault guns. Factoring in Tolbukhin’s Third 

Ukrainian Front only increased the already lopsided force ratio further in 

favor of the Soviet Union. Even before the siege began, the outlook for the 

Germans and Hungarians was grim, but this did not mean that it would be 

an easy fight for the Red Army.

The Attack Begins

On 1 November 1944, Malinvonsky’s Second Ukrainian Front began 

its assault toward Budapest, from positions south of the capital between the 

west bank of the Tisza River and the east bank of the Danube. Spearheading 

the Soviet front was the 46th Army with approximately 100,000 troops comprised of a wide assortment of Red Army rifle corps, armored troops, artillery units, and even penal companies.6

 The only category in which the Axis 

powers had parity with the Red Army was in self-propelled guns, in which 

the Red Army had 185 and the German/Hungarian forces had approximately 

150.7 Even in airpower, the Red Army had a three to one advantage over its 

foes with 925 aircraft to the Axis fleet of 350 combat aircraft.8

The forces arrayed across the Second Ukrainian Front faced the German Army Group South under the command of Colonel-General Johannes 

Friessner. Friessner also had assistance from First, Second, and Third 

Hungarian Armies under the command of three Lieutenants-General—

Dezso Laszlo, Jeno Major, and Jozef Heszlenyi, respectively. These Axis 

forces arranged themselves in a defensive array referred to as the Attila 

lines. In essence, these defensive positions formed concentric semicircular 

perimeters that provided the German and Hungarian elements a defense 

in-depth and allowed for their forces to retreat in an effort to consolidate 

and reinforce their positions as they fell back to defend Budapest proper.

9
177

Attila I stretched from the northern city Alsogod to the central city of 

Gyomro. This defensive belt provided significant protection from a Soviet 

penetration from the north and the central plains, which also used significant terrain features to canalize Red Army forces into constricted avenues of 

approach. In theory, this would allow the German and Hungarian forces to 

slow the oncoming Soviet attack. The second defensive belt, Attila II, reinforced Attila I by pinning its left flank to the northern portion of the Danube 

River and was approximately 11 miles behind the first defensive belt. Attila 

II stretched from Dunakeszi in the north to Taksony in the south, which is 

approximately 20 miles from the southern approach to Budapest. The last of 

the defensive belts was Attila III, which again anchored its left flank on the 

Danube River’s east bank near the Hungarian city of Ujpest, approximately 

five miles north of Budapest’s city center. The right flank of Attila III terminated on an eastern tributary of the Danube in the city of Soroksar, some 

nine miles from the center of the Hungarian capital.

German Army Group South had approximately 146,000 troops to 

stop Malinovsky’s 578,000 troops. At the start of Malinovsky’s offensive, 

Army Group South had a 60 mile buffer zone between Budapest and the 

front edge of its forward-most defensive line. Within the first week of 

fighting Malinvosky’s forces had stunning success as they advanced over 

forty miles toward Pest’s center. The German and Hungarian forces finally 

Figure 27. Attila Fortified Lines of Defense, October 1944 
178

halted the Red Army advance in the southern and eastern suburbs of Pest, 

marking the beginning of a very tough fight to reach the eastern bank of 

the Danube for Malinovsky and his Second Ukrainian Front. The rest of 

November 1944 saw Malinvosky fight for an additional two miles toward 

his objective of Pest.

In tandem with Malinovsky’s attack, Marshal Tolbukhin attacked the 

German and Hungarian defenses along the western bank of the Danube 

between Lake Balaton in the west and Buda in the east with approximately 

460,000 Red Army troops. Though moving slower than Malinvosky, Tolbukhin by the start of December 1944 had successfully captured the Budapest to Vienna highway, which was a major resupply route for the axis 

powers. By 23 December 1944, the Second and Third Ukrainian fronts 

had successfully encircled Budapest.10

At this point, the Red Army had not yet advanced into Buda or Pest 

proper, but held positions in the outlying suburbs of Hungary’s capital. 

Sensing the impending attack, Hungarian paramilitary, ultra-nationalist 

university students, and Arrow-Cross units launched a hasty counterattack 

against the Red Army. The ad hoc counter offensive failed. Meanwhile, 

the commander of the soon to be besieged IX SS Mountain Corps, Pfeffer-Wildenbruch, requested reserves from Hitler to relieve pressure on his 

position in the castle district of Buda.

Hitler ordered SS Oberführer Herbert Gille, commander of the Fourth 

SS Panzer Division in Warsaw, to move toward Budapest in an effort to 

Figure 28. Red Army Lines of Advance, November 1944-January 1945
179

break the Red Army’s encirclement of Budapest. In the meantime, Malinovsky, remembering his conversation with Stalin, tried to force the 

German and Hungarian forces to surrender. On 29 December 1944, the 

Red Army sent Miklos Steinmetz, a Hungarian Communist, and Ilya Ostapenko as envoys to negotiate surrender terms from the Axis forces. The 

German and Hungarian forces refused the offer and turned Steinmetz and 

Ostapenko away. In the confusion of the rebuffed attempt at a quick surrender, the car driven by Steinmetz and Ostapenko hit a landmine and 

exploded, killing both men.11 The Soviet Union and the Red Army used 

this unfortunate incident to highlight the brutality and stubbornness of the 

German and Hungarian forces. After this event, overwhelming force was 

the only means available to capture Budapest.

