There is a dark, sublime fascination that pervades any study of the Fredericksburg Campaign. The definition between victory and defeat appears so stark that it defies understanding, even for veteran soldiers inured to such puerile terms. A Confederate veteran of the legendary fight for the Stone Wall at Fredericksburg, J. S. Wood, wrote, “Talk about Pickett’s Charge at Gettysburg: that was grand indeed; but I never saw anything that surpassed Sumner’s charge at Fredericksburg. He simply charged and CHARGED and charged, until there was left nothing of his Corps to charge with. All was dead, or dying, or wounded.” A disgruntled Union officer, Lt. Col. St. Clair A. Mulholland, wrote succinctly and bitterly: “The battle was over; the result, a graveyard.”1

The Fredericksburg Campaign marked the nadir of the Union war effort in the Civil War. It came in the dark months of winter, when both daylight and hopes ran short in the North. It exploded at the worst possible moment for President Abraham Lincoln. He had spent the better part of 1862 reassuring voters that the war was going according to schedule and victory seemed certain. The North faced a Congressional and gubernatorial election year with growing anticipation. But then, in September and October, Confederate armies, under Generals Robert E. Lee, Braxton Bragg, and E. Kirby Smith, seized the initiative and launched offensives into Maryland and Kentucky. The bloody battles of Antietam (Sharpsburg) and Perryville ensued with the Confederates prudently withdrawing back into Virginia and Tennessee. Even with the Federal armies victorious and tentatively back on the offensive, Northerners’ confidence had been badly shaken. The gold standard fluctuated dramatically and inflation became an even more painful reality. At this moment, President Lincoln issued the preliminary Emancipation Proclamation. The president needed to quell voters’ fears quickly to sustain the Republican Party and to give substance to the preliminary Emancipation Proclamation. The only way to restore public confidence would be through military victory. Lincoln understood this and encouraged all of his field commanders to embark on a winter campaign. For the first time, the president forged a crudely “coordinated” offensive. Most of his field armies had functioned independently without any reference or communications between them. They still did not harmonize their actions among themselves, but Lincoln had them moving at the same time and with well-defined objectives. Their combined efforts would seriously tax Confederate reactions and resources.

Union Maj. Gen. George B. McClellan balked at the president’s mandates, and abruptly found himself replaced by his one-time friend, Maj. Gen. Ambrose E. Burnside. History has unkindly characterized Burnside as a bumbler and a fool. In the fall of 1862, Lincoln made him the commander of the nation’s largest and most prestigious army because he appeared to be anything but a fool. He had earned an enviable reputation for being a decisive, dynamic, and aggressive commander. He had mastered complex army-navy operations along the Carolina coast, and had experience with victory (of which few Union officers in the East could boast at the time). Anxious for results, the order placing Burnside in command also demanded his plans at once. Incredibly, the general had a plan ready—he proposed marching on Richmond by way of Fredericksburg, Virginia.

In 1862, Fredericksburg had a peculiar feel of being “unfinished,” according to a visitor. It was a colonial port town that had seen better days. River traffic had been diverted largely to the north and south, leaving Fredericksburg in the backwash of development. A Union soldier fondly remembered it as “an ancient city . . . noted for the refinement of its inhabitants, their aristocratic characteristics and the beauty of its women.” The 5,020 inhabitants of the Rappahannock River city in 1860 lived in quiet repose, little dreaming of the armies about to engulf them. The old colonial city stood at the midpoint between the two warring capitals, and formed one of the principal stops on the Richmond, Fredericksburg & Potomac Railroad. This railroad became essential for ensuring a steady, reliable stream of supplies for Burnside’s army as it trekked into a winter campaign against the Confederate capital.2

The Union commander relied on speed and surprise to take Fredericksburg and clear the area before Gen. Robert E. Lee’s Confederate Army of Northern Virginia (then camped around Orange, Virginia) could react and block the road south to Richmond. Burnside wanted to get between Lee and the Southern capital, compelling the Confederates to attack him on any ground the Union army chose to its advantage. Burnside thought out his plan well, even ordering up pontoon bridge materiel to meet him at Fredericksburg, so he could cross the Rappahannock River without missing a beat. Lincoln had some misgivings about Burnside’s plans, but he wanted to encourage his new commander’s aggressive spirit, so he approved the plan with a caveat. The General-in-Chief of the army, Maj. Gen. Henry W. Halleck, informed Burnside on November 14 that, “the President has just assented to your plan. He thinks it will succeed if you move rapidly; otherwise not.” Burnside needed no prodding. With Lincoln’s final blessing, the Union army was marching within 24 hours.3

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