Originally,
the
Valley
had
drawn
many
settlers
from
Penn
sylvania
and
the
Cumberland
Valley,
and
these
were
mostly Bunkers,
with
a
sprinkling
of
Quakers,
Mennonites,
and Nazareness
devout,
frugal,
and
industrious
folk
who
held firmly
to
a
belief
that
war
was
sinful—a
belief
for
which
there may
be
a
certain
amount
of
backing,
both
in
Scripture
and
in racial
experience—and
their
religion
forbade
the
faithful
to take
up
arms.
As
non-resistants
these
people
had
been
a problem
to
the
Confederate
government,
since
they
would not
volunteer
and,
because
of
the
stubbornness
with
which they
held
to
their
faith,
could
not
well
be
drafted.
But
before the
war
was
very
old
they
became
an
asset
instead
of
a
problem.
The
Confederate
Congress
in
1862
provided
that
they might
be
exempted
from
military
service
on
payment
of
a $500
tax,
and
as
a
result
the
farms
of
the
Valley
had
no
shortage
of
manpower.
And
because
the
men
were
good
farmers and
the
soil
was
fertile,
the
Valley
became
an
incomparable granary
and
source
of
supply
for
Lee's
soldiers.
Rations might
be
short
now
and
then,
because
of
poor
transportation and
an
incompetent
commissariat,
but
as
long
as
these
sober pacifists
continued
to
till
their
lands
and
raise
their
flocks
and operate
their
gristmills,
Lee's
army
could
not
be
starved
out of
Richmond.
1
An
accident
of
geography
made
the
Valley
worth
more to
the
South
than
to
the
North,
strategically.
Running
from southwest
to
northeast,
the
Valley
was
the
Confederacy's great
covered
way
leading
up
to
the
Yankee
fortress,
the high
parapet
of
the
Blue
Ridge
offering
concealment
and protection.
A
Confederate
army
coming
down
the
Valley was
marching
directly
toward
the
Northern
citadel,
but
a
Yankee
army
moving
up
the
Valley
was
going
nowhere
in particular
because
it
was
constantly
getting
farther
away from
Richmond
and
Richmond's
defenders.
Nor
did
a
Confederate
force
operating
in
the
Valley
have
serious
problems of
supply.
The
Valley
itself
was
the
base,
and
it
could
be drawn
on
for
abundant
food
and
forage
from
Staunton
all
the way
to
Winchester
and
beyond.
Both
Lee
and
Grant
were
thoroughly
familiar
with
these facts.
In
the
spring
of
1862
Lee
had
used
them,
sending Stonewall
Jackson
down
the
Valley
in
such
a
way
as
to
bring the
North
to
stunning
defeat.
In
the
summer
of
1864
he
had used
them
again,
and
Early's
foray
had
caused
more
trouble. From
the
moment
he
took
command
Grant
had
had
to
take these
facts
into
consideration.
Until
he
solved
the
problem
of the
Valley,
the
Army
of
the
Potomac
was
never
safe
from
an attack
in
its
rear.
When
the
1864
campaign
began
Grant
tried
to
solve
it,
and the
solution
then
would
have
been
fairly
simple.
All
that
he needed
was
to
establish
a
Federal
army
in
the
upper
Valley —at
Staunton,
say,
or
Waynesboro,
anywhere
well
upstream. That
would
close
the
gate
and
the
Confederacy's
granary and
covered
way
would
be
useless.
But
nothing
had
worked out
as
he
had
planned.
First
Sigel
went
up
the
Valley,
to
be routed
at
Newmarket.
Then
Hunter
took
the
same
road,
only to
lose
everything
by
wild
misguided
flight
off
into
West
Virginia.
So
now
the
problem
was
tougher,
and
the
solution that
would
have
worked
in
the
spring
was
no
good
at
all
in midsummer.
Grant
studied
the
matter,
fixing
his
eyes
on
the
fields
and barns
and
roads
of
the
Valley,
and
he
had
a
deadly
unemotional
gaze
which
saw
flame
and
a
smoking
sword
for
devout folk
whose
way
led
beside
green
pastures
and
still
waters. The
war
could
not
be
won
until
the
Confederacy
had
been deprived
of
the
use
of
this
garden
spot
between
the
mountains.
If
the
garden
were
made
desert,
so
that
neither
the Southern
Confederacy
nor
even
the
fowls
of
the
air
could use
it,
the
problem
would
be
well
on
the
way
toward
being solved.
Grant
put
it
in
orders.
In
a
message
to
Halleck,
sent
before Sheridan
was
named
to
the
command,
Grant
was
specific about
what
he
wanted:
an
army
of
hungry
soldiers
to
follow retreating
Rebels
up
the
Valley
and
"eat
out
Virginia
clear and
clean
as
far
as
they
go,
so
that
crows
flying
over
it
for the
balance
of
the
season
will
have
to
carry
their
provender with
them."
He
spelled
this
out
in
instructions
for
the
Union commander:
"He
should
make
all
the
Valley
south
of
the Baltimore
and
Ohio
railroad
a
desert
as
high
up
as
possible. I
do
not
mean
that
houses
should
be
burned,
but
all
provisions
and
stock
should
be
removed,
and
the
people
notified to
get
out."
2