As 1944 closed, Gille’s 4th SS Panzer Division crashed into Soviet forces, which had now formed two concentric rings around Budapest. 

Gille’s relief effort succeeded at first with his forces penetrating roughly 

25 to 30 miles in three days through Soviet lines. However, on the fourth 

day of the counter-attack, the Red Army stopped Gille’s Panzers approximately 18 miles from Buda. The relief effort by Gille was the last attempt 

the Germans made to break the Red Army’s stranglehold on Budapest. 

Pfeffer-Wildenbruch was on his own. He would have to plan his own 

breakout, which he and his staff began to formulate by the end of December 1944. The Red Army now focused on using their numerically superior 

forces to capture Budapest.

The Siege

In many ways, Budapest had a unique population in the context of 

the Axis powers in World War II. Primarily, Budapest had a large Jewish 

population that remained largely intact during the years under the Horthy 

regime. However, in October 1944 the Germans overthrew Horthy’s government after it made surrender overtures to the Soviet Union. Thereafter, 

the Hungarian Arrow-Cross Party, led by Ferrenc Szalasi, followed a more 

Nazi-like stance toward Jews. The Arrow-Cross forced Hungarian Jews in 

Budapest into ghettos where they became a source of cheap labor that the 

Arrow-Cross farmed out to the Nazis.12 In addition, Arrow-Cross thugs 

routinely selected Jews to be shot and dumped in the Danube. Under the 

short-lived regime of Szalasi, the Jews in Budapest had to endure conditions that other Jewish communities across central and Eastern Europe had 

suffered in the years prior to 1944, often with the same sad results.

In addition to the hardship experienced by Budapest’s Jewish population, refugees had inflated the city’s population as the Soviet Union 
180

marched across Eastern Europe. Throughout the summer and early fall 

of 1944, as the Red Army approached and attacked into Hungary, Hungarians throughout the nation sought refuge in the capital, which had remained one of the very few central European capitals that was relatively 

untouched by war, at least to date. Budapest, though occupied by the 

Germans, had not suffered repeated strategic air attacks from the Allies, 

and did not endure any fire bombing. Hence, it was a logical assumption 

that the Hungarian capital was a safe haven. It was not a foregone conclusion that the Soviet Union planned to seize and hold Budapest. Therefore, for the people living in Hungary, Budapest became a sanctuary to 

ride out the end of the war in relative safety, or at least perceived safety.

This large influx in population placed significant demands on the resources in the city, especially as the Red Army constricted its noose. As the 

siege for Budapest entrenched itself in December 1944 and January 1945, 

the population had an increasingly difficult time procuring food, clean water, and adequate medical care. By the highpoint of the fighting, roughly 

20,000 horses, most used as draft animals, became a significant source of 

food for the people and soldiers trapped in the interior of the city.13 As for 

water, the people of Budapest had to resort to the Danube as their primary 

water source, but even this became a precarious venture, as snipers on both 

sides shot people trying to procure water. In the 100 days of fighting, Budapest lost roughly 40,000 people, half of whom were Jews.

In addition to the hardship faced by the people living in Budapest, 

the German and Hungarian forces trapped in the capital had an increasingly difficult time as their supplies began to wither. Prior to the Red 

Army surrounding Budapest, the Germans had used the airport on the 

west side of Buda as their main hub for supplies. Once this vital access 

point was lost, the Germans had to improvise. The only other suitable 

site for an airfield was the 800-yard long park on the western slope of 

the Castle District. Though hardly adequate as a functioning airfield, 

the convenience of the site meant that Pfeffer-Wildenbruch greatly welcomed the only possible air resupply point left for his units.

While the Red Army was still on the outskirts of Buda and Pest, the Germans and Hungarians also used barges on the Danube to ferry supplies to 

the garrison forces headquartered in the Castle District, which was a short, 

but uphill distance from the western side of the Danube’s bank. The river 

resupply point worked well at first, but as winter set in, navigation due to 

low water and ice made the river route treacherous, and eventually useless, 

by the middle of January 1945. As a result of their bleak supply situation, the 

future of the German and Hungarian forces in Budapest looked grim.
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As the Fourth SS Panzer Division attempted to relieve the Soviet Army’s encirclement of Budapest in late December 1944, Pfeffer-Wildenbruch 

and his staff developed plans for breakout operations when the Red Army 

advanced into the city center. Two possible courses of action became apparent to the Germans. The first was a breakout attempt along a northwest axis, 

which would allow the IX SS Mountain Corps to link up with panzer units in 

the area that had been attempting to break through Red Army lines. The major issue with this course of action was that the terrain along the northwest 

route was mountainous and heavily wooded, so progress would be slow 

even without stiff resistance from Tolbukhin’s Third Ukrainian Front.

The second option for Pfeffer-Wildenbruch was a southwest breakout 

attempt that had terrain more permissible for a retreat operation. Unfortunately, the southwest route ran directly into strong Soviet opposition, 

which completely mitigated the perceived geographic advantages. Ultimately, Pfeffer-Wildenbruch and his staff settled on the second option as 

the best course of action in the event the Red Army overran them.

By 11 January 1945, Stalin, impatient due to the upcoming meeting in 

Yalta with Roosevelt and Churchill, pressed Malinovsky on his progress. 

