Monthly Archives: June 2016

Rosser the Cavalry Theorist? (part 2)


Eduard Detaille’s “Charge of the 4th Hussars at the Battle of Friedland (Vive L Empereur)” portrays the best use of cavalry as envisioned by theorists in the mid-19th century.

In a previous post, I addressed the question of whether Rosser’s abilities as a cavalry commander extended beyond the realm of elementary tactics. I noted that we have some evidence–including Tom’s Brook–that suggests Rosser’s capabilities did not even go so far as a mastery of elementary tactics. I implied that judgment and discretion were not prominent among Rosser’s gifts and that the historical record suggests that spirit, instinct, physical courage and stamina defined his style of aggressive leadership. I then called attention to Rosser’s 1868 letter to George Taylor Denison, III, and in this second part of the two-part post will offer some background to the letter with comments.

The story behind the letter, like many good stories of the Civil War period, involves Jubal Early. The cranky Early fled into self-exile in 1865 rather than live in the same country with the victorious Yankees. From Canada, he looked across the Niagara River into New York and felt only loathing at sight of the stars and stripes flying over Fort Niagara and its Federal garrison. The flag Early had once served as a young officer in the U. S. Army now only reminded him of “a barber pole.” In Canada, Early met George Denison, a former militia officer and a budding historian. Denison’s passion for military history, and especially for the cavalry, led him to research and publish two still-respected books, Modern Cavalry (1868) and History of Cavalry (1877). At Early’s urging, Denison solicited opinions from former Confederate cavalrymen, including Fitzhugh Lee, S. D. Lee, and Rosser. Rosser’s response survives as an appendix in Modern Cavalry, where Jubal Early found it after he and Rosser became bitter enemies in the 1880s. In the letter, Rosser referred to “my noble friend General Early,” but he later proved to be anything but a friend, and Early cited the letter as evidence in branding Rosser a hypocrite.

As with all writers of public prose, Rosser often composed through a persona, sometimes two. There is the man of sincerely held beliefs and there is also the manipulative schemer with an ulterior motive. It is difficult to determine how much of Rosser’s letter to Denison is sincere and how much is intended to inflate Rosser’s reputation as a military man. Rosser drops four names that suggest he knew some history and theory of the use of cavalry in combat. The two most recognizable names are of Napoleon’s famed cavalry commanders Michel Ney and Joachim Murat (aka “First Horseman of Europe”). Less famous, outside of military circles, was the name Friedrich Wilhelm Freiherr von Seydlitz, commander of Frederick the Great’s Prussian cavalry in the Seven Years’ War. Rosser’s reference to Lewis Edward Nolan, a British cavalry officer, suggests familiarity with Nolan’s important text Cavalry: Its History and Tactics, published in Europe before the American Civil War and reprinted in South Carolina in 1864. Much of what Rosser shares with Denison are lessons born of practical experience, but these lessons do not seem to extend beyond the knowledge of an experienced regimental or even company officer. Rosser’s recommendations about the most suitable weapons for cavalry, for example, are so obvious that hardly anyone could disagree. Rosser also makes a distinction between cavalry and mounted infantry. He argues that neither side in the Civil War used cavalry per se but only mounted infantry. This, too, is a valid idea, but, like the recommendations of weapons, it is a point so commonly made at the time that in making it Rosser is again only stating the obvious. Rosser’s letter offers no theoretical insights into the use of cavalry that he could not have gleaned either from casual conversations with other cavalry officers or from Nolan’s book.

Perhaps Rosser’s most interesting point is his assertion that cavalry’s only true and correct role is to attack. The assertion is interesting not because of what it might reveal about Rosser’s attributes as a theorist but of Rosser’s shortcomings as a combat commander.

Rosser’s statement that the strength of true cavalry rests only in its ability to deliver a severe shock to the enemy comes as no surprise because a craving for aggressive action dominated Rosser himself.  The argument that cavalry, to be most effective, had to use the speed of the horse and the power of the charge absolutely reflected Rosser’s personal predispositions. He charged first and stopped to think about it only later. This idea of the proper use of cavalry also happened to concur with the theories of Nolan, von Seydlitz, Ney, Murat and, eventually, Denison himself, so Rosser was firmly among the proponents of cavalry theory at the time. The key point, though, is that none of that mattered.

Cavalry was evolving, and the era of pure cavalry, as known by von Seydlitz, Murat, Ney and even Nolan, had passed. Technology had changed everything, as it always does, and Colts and Spencers and Henrys and Winchesters meant that every well-equipped cavalryman from 1863 onward would be a hybrid soldier and more mounted infantryman than chasseur.

