by the virtue of its position, has nearly double the strength of
one on the circumference. Yet his is the first mistake made by
every tyro in generalship. A strong blow can be given by a sledge-
hammer, but if we divide it into twenty small hammers, the blows
will necessarily be scattering and uncertain. Let us suppose an
army holds the junction of six roads. It seems theoretically
possible that different detachments encircling it, by all attacking
at the same time, must confuse and overpower it; but in practice
the idea is rarely realized, for no two routes are precisely alike,
the columns never move simultaneously, and therefore never arrive
at the same time. Some of this is due to the character of the
commanders. One man is full of dash, and goes forward at once;
another is timid, or at least over-cautious, and advances slowly;
a third stops to recall some outlying detachments, or to make
elaborate preparations. The result is, the outer army has lost
its strength and is always beaten in detail. One portion is sure
to be defeated before the others arrive. We shall have occasion
to refer to this principle again in reference to the battle of
Gettysburg. The history of our own war shows that an attack against
the front and rear of a force is not necessarily fatal. Baird's
division at Chickamauga defended itself successfully against an
assault of this kind, and Hancock faced his division both ways at
Chancellorsville and repelled every attempt to force his position.
But Hooker thought otherwise. He felt certain that if Sedgwick
assailed Lee in rear, while he advanced in front, the Confederate
army was doomed. When the time came, however, to carry out this
programme, if we may use a homely simile borrowed from General De
Peyster, Hooker did not hold up his end of the log, and the whole
weight fell upon Sedgwick.

About this time a pillar of the Chancellorsville House was struck
by a cannon-ball, and Hooker, who was leaning against it at the
moment, was prostrated and severely injured. He revived in a few
minutes, mounted his horse and rode to the rear, but it was some
time before he turned over the command to Couch, who was second in
rank. After this stroke he suffered a great deal from paroxysms
of pain, and was manifestly unfit to give orders, although he soon
resumed the command.

The historian almost refuses to chronicle the startling fact that
37,000 men were kept out of the fight, most of whom had