Malinvosky, reminded of the political significance of capturing Budapest, 

decided to use heavy artillery, air strikes, and Katyusha rockets to soften the German and Hungarian defenses that occupied the land between 

his forces and the eastern bank of the Danube. In conjunction with Malinovsky’s preparation, Tolbukhin’s Third Ukrainian Front had already sent 

reconnaissance and scout units into Buda along the west side of the Danube. By 12 January Malinovsky and Sova, commander of the Romanian 

Seventh Army Corps, had reached Millennium Park in Pest. For the next 

five days, the Red Army and Romanians attached to the Second Ukrainian 

Front fought block to block down the main avenues of Pest to reach their 

objective. The Romanian corps led the offensive and secured Pest on 17 

January 1945. The eastern side of the Danube was now under control of 

the Red Army, however, only half of Malinvosky’s objective was complete; the battle for Buda still needed to be brought to a conclusion.

On 24 January, the Germans once again attempted to break the Red 

Army’s hold on the western bank of the Danube. Gille’s Fourth SS Panzer Division had a stunning success and reached the Danube, then swung 

northward toward Buda. Malinovsky and Tolbukhin reacted by redistributing forces between the Second and Third Ukrainian fronts in an effort to 

halt Gille’s counterattack. Finally, after several tense days, the Red Army 

halted the counter-attack launched by Gille. The German and Hungarian 

forces on the southern flank of Gille’s advance began to erode. To maintain 
182

this stake in his defensive line, Gille halted his offensive, which gave the 

Red Army a much-needed tactical pause. This tactical blow cost the German forces the necessary momentum to push toward Buda to relieve the 

pressure on the Germany’s trapped garrison.

By the first week in February, the Red Army had successfully stopped 

the relief attempt a mere 18 miles from central Buda. The Red Army could 

now focus on capturing Buda and completing Stalin’s quest to capture Budapest as a political objective to use at his meetings at the Yalta summit.

By 10 February 1945, the Red Army was back on the offensive and had 

captured large swaths of Buda, and more importantly, had seized Gellert 

Hill, a critical terrain feature in Buda. Pfeffer-Wildenbruch’s headquarters 

in the Castle district was approximately a mile from the peak of Gellert 

Hill. The next day, Pfeffer-Wildenbruch finally received permission from 

Hitler to attempt a breakout. Although he had worked through two possible courses of action early in December, Pfeffer-Wildenbruch and his 

staff reworked their initial plans to account for the Red Army’s success 

in Buda and Pest. Their new plan envisioned the roughly 10,000 German 

troops attempting a breakout in three waves under the cover of darkness. 

The plan called for these forces to move in a west by northwest orientation 

and attempt a link up with German forces beyond the Red Army’s lines. 

The breakout attempt was a miserable failure. The Red Army captured 

Pfeffer-Wildenbruch in a Buda suburb, trying to escape through a sewer 

system. In addition, the Red Army killed three division commanders as 

the three waves tried to fight their way back toward German lines. Of the 

Figure 29. Soviet Siege and German Breakout, January-February 1945
183

German troops that attempted to break out of Budapest, only 785 escaped. 

By 13 February 1945, the Soviet Army had finally achieved its objective. 

It had captured Budapest a staggering 100 days after Malinovsky’s telephone conversation, in which Stalin wanted Budapest taken in five days 

(2 November 1944).

The Soviet Union’s capture of Budapest had been a hard fought victory in 

which it lost between 100,000 to 160,000 troops. The Germans and Hungarians 

lost 70,000 troops, with another 110,000 taken prisoner by the Red Army.14 In 

addition, the Red Army’s assault on Budapest tied up roughly one-third of all 

German panzer divisions, while the Allies pushed toward Germany after the battle of the Ardennes on the western front. Hitler would only launch one more major counter attack into western Hungary before the final collapse of his regime.

The people of Budapest also suffered casualties. Roughly 40,000 civilians died during the 100 days of fighting. Approximately half of the civilians killed were Jewish. Though a majority of Budapest’s Jewish population 

survived, Jews throughout the rest of Hungary were not so fortunate. They 

suffered a grisly fate well known to students of the Holocaust.

The political significance of Budapest constituted a major point made 

by Stalin when he ordered Malinovsky to take the city in late October 1944. 

The Red Army’s conquest of Budapest took place as the Yalta conference 

concluded. Of significance is the fact that both Churchill and Roosevelt conceded that central and eastern European countries “liberated” by the Red 

Army should remain “friends” to the Soviet Union.15 Though Stalin had 

tangentially agreed to allow free elections once the region stabilized, in reality the Soviet Union capitalized on this opportunity to begin to construct a 

sphere of influence that would serve as a significant security buffer.16

Decisiveness

The Red Army’s seizure of Budapest had significant ramifications beyond the context of the Second World War. First, this forgotten victory, 

at least from the West’s perspective, deserves attention as the action happened at approximately the same time that the allies fought the Battle of 

the Bulge in the Ardennes. In a parallel outcome, both of these battles 

paved the way for the Allies to attack into Germany from the east and the 

west. The importance of Germany, suffering from dwindling resources, 

forced to defend both fronts cannot be overstated. We therefore need to 

remember the battle of Budapest, at least for the fact that Hungary ceased 

to be an effective ally to Germany in the aftermath of this battle, ultimately 

leaving Germany to fight on two fronts alone. Germany lacked allies on 

the European continent after this fight.
184

Second, the Soviet Union’s success in Budapest allowed the Red Army 

access to Austria and Bavaria in the months after the battle. As previously 

noted, Hitler only launched this one additional foray into Hungary to check 

the rapid success of the Red Army in the month between the capture of Budapest and the end of the war. His attempt to maintain access to strategic oil 

reserves in Hungary failed and left his nation in a precarious position as the 

Allies approached.