TLRosserBandL75percentfeatured imageSo, while Rosser’s views regarding cavalry and the employment of it therefore agreed with the best authorities of his time, those views were based on facts so obvious and apparent to every observer that they seem hardly worth making. More interesting is the question of how the evolution of cavalry in the 1860s affected Rosser’s career. Given Rosser’s gifts for command and his inherent preference of vigorous and immediate mounted charges, might he have been a great cavalry commander born too late? If he had been able to command “pure” cavalry as it had been used a generation or two earlier rather than the hybrid troopers of the 1860s that masqueraded as cavalry but were in truth mounted infantrymen, perhaps Rosser would have excelled as a cavalry general. Instead fate assigned to Rosser the more complex task of handling mounted infantry in combat, which called for a flexibility and subtlety that Rosser did not possess. . .at least not at Tom’s Brook.


Louis Braun’s watercolor captures the aggressive spirit of Von Seydlitz

Postscript: In his Cavalry from Hoof to Track (2007), historian Roman Johann Jarymowycz includes two vibrant quotes that enliven Seydlitz and suggest that he and Rosser were kindred spirits as cavalrymen. Jarymowycz writes: “Von Seydlitz was the complete cavalry commander; he excelled at all military virtues and petty vices. He embraced base temptations as recklessly as he faced danger. The outspoken, heavy drinking officer was a rogue’s rogue as well as a cavalier’s cavalier.” The Prussian also trained his cavalrymen under war-like conditions, exercising them at full gallop over rough terrain. Predictably, such demanding training produced many injuries and even deaths, for which the king reproached Van Seydlitz. The general replied, “If you make such fuss about a few broken necks, your Majesty will never have the bold horsemen you require for the field.” pp. 70-71.

Rosser the Cavalry Theorist? (part 1)

One of my arguments in Decision at Tom’s Brook is that Rosser got in over his head at Tom’s Brook because he could not recognize options.  Though intelligent, Rosser was not a cerebral man. His mind did not dwell on subtleties. A friend, with her usual gift for the incisive analogy, likened Rosser to the man whose only tool is a hammer and who therefore tends see every problem as a nail. Throughout his life, Rosser’s default option was “attack.” His “Plan B” was “attack,” and his “when-all-else-has-failed” option was also “attack.” Bang. Bang. Bang.

I admit that looking at Rosser in this way is simplistic. I do not argue that he was a simple character and that I have him all figured out. Just the opposite. He was complicated, and I do not know or understand all the things that made him tick. One of the things I do not understand is the degree to which he understood his business as a commander of cavalry. Frank Myers of White’s Cavalry Battalion wrote that Rosser “was no general at all.” Rosser himself stated that his standing order called for his Laurel Brigade to charge the enemy on sight. Aggressiveness had to be an essential ingredient to success for any cavalry commander, but, as Jeb Stuart argued, it could not be the only ingredient. Raw, aggressiveness led to trouble. In Rosser’s recipe for victory and glory, it seems that unleavened aggressiveness sometimes counted for so much that all the other ingredients amounted to nothing more than a sprig of parsley garnish. In some ways, Rosser seems to have been a man with a hammer riding around Virginia looking for nails to hit.

Thomas L. RosserI do not suggest complete incompetence. I do, though, question the extent of Rosser’s abilities. In his writings after the war, Rosser assumed the role of a wise old head–a military sage competent to judge the performance of other commanders. He assumed a voice of authority when criticizing Robert E.  Lee, Jubal Early, Philip Sheridan, A.P. Hill and others. To some, Rosser’s judgments carried weight because he had been a major general in the Confederate army. The truth is that he had been but 28 years old when raised to major general in 1864–a time when significant qualifications for promotion included  a bit of experience and being above ground and breathing. Attrition among officers, on both sides but especially in the Confederate armies, meant that some men were promoted beyond their abilities not because they were the best choice but because they were the only choice. Rosser never commanded more than 2,000 troopers, which may bring into question his qualifications to criticize the performance of men who commanded armies. Rosser’s status as a minor major general of Confederate cavalry might not merit a thorough analysis of his tactical performance through the war, but in the absence of such a study we should view his assumed mantle of authority with skepticism.

I argue that Rosser possessed significant gifts as a commander, a point that seems to me beyond debate. But we have little evidence that those gifts extended beyond the realm of elementary tactics. In fact, we have some evidence–including Tom’s Brook–that suggests Rosser’s capabilities did not even go so far as a mastery of elementary tactics. Most of Rosser’s gifts seem to have been spiritual, instinctual and physical rather than cerebral. He had the heart and the strength to excel as a cavalryman. Whether he had the mind and intellectual attainments necessary to succeed at high command is open to question.

Any discussion of Rosser’s abilities as a cavalry commander must include his letter to George Taylor Denison, III, in January 1868. I will end this post with this link to the letter, and in my next post will offer some background and commentary.

