Nato
Floor Speech
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Mr. YOUNG. Mr. President, in 1864, after 3 years of Civil War, many citizens of the North were ready for peace. The 13th Amendment had passed in this very Chamber but failed to do so in the House of Representatives, and the fate of Abraham Lincoln's Presidency--and perhaps the continuation of the war--was on the ballot.
In that spring of 1864, Lincoln placed his hand on a Hoosier general's shoulder, and he said: ``I believe it right to give you a chance.'' What he really meant was a second chance.
I rise to mark a day 160 years ago when that second chance and a refusal to flinch from duty, even in a forlorn hope, saved our Nation's Capital and possibly much more than that.
Not long after his meeting with Lincoln, that same soldier was ushered into the office of Secretary of War Ed Stanton.
``What do you know of the Middle Department?'' the Secretary asked.
``Nothing,'' his visitor replied.
``Nothing?'' the Secretary repeated.
``I am from the West,'' General Lew Wallace answered.
By ``the West,'' Wallace meant Crawfordsville, IN, and that is exactly where he was when the year began--an officer whose career appeared to be at a dead end.
Two years before, the division under his command arrived late to the Union lines during the first day of fighting at Shiloh. Wallace was scapegoated after one of the deadliest battles in the war up to that point. He was removed from his command in the Army of Tennessee and placed on reserve. Requests for a reinstatement failed.
``I had cast my last throw. What next?'' Wallace wondered.
The answer came from another Hoosier--President Abraham Lincoln. Wallace was to report to Washington and take command of the 8th Army Corps and the Middle Department even though he didn't even know where the Middle Department was headquartered. The answer, Stanton told him, was Baltimore, and that is where Wallace headed after buying a Rand McNally map of the United States for 15 cents.
In early July, Wallace sat at his desk studying that map closely. He had just received word from the anxious president of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad that Confederate troops were advancing through the Shenandoah Valley. The path from there to Washington, DC, was wide open. The city was poorly defended with Union soldiers. They were away attacking Richmond at the time.
``Washington, seriously menaced, was incapable of self-defense--that much was clear,'' he wrote years later.
Staring at that map, Wallace understood that the threat was very real and his responsibility was crystal clear. Without orders--without orders--he departed for Monocacy Junction, where the roads and railroad leading to Washington and Baltimore crossed a tributary of the Potomac.
Upon arrival, he stood on a bluff looking down on the Monocacy River and the green pastures and golden wheat fields beyond it. He could see the steeples of Frederick, MD, not far off and the Catoctin Mountain on the horizon.
The peaceful summer was interrupted with the echo of distant gunfire. Soon it was clear: General Robert E. Lee had sent General Jubal Early north to take Washington. He had crossed the Potomac and was on his way east toward Monocacy Junction, perhaps to Baltimore--more likely to Washington, just 40 miles away.
Wallace had already moved with great urgency. He messaged Washington to recall troops and prepare for an attack. He called in what brigades or parts of brigades he could to augment his own men, eventually raising a force of several thousand. Then he spread them thinly along the eastern bank of the river, determined to block its bridge just long enough for reinforcements to arrive in the Capital.
On the night of July 8, the eve of the battle, Wallace laid down and placed his head on a folded coat, but anxiety made sleep impossible. Could he throw a hastily gathered and mostly green force in the way of a superior army, in an objective so hopeless? The Navy Yard up in flames, the Capitol menaced, the library inside it looted, the treasury emptied, foreign heads of state rushing to recognize the Confederacy-- and then, most painfully, the image of Abraham Lincoln ``cloaked and hooded, stealing like a malefactor from the back door of the White House just as some gray-garbed Confederate brigadier burst in the front door.''
The next morning, July 9, when the Confederate Army of over 15,000 arrived at Monocacy River, it was met with fierce resistance from the outnumbered Federals. Rebel charges were repeatedly turned back until late in the afternoon, when Wallace, after heavy losses--nearly 1,300 dead and wounded--ordered his men to withdraw toward Baltimore.
Early's battered army paused for the night before it continued on to Washington. When he reached its gates on the 11th, Union reinforcements were waiting. A skirmish at Fort Stevens followed, and the rebels departed emptyhanded.
The Union stand cost the Confederates a full day--a full day--and with it, their chance at Washington.
Monocacy. Monocacy. Monocacy is usually unmentioned among the list of consequential Civil War battles, but today, on its 160th anniversary, we reflect on its importance. You see, had Early's men taken the Capital, however briefly, the humiliation could have persuaded a war- weary population to dismiss Abraham Lincoln.
What then would be the fate of the 13th Amendment or the eventual terms of peace? Because of Wallace's steely resolve and his men's uncommon valor, the questions went unanswered. Lincoln was reelected. The following January, the 13th Amendment to forever end slavery passed Congress. The war was over by April, and the Union was preserved. And General Lew Wallace, not unlike the hero of a novel he later wrote, was redeemed.
When it comes to words, Wallace will always be best known for ``Ben- Hur,'' but the message he forwarded to Washington after the Battle of Monocacy is timeless too. It should inspire all of us still, a reminder that rising to our duty, no matter the odds or even outcome, can change the course of history.
I did as I promised. Held the bridge to the last.
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