Though these two points are important within the context of the Second 

World War, they do not necessarily approach the definition of decisive. The 

decisive importance of the Battle of Budapest relates to Stalin’s conversation with Malinovsky in October 1944 when Stalin stressed the political 

significance of seizing the Hungarian capital. The Soviet dictator seemed to 

refer to the need for the Red Army to hold Budapest as a means to provide 

the Soviet Union with additional political leverage in talks with the other 

allies at Yalta. In addition, Stalin recognized the value of having “friendly 

nations” in Central and Eastern Europe. Holding Budapest and later all of 

Hungary provided the Soviet Union with a significant political victory as it 

built its post war security buffer in central Europe. This strategic victory for 

Stalin is the foundation of the decisiveness of the Battle of Budapest.

In the immediate aftermath of the Second World War, though Stalin 

had agreed with Roosevelt and Churchill to allow free elections in central Europe, he began to manipulate the internal political environment in 

Hungary, and Budapest particularly, to ensure that Hungary emerged as 

a strong communist ally.17 As a result of his quest for a strong and wide 

security buffer from the west, Stalin firmly controlled reconstruction, not 

just in Hungary, but also in what became his Warsaw Pact allies.18 Control 

over Poland, Hungary, and Czechoslovakia provided Stalin with the strong 

and forward defense that the Soviet Union coveted. Therefore, from the 

perspective of the Soviet Union, capturing Budapest was decisive as it allowed the Soviet Union to use Central and Eastern Europe for the duration 

of the Cold War as a significant security buffer against its primary threat.19

Stalin’s quest for security proved decisive not just for the Soviet Union, 

but also for the people of Hungary.

Though Hungary had a complicated past as a partner in the Austro-Hungarian empire, from at least 1848, there had been a strong strain 

of independence and a democratic tendency. The legacy of the Soviet 

Union’s liberation of Hungary from the Nazis and the Arrow-Cross party 

was both a blessing and curse for Hungarians. On the one hand, the Red 

Army expelled and terminated the heinous legacy of fascist rule. However, 

the occupation of their country by the military of the Soviet Union was 
185

not just a short term affair, but rather a 50 year ordeal that fueled tension 

and distrust between Hungarians and the Soviet Union. In 1956, this tension spurred Hungarians to rise up and demand greater autonomy from 

the Soviet Union. Moscow could not allow this and used military force 

to suppress the “Hungarian Revolution.” The events of 1956 demonstrate 

another perspective of decisiveness.

From a Hungarian point of view, the Battle of Budapest was a decisive 

operation because it sealed the fate of Hungary for the next 50 years, one 

that saw a suppression of democratic tendencies and hope for a renewed 

nation. Therefore, the Battle of Budapest has a very strong place in the collective memory of the Hungarian people, which will ensure that the battle 

remains a significant topic of debate in the history of central Europe after 

1945. As former Warsaw Pact enemies become North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) allies in the late 20th and early 21st century, the West 

needs to remember this forgotten decisive battle as it shaped the strategic 

and military culture of our time.

Notes

1. See David M. Glantz and Jonathan House, When Titans Clashed: How 

the Red Army Stopped Hitler (Lawrence, KS: University Press of Kansas, 1995) 

for the best coverage of the Red Army’s march to Berlin.

2. Krisztián Ungváry, The Siege of Budapest: 100 Days in World War II

(New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2005), 7-8.

3. Ungváry, The Siege of Budapest, 410-426.

4. The forces arrayed throughout the eastern steppes of Hungary defended a 

series of fighting positions that were designed to collapse if necessary and provide stronger defense as the forces consolidated closer to Budapest. This essay 

will discuss these positions later in this essay as the siege is examined.

5. Ungváry, Siege of Budapest, 410-426.

6. Kamen Nevenkin, Take Budapest: The Struggle for Hungary, Autumn, 

1944 (Gloucestershire: Spellmount, 2012) 207.

7. Nevenkin, Take Budapest, 211.

8. Nevenkin, Take Budapest, 211.

9. Nevenkin, Take Budapest, 81.

10. Earl F. Ziemke, Stalingrad to Berlin: The German Defeat in the East 

(Washington DC: Center for Military History, 1966), 378-86.

11. There are conflicting interpretations of this event. At first, the Soviet 

Union claimed that Germans fired on their envoys. After the war, the mine became the accepted explanation. Ungváry, Siege of Budapest, 116-119.

12. Richard Evans, The Third Reich at War (New York: Penguin, 2009), 

653-654.

13. Ungváry, Siege of Budapest, 262.

14. Ungváry, Siege of Budapest, 427-429.
186

15. Daniel Yergen, Shattered Peace: The Origins of the Cold War (New 

York: Penguin, 1990), 42-69.

16. Vladimir Zubok and Constantine Pleshakov, Inside the Kremlin’s Cold 

War: From Stalin to Khrushchev (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 

1996), 17.

17. A very valuable history of Hungary in its transition from the Second 

World War to the Communist era can be found in Peter Kenez, Hungary From 

the Nazis to the Soviets: The Establishment of the Communist Regime in Hungary, 1944-1948 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2006).

18. The Warsaw pact included the Soviet Union, Poland, Czechoslovakia, 

Romania, Bulgaria, East Germany, and Hungary.