Discoveries Among the Dead #2: A Mystery Carved in Stone

Lomax BasicThough he played an important part in the drama at Tom’s Brook, Lunsford Lomax remains one of those general officers of the Civil War who inspires complete indifference. He left no paper trail to speak of, so we know nothing of the inner man. Despite his high rank, he failed to inspire associates to record significant recollections about him. Though his quiet, methodical service was valuable before the Civil war to the U. S cavalry and during the war to the Confederate States, Lomax never achieved prominence or fame. He seems to have shunned renown and achieved a sort of excellence in the art of rising to moderate distinction while keeping quietly to the shadows of obscurity. After the war, a Confederate soldier snidely observed, “who ever heard of Lomax doing anything, good or bad?” Indeed. The crowning proof of Lomax’s success at self-effacement came immediately after his death when his family erected a stone to mark his grave. Even those closest to him–his wife, sister, daughters and kin–proved unable to supply the man’s correct name.

In another post, I wrote of my visit to the community cemetery in Warrenton, Virginia, to find the grave of William H. F. Payne. Though I easily discovered where to find the obscure general Payne, I had no inkling that the even more obscure Lomax rested nearby in the same graveyard, another testament, I guess, to the success of Lomax’s efforts to remain unobtrusive. I was unprepared for what I would find.

Like all researchers in every field, I strive for accuracy and distrust my memory. Research is all about checking and rechecking, and memory is the least reliable tool available to someone who works with piles and piles of facts. Nevertheless, as the tool most readily available, memory is the tool researchers use most often. One of the worst feelings a detective can endure is the sick sensation in the stomach that comes with the realization that there has been a major system error in the memory banks. I had a very, very bad few moments that day in the cemetery as I looked upon Lomax’s gravestone and contemplated the prospect of a major memory collapse.

Lunsford Lindsay Lomax, an army brat born in Newport Rhode Island and raised in Norfolk, had family roots in Virginia. Both his first and middle names appeared prominently in his family tree—they were family names that, as is the custom in Virginia, are given to children to honor cousins and uncles and aunts and great grandsires, etc. When he enrolled at West Point, the young man’s name was recorded on official documents as Lunsford Lindsay Lomax. When he was graduated from West Point with the class of 1856, his name was recorded as Lunsford Lindsay Lomax. Through all his service in the Confederate army, and on all the paperwork pertaining to that service, including his commission as major general, his name was recorded as Lunsford Lindsay Lomax.

Lomax Gravestone 1280 x 573So, how to explain the image to the left?  I wore a puzzled look as I read those first two names, and read them again. And again. I don’t think the sun actually clouded over and left me shrouded in darkness, but it seemed that way as I felt that detestable sick pang in my stomach. I thought about all the times I had used “Lunsford Lindsay Lomax” in print—all apparently in error.

Here is the problem. Three names, each beginning with and “L” and each consisting of two syllables. In each word, the first syllable receives the stress. Each of the three names is unusual, so there is an element of the strange and exotic to the name. Those three mischievous siblings—Unusual, Strange and Exotic—play pranks in my memory banks and leave doors open for their cousin—Confusion. How could I have erred so badly? How could I have been so sloppy as to transpose “Lunsford” and “Lindsay?”

All was not as black as I supposed. As soon as I returned home, I started checking my sources, and the sick pangs receded. I had not misread the sequence of the first and middle names. Francis Heitman, George Cullum, Ezra Warner, Jack Welsh, R. K. Krick and all of my other sources presented “Lunsford Lindsay” not “Lindsay Lunsford.” Even Wikipedia got it right! So how to explain that Lunsford Lindsay Lomax’s gravestone reads “Lindsay Lunsford Lomax?”

I have found no explanation. Later in life, Lomax worked in the U.S. War Department’s monumental project to organize and publish the Official Records of the Civil War. He served as a Commissioner of Gettysburg National Battlefield Park until his death. He and his wife, Elizabeth Winter Payne Lomax, resided on S Street in Washington in 1913, and occasionally visited family in Warrenton. The general died in a Washington hospital nine days after falling and breaking a hip on a rain-slick sidewalk in Warrenton. The preponderance of extended family in Warrenton, particularly on his wife’s side, likely explains why that small town became his final resting place. Less easy to explain is his own kin’s blundering mutilation of the man’s name.

Sources: Via Chronicling America: The Washington Herald. (Washington, D.C.), 22 May 1913, p. 4, col. 3.; The Washington Times. (Washington [D.C.]), 28 May 1913. p. 7, col. 1; The Washington Times. (Washington [D.C.]), 14 May 1913. p. 8, col. 3.