The Civil War’s Greatest Scoop

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Smalley was disappointed that his new acquaintance had to retire from the field. Antietam was characterized by desperate fighting but uncoordinated, piecemeal attacks by the Federals and a hesitancy on McClellan’s part to seize opportunities. As Smalley trotted near McClellan’s headquarters in the afternoon, he was hailed by Lt. James Harrison Wilson of the commander’s staff. Wilson, who knew Smalley had been with Hooker earlier in the day, asked him to see if the wounded general could take command of the Army of the Potomac. “Most of us think that this battle is only half fought and half won,” Wilson said. “There is still time to finish it. But McClellan will do no more.” Smalley demurred, reminding Wilson that what he suggested was no less than an act of mutiny. “I know that as well as you do,” Wilson replied, but it was “the only way to crush Lee and end the rebellion and save the country.”

Smalley told the lieutenant to forget it, that the bearer of the message probably would face arrest and worse. When Wilson backed down, asking Smalley simply to ask Hooker back to the field, Smalley reluctantly accepted. He found Hooker abed, his usual ruddy complexion white with pain. The correspondent chatted for a moment about the day’s indecisive combat, at which Hooker exploded with “language of extreme plainness” against McClellan’s “excessive caution and systematic inertness.” Smalley then put the question to Hooker point-blank: Could the general mount his horse or return to command his corps some other way, in a carriage perhaps? “It is impossible,” Hooker answered. “I cannot move. I am perfectly helpless.” Why, the general wondered, was Smalley asking him such a question anyway? Who had put him up to this? Smalley explained that some of the general’s friends simply were curious about his ability to resume command in case of an emergency. “You see what a wreck I am,” Hooker said in agony. “It is impossible.” Smalley left.

 

Smalley’s departure from Hooker’s bedside ended the novel relationship that had developed between general and reporter, but the admiration of each man for the other lingered. In his Tribune account of the battle, Smalley praised Hooker’s “bravery and soldierly ability,” while Hooker later said of Smalley, “In all the experience which I have had of war, I never saw the most experienced and veteran soldier exhibit more tranquil fortitude and unshaken valor than was exhibited by that young man.” In fact, Smalley was tapped for staff service when Hooker was elevated to the command of the Army of the Potomac.

As nightfall brought an end to the slaughter of September 17, Smalley and his three Tribune colleagues met to compare notes in a farmhouse jammed with wounded. Smalley, whose misgivings about McClellan told him the battle would not be renewed the following day, agreed to somehow dispatch an account of the day’s action to New York immediately. After pilfering some Army grub and trading his mount for a fresher one, Smalley was in the saddle by 9:00 P.M., headed for Frederick, Maryland, the only town in the vicinity that might have accessible telegraph service. Having dozed in the saddle for most of the thirty-mile journey, Smalley trotted into Frederick in the wee morning hours of September 18. The telegraph office was closed, and Smalley huddled up near the doorway for a much-needed nap.

The telegraph operator who appeared at seven could not promise Smalley his account would go through to New York, because the telegraph wires had been commandeered by the War Department for military use, but he said he’d do his best. Smalley seated himself and began writing: “The greatest battle of the war was fought to-day, lasting from daylight till dark, and closing without decisive result.” He handed his scribbled manuscript to the operator sheet by sheet until a full newspaper column had been tapped out. As the telegrapher had predicted, the story was relayed directly to the War Department in Washington, where it became the first news Secretary Edwin M. Stanton had of Antietam, with the exception of McClellan’s brief dispatch announcing victory. Stanton passed the story on to President Lincoln, who had it read to the cabinet. That night the Tribune’s Washington correspondent wrote that “all that is really known about the battle here is derived from that dispatch.” Finally it was released to New York and appeared in the Tribune’s Friday, September 19, edition.

Smalley hoped to draft a longer account on the battle but hesitated wiring any more news from Frederick. He decided to jump an eastbound train and telegraph the story from Baltimore, and he got there just ten minutes before the New York express would leave for Washington. Smalley faced a crucial decision: Should he wire the story from Baltimore or deliver it to the Tribune in person? He hopped aboard the New York express.