19. Zubok and Pleshakov, Inside the Kremlin’s Cold War, 47-48.
187

Chapter 10

Battle for the Pusan Perimeter

The Korean War’s Decisive Battle

Janet Valentine

Although the battle for the Pusan Perimeter during the Korean War 

was officially fought between 1 August and 14 September 1950, it really 

began with the United States’ first combat action of the war on 5 July. At 

Osan, South Korea, the Korean People’s Army (KPA) routed the egregiously undermanned Task Force (TF) Smith. What was left of that small 

force and the battered Republic of Korea Army (ROKA) began a retreat 

south that, despite commitment of additional American forces, stopped 

only when US and South Korean forces reached the port of Pusan. Retreat 

was no longer possible; they would “stand or die.”1

In what the Commander in Chief, Far East, General of the Army 

Douglas MacArthur later described as “an arrogant display of strength,” 

Lieutenant Colonel Charles B. Smith led approximately 550 men from 

the 24th Infantry Division (ID) in an attempt to stop the Russian trained 

and equipped KPA as far north of Pusan as possible.2 Several of Smith’s 

officers and NCOs were World War II combat veterans, but Osan was the 

first battle for most of his force. Within the day, TF Smith was overrun and 

scattered. Smith regrouped the following day, but the encounter cost him 

at least 150 casualties in return for delaying the North Koreans for only a 

few hours.

While TF Smith regrouped, the rest of the 24ID, commanded by Major General William F. Dean, moved north along the Pusan-Taegu-Taejon-Seoul road aiming to halt the KPA’s advance. Between 5 and 16 July, 

Dean established numerous failed blocking positions. During those ten 

exhausting, rain-soaked, mud filled days, the North Koreans repeatedly 

outflanked the American positions, taking a serious toll on men and equipment, and ultimately pushing defending forces across the Kum River. The 

only bright spot, if such existed, was that United Nations’ air forces gained 

air superiority, eliminating the air threat to Republic of Korea (ROK) and 

American ground forces. By 19 July, the 24ID established a defensive line 

between the Kum River and Taejon. Taejon was an important communications and transportation hub because of its railroad line to Pusan. If Dean 

could not hold Taejon, perhaps he could provide Eighth Army commander, 

Lieutenant General Walton H. “Bulldog” Walker, additional time to prepare a defense at Pusan. 3
188

Walker commanded XX Corps under General George S. Patton 

during World War II, earning a reputation as an aggressive, intelligent 

officer. He enjoyed good working relationships with his superiors – not 

only Patton, but also with Generals Omar Bradley and Dwight D. Eisenhower. Unfortunately, his relationship with MacArthur was distant 

and strained. MacArthur was a micromanager who rarely engaged with 

any but a few carefully selected, utterly loyal, and intensely protective 

staff members.

Walker’s task in Japan was further complicated. When he arrived for 

occupation duty in 1948, he found the four divisions of Eighth Army badly 

understrength, with few combat veterans in the ranks. Postwar budget constraints had also stripped regiments of their tank companies, substituted 

medium for heavy tanks in divisional armored battalions, and reduced the 

number of guns in artillery units.

Despite frustrations with his commander, Walker worked diligently to improved Eighth Army’s combat readiness. When the North Koreans attacked, 

however, he did not consider his force up to standard. His soldiers’ failure to 

stop the Communist drive angered him. He was determined that his men understand that they could no longer “bug out,” that they must hold their line.4

As the battle for Taejon developed, the Communists invested the city 

forcing the US and ROK forces toward the port, and capturing Major GenFigure 30. Lieutenant General Walton H. Walker and Major General William F. Dean
189

eral Dean during the battle. Despite the KPA’s momentum, the unexpected resistance and advance down the Korean peninsula overextended their 

lines of supply, bleeding them of men and material. Moreover, the delays 

forced upon them by American and ROK soldiers allowed time for the 

United States to land additional forces in South Korea.

On 9 July, the initial elements of Major General William B. Kean’s 

25ID arrived in South Korea and immediately moved to Hamchang from 

where they hoped to stop the North Koreans investing Taegu. Nine days 

later, the 1st Cavalry Division debarked at Pohang-dong, north of Pusan, 

to strengthen the ROK units manning the allied right flank. The 29th Regimental Combat Team (RCT) landed at Chinju on 26 July. Considerably 

strengthened, but still undermanned and tired, the Eighth Army and ROK 

forces now faced a weeks-long battle to retain the United Nations Command (UNC) toehold on the Korean Peninsula.5

Walker issued his famous “stand or die” order as Eighth Army readied 

itself to withdraw across the Naktong River, still in retreat against the advancing KPA. Issued to his division commanders, the order made clear the 

UNC’s dire situation. After assuring them that MacArthur was doing his 

best to send reinforcements, he declared that there could be:

no more retreating, withdrawal, or readjustment of the lines.... 

