Two generals called his name in their final minutes, and one of
them
– Robert E. Lee – said that he was among the three best officers
in the Army of Northern Virginia.
Two generals called his name in their final minutes, and one of them – Robert E. Lee – said that he was among the three best officers in the Army of Northern Virginia.
Yet, relatively few modern Americans beyond historians know of A. P. Hill and his role in the Civil War.
He was a general who stood out among his contemporaries, the entire spectrum from gallant cavalier to semi-literate butcher. At a time when valor was common, he was considered among the bravest of the brave.
Hill was born in Virginia in the autumn of 1825, and from his early youth was known for his daring and his love of military tactics.
He secured an appointment to the U.S. Military Academy at West Point and was originally in the famed Class of 1846, many of whose members became generals in blue or gray during the Civil War.
But an illness contracted during summer furlough forced him to go home for a long recuperation and he graduated with the Class of 1847.
He saw some service in the Mexican War, then in the Seminole War. His superiors marked him out as outstanding officer and made him the superintendent of the Coast Survey.
Promotion was slow in the old Army between wars and Hill was still a first lieutenant at the beginning of 1861.
War between the North and South was inevitable so he resigned his commission in March and offered his services to his native state. He was made a colonel and chafed at his command being held in reserve at the First Battle of Bull Run, which the Southerners called Manassas.
But he was in the forefront of battle wearing his trademark red shirt at Yorktown, Williamsburg and Hanover Court House. His troops adored him and called him “Little Powell.” He abhorred his Christian name “Ambrose,” and was “Powell”: to his family and close friends and A.P. to the rest of the world. He was rapidly promoted to brigadier general, then major general
He was prominent in the battles of Cedar Mountain and Second Bill Run, and figured significantly at the capture of Harper’s Ferry. His devastating counterattack at precisely the right moment enabled Lee’s troops to evacuate Antietam, after the bloodiest day in American history.
But if he was idolized by his troops he was often nettlesome to superiors. He challenged General James Longstreet to a duel when the latter’s account of a battle seemed to slight Hill’s role in it.
He frequently differed with the dour Thomas J. (Stonewall) Jackson.
Even at that Jackson, when mortally wounded at Chancellorsville, called out for Hill to press the enemy. In so doing, Hill was himself wounded.
Much of his Confederacy career was marked by illness dating to his West Point days.
In the final winter of the war, Hill was at Petersburg to hold off the Yankee besiegers. On April 2, 1865, he rose from his sick bed to rally his command.
A Union soldier saw the famed red shirt and fired, and Hill’s body slid from his horse.
Lee heard the news with tears in his eyes. A week later he surrendered his army to General U.S. Grant, thus ending the four-year conflict.
Many military historians have speculated how the war might have fared had Hill been free of his constant illness.
It was not until fairly recently that it was determined to have been a venereal disease.
Lee may have known it and overlooked it, as moral as he was, because he needed brilliant leaders. To Jackson the knowledge would have been an affront.
The course of history is rife with such incidents.
It eventually loomed large for the South but to the nameless doxy who infected Cadet Hill, it may have been just one more trick in a long day.
Herman Wrede is a former editor of the Free Lance. His column appears on Fridays.