There is no line behind us to which we can retreat.... There will 

be no Dunkirk, there will be no Bataan. A retreat to Pusan would 

be one of the greatest butcheries in history. We must fight until 

the end. Capture by these people is worse than death itself. We 

will fight as a team. If some of us must die, we will die fighting 

together. Any man who gives ground may be responsible for the 

death of thousands of his comrades.6

Walker ended his speech with a note of confidence, “I want everybody 

to understand we are going to hold this line. We are going to win.”7 By 4 

August, Walker’s forces had withdrawn into the Pusan Perimeter, bounded in the west by the Naktong River, and to the north by the mountains 

stretching from Naktong-Ni to Yongdok, on the east coast.8

South Korean units manned the northern perimeter in a broken line 

anchored by the Republic of Korea 3d Infantry Division (3ID) on the east 

coast near Yongdok. Mountains dictated a large gap in the line between the 

ROK 3ID, and the ROK Capital Infantry Division well to the west, near 

the Kigye River. The South Korean and 6th IDs manned the line stretching 

from the Capital Infantry Division to the ROK 1st Infantry Division (1ID) 

mooring the perimeter’s northwest corner at Naktong-ni, a few miles north 
190

of Waegwon. From east to west, the Korean People’s Army 5th, 12th, 8th, 

and 13th Infantry Divisions stood ready to attack the tired ROKA units.9

From Naktong-ni, the defensive line turned south along the eastern 

bank of the Naktong until it met the Nam River. At the juncture, the perimeter followed the roads to the coast. From Chung-ni near the coast, 

northward to the Nam River, Walker deployed three regiments of the 25th 

Infantry Division (25ID). Two regiments of the 24th Infantry Division 

(24ID), and a single ROK regiment, deployed north of the Nam along 

a forty-mile front. 1st Cavalry Division’s 7th, 8th and 5th Cavalry Regiments extended the line another 35 miles to the position held by the ROK 

1ID. From south to north, the American units faced the North Korean 6th 

and 83d Motorized Regiment of the 105th Armored Division, 4th, and 3d 

Infantry Divisions. 7th Cavalry’s 1st Battalion was in division reserve. 

Once established, the Pusan Perimeter measured about 100 miles north to 

south, and 50 miles east to west.10

Fortunately, the Perimeter included a rail line that connected Pusan to 

Miryang, Taegu and Pohang-dong, thus allowing Walker to exploit his interior lines. Moreover, the port allowed supplies and reinforcement to reach 

the beleaguered forces inside the Perimeter. Because of the rail line, Walker 

planned a mobile defense, creating a weaker defensive line at the Perimeter’s strongpoints, while using the bulk of his force as reserves he could 

rush to threatened points along the line. Significantly, Walker essentially 

pioneered the mobile defense at Pusan. Until he employed it, of necessity 

given his limited resources, the mobile defense was a theoretical concept. 

Furthermore, lacking subordinate corps headquarters Walker directed nearly 

every part of the defense. He was always in motion, moving from one threatened position to the next so that he could direct counter actions.11

During the first three weeks of the Perimeter defense, the North Koreans 

conducted repeated, nearly simultaneous attacks, all along the United Nation’s (UN) line. The KPA began the unrelenting assaults on 7 August in the 

25ID’s sector just as Task Force Kean, named after the division’s commander, Major General William B. Kean, launched the first UN counterattack of 

the war. Comprising most of the 25th, the recently landed 5th Regimental 

Combat Team (RCT) and 1st Provisional Marine Brigade, TF Kean began 

moving out of Masan along two roads toward Chinju and the KPA 6th ID. 

This encounter battle was typical of the confused fighting that characterized 

combat against the North Koreans. Moving quietly and quickly, the KPA 

had worked their way behind Kean’s positions. As a result, the task force 

had to recapture its own line of departure while trying to clear large numbers 

of infiltrators from the mountainous area to its rear.12
191

Near the coast, 

Marine fighter aircraft 

badly bloodied Communist columns, but 

farther north KPA units 

overran the 555th Field 

Artillery (FA) Battalion on 12 August in the 

Battle of Bloody Gulch 

near Pongam-ni. Most 

of the “Triple Nickel” 

was killed during the 

brutal fighting that took 

place at Pongam-ni, but 

the North Koreans took 

55 of the men prisoner. 

Twenty men from the 

555th’s sister unit, the 

90th FA, were also captured. Another in a series 

of massacres of American prisoners of war by 

their captors, the North 

Koreans murdered all 75 

of the artillerymen.13

As Kean was preparing to step off at Masan, the KPA 4th Infantry Division began crossing 

the Naktong near Waegwan, and the ROK 1ID’s positions. A crossing in 

front of Major General John H. Church’s 24th Infantry Division at Yongsan commenced the First Battle of the Naktong Bulge, the first real threat 

to the Perimeter. Although Church expected an attack, the KPA hit farther 

south, and sooner, than he anticipated. Infiltrators easily passed through 

the thinly manned UN line to take up position on Obong-ni, a ridge that 

dominated the bulge. Nicknamed “No Name Ridge” by Church’s men, the 

crest was vital to holding the Perimeter. For the KPA, the ridge situated 

them to push toward Yongsan.

Obong-ni changed hands repeatedly during the course of the twoweek battle. Communist forces fought fiercely, Marines and two additional infantry regiments joined the struggle for No Name, American losses 

were heavy, but so were the North Korean casualties. Moreover, the North 

Figure 31. The Pusan Perimeter
192

Koreans’ supply line was stretched beyond its limits, and there were no 

replacements for their combat losses. Even had North Korea anticipated 

a lengthy conflict, geography remained a formidable challenge. The only 

route that could support a flow supply sufficient to sustain the KPA ran 

through Seoul. That city was the hub for all roads and rail lines feeding 

the South. Thus, even the KPA forces fighting along the East Coast relied 

wholly upon supplies coming through Seoul. This made an already too 

long supply line congested and vulnerable. In fact, it was a favorite target 

for UNC airstrikes. Fortunately, North Korean supply problems were an 

UNC ally. Slowly, fighting stubbornly all the way, the KPA 4ID withdrew 

to the west bank of the Naktong with casualties so heavy that it was out of 

action for some while.14

Simultaneously with the 4ID’s withdrawal, other North Korean units 

attacked the South Korean 1st and 6th Infantry Divisions and 1st Cavalry 

sectors of the perimeter north of Taegu, where Walker had his headquarters. 

From north to south, the KPA deployed the 1st Infantry Division and elements of the 105th Armored Division, the 13th, 15th, 3d, and 10th ID in an 

arc around Taegu where Walker and the ROK Army established headquarters. If Taegu fell, the threat to Pusan, South Korea’s temporary capital city, 

and the United Nation’s toehold on the peninsula increased dramatically.15

Already weakened by earlier heavy fighting, the ROKA divisions ceded almost 40 miles to the Communists before, assisted by American forces, 

stopping the KPA only ten miles from Taegu. In the “Battle of the Bowling 

Alley” (18 August to 24 August), named for the stretch of straight, flat 

road flanked by hills upon which they fought, the North Koreans repeatedly sent tanks down the road to attack UN positions. In contrast to Obongni, the Americans and South Koreans occupied the vantage point and were 

able to destroy the attacking units. In addition, the Wolfhounds (27th Infantry Regiment, 25th Infantry Division) quickly recognized that the KPA 

used flares to signal an attack. By using captured North Korean flares to 

mimic this system, the Americans drew the North Korean units into deadly 

ambushes. By the night of 22 August, conditions were so bad for the North 

Koreans that a KPA artillery officer, Lieutenant Colonel Chong Pong Uk, 

surrendered. Using information he supplied, air strikes destroyed enemy 

artillery supporting Communist attacks in the Bowling Alley. That same 

day, American forces cleared the surrounding hills of enemy positions. On 

23 August, the North Koreans began to pull back, mining the road as they 

retreated. By 24 August, the Wolfhounds and the ROK 1st Division had 

secured the main supply route. For their actions in the Bowling Alley, the 

27th Infantry Regiment received the Presidential Unit Citation.16
193

During the attack on Taegu, tragedy occurred on Hill 303, north of 

Waegwan. Hill 303 anchored the right flank of Eighth Army, and was critical to control of vital transportation routes inside the Perimeter. Company 

G, 5th Cavalry Regiment, and one platoon of mortarmen from H Company 

held the hill. On the morning of 15 August, Communist forces surrounded 

G Company. Although relief efforts failed, the men of G Company managed to escape Hill 303 the following night. Efforts to regain the hill succeeded on 17 August.

The units retaking the hill discovered the bodies of 26 mortarmen 

executed by the North Koreans. As with other such incidents during the 

early weeks of the war, there is no evidence that this was official KPA 

policy, but rather, resulted from a lack of official policy and preparation. 

Indeed, in July, the North Korean government had pledged to abide by 

the Geneva Convention. However, expecting a short war fighting only 

the South Koreans, North Korea had not planned for the eventuality of 

prisoners of war. Nevertheless, this particular incident received a good 

deal of attention in the United States causing understandable outrage 

among civilians as well as soldiers in Korea. Indeed, anger was such that 

MacArthur ordered the Air Force to drop leaflets warning senior North 

Korean commanders that he considered them responsible and accountable for war crimes.17

In the ROK 1ID sector, the KPA nearly broke through. Breakthrough 

appeared so likely that South Korean President Syngman Rhee relocated his government from Taegu to Pusan. Hoping to relieve the pressure, 

MacArthur ordered a skeptical Air Force to deliver a B-29 attack on an 

area in that sector where he thought there were substantial numbers of 

Communist troops. On 16 August, 100 airplanes flew a series of strikes. 

A reconnaissance flight over the strike zone detected no enemy presence, 

but, according to Far East Air Forces Bomber command this was because 

there were no Communist forces there in the first place. What is not in 

doubt is that hard fighting by General Paik Sun Yup’s 1st Infantry Division 

ultimately prevented the North Koreans from reaching Taegu.18

As threatening as conditions were in the South, the situation in the 

East was even more threatening. The North Korean 5th Infantry Division 

continued to press the stubborn Republic of Korea 3ID near Yongdok. Although the South Koreans were holding, a large KPA force moved through 

the gap between the 3ID and the Capital Division. By 10 August, the Communists were 25 miles behind the ROK line at Pohang-dong, thus cutting 

the 3d Infantry Division’s lines of communications. If the KPA controlled 

Pohang-dong, they would also control major roads inside the perimeter. 
194

Additionally, the KPA now menaced the American airfield at Yonil, a hub 

of UN tactical airpower during the battle, prompting the Air Force to vacate the base on 11 August. That same day, the US Navy evacuated the 

3ID, landing them farther south where they could regroup to reengage 

the enemy. During the next several days, UN and Communist troops vied 

for control of Pohang-dong. Although American and South Korean forces 

were tired, they managed to push the exhausted and over-stretched KPA 

north, away from Pohang-dong.19

On 1 September, the Korean People’s Army launched its last, desperate, offensive against the Perimeter. Although weakened to breaking 

by unremitting combat and supply lines stretched too thin to supply even 

minimum rations and ammunition, the Communists attacked all along UN 

lines. Despite their condition, the North Koreans spent the next ten days 

bleeding the defenders before UN forced finally forced the KPA to pull 

back. When the offensive subsided, Walker’s forces had secured the vital 

Taegu-Pohang road, and the western boundary returned to its original positions. Walker began preparing for a breakout, while MacArthur readied 

an amphibious assault at Inchon designed to break the North Korean line 

at Seoul, and allow Walker’s troops to breakthrough the Perimeter.20

The newly formed US X Corps, commanded by MacArthur’s favorite 

Major General Edward M. Almond, began the assault at Inchon on 15 

September when elements of the 1st Marine Division went ashore at Wolmi-do. The following day, Walker began the UNC offensive against the 

KPA forces ringing the Perimeter.

After six weeks of hard fighting the North Korean units threatening 

Pusan were exhausted, and manned at less than half strength. Although 

Walker’s forces were weary and still under-supplied, they now heavily outnumbered the Communists. Nevertheless, in some places Walker’s troops 

had to repel KPA attacks before commencing their own. At the Naktong 

Bulge, the 2ID chased attacking enemy troops toward the river. Pursued 

by Air Force F-51s and American armor, the Communists bled heavily as 

American units pushed them across the river and out of the surrounding 

hills. Achieving the task two days ahead of schedule accentuated the relief 

of sending the enemy racing toward Seoul. North of the Bulge, the 5th 

Regimental Combat Team took Waegwan, placing UNC forces astride the 

North Korean lines. Leaving the 5th RCT in place, the 24ID continued the 

advance as the 1st Cavalry moved to take Taejon.

On the northern edge of the Perimeter, nearly broken South Korean 

units pushed KPA units to disintegration. Along the East Coast, US naval 
195

gunfire assisted determined South Korean attacks that forced the Communists out of Pohang-dong. Despite these early gains, the 25th Division 

could not dislodge the KPA units opposite the Southern Perimeter until 

near the end of September. Still, eager to declare mission accomplished, 

MacArthur and Syngman Rhee held a ceremony in the National Assembly 

in Seoul on 29 September.21

Had Walker and the tired men he commanded failed at Pusan, the 

bloodletting Walker predicted in his “stand or die” order would surely 

have occurred. Not only would the soldiers and Marines have died brutally, but also millions more Koreans would have lost their lives or their freedom, condemned to live out their days under a ruthless regime. Although 

overshadowed by the daring of Inchon and the romance of the Changjin 

Reservoir, the Battle for the Pusan Perimeter is the decisive battle of the 

Korean War.

Notes

1. Lieutenant General Walton H. “Bulldog” Walker, commander, Eighth 

Army, issued his “stand or die” order on 29 July 1950.

2. Douglas MacArthur, Reminiscences (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute 

Press, 1964), 336

3. US Army Center of Military History, Korea – 1950 (Washington, DC: 

Government Printing Office, 1997), 15-16; Roy E. Appleman, South to the Naktong, North to the Yalu (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1986) 

146-152.

4. David T. Zabecki, “Stand or Die – 1950 Defense of Korea’s Pusan Perimeter,” Military History (June/July 2009), http://www.historynet.com/stand-ordie-1950-defense-of-koreas-pusan-perimeter.htm (accessed 2 February 2017).

5. MacArthur established General Headquarters, United Nations Command 

on 24 July 1950 in Tokyo.

6. Zabecki, “Stand or Die.”

7. Zabecki, “Stand or Die.”

8. James F. Schnabel, Policy and Direction: The First Year (Washington, 

DC: Government Printing Office, 1988), 126-127; http://www.trumanlibrary.org/

whistlestop/study_collections/korea/large/korea729_82.htm.bak (Accessed 15 

January 2015).

9. Michael J. Varhola, Fire & Ice: The Korean War, 1950-1953 (Masan City, 

IA: Savas Publishing Co., 2000), 119; Kevin Mahoney, Formidable Enemies: 

The North Korean and Chinese Soldier in the Korean War (Novato, CA: Presidio Press, 2001), 112-116; Appleman, 254-255.

10. Appleman, 253-255.

11. Zabecki, “Stand or Die.”

12. James L. Stokesbury, A Short History of the Korean War (New York: 

William Morrow, 1988), 54.
196

13. Stokesbury, 54, 65-66; Appleman, 265-288; John C. Chapin, Fire 

Brigade: US Marines in the Pusan Perimeter (Washington, DC: Government 

Printing Office, 2000), 1-46.

14. Stokesbury, 55: Appleman, 289-318.

15. Stokesbury, 55-56; Appleman, 357-358.

16. Edwin P. Hoyt, The Pusan Perimeter (New York: Jove Books, 1992), 

173-183; Appleman, 334-363; Uzal Ent, “Battles of the Bowling Alley,” Military 

History, (August, 2000), http://www.historynet.com/magazines/military_history/

page/23 (Accessed 15 January 2015).

17. Appleman, 347-349; Richard E. Ecker, Korean Battle Chronology: 

Unit-by-Unit United States Casualty Figures and Medal of Honor Citations

(Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2005), 14-15; Allan R. Millett, The War for Korea, 

1950-1951: They Came from the North (Lawrence, KS: University Press of 

Kansas, 2010), 161.

18. Stokesbury, 56.

19. Stokesbury, 57; Hoyt, 164-171.

20. Stokesbury, 62-72.

21. Stokesbury, 72-78.
197

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