THE VALLEY CAMPAIGN.
At length the expected order to march came, and we moved south to
Gordonsville. In one of his letters to Madame du Deffand, Horace Walpole
writes of the English spring as "coming in with its accustomed
severity," and such was our experience of a Virginian spring; or rather,
it may be said that winter returned with renewed energy, and we had for
several days snow, sleet, rain, and all possible abominations in the way
of weather. Arrived at Gordonsville, whence the army had departed for
the Peninsula, we met orders to join Jackson in the Valley, and marched
thither by Swift Run "Gap"--the local name for mountain passes. Swift
Run, an affluent of the Rapidan, has its source in this gap. The orders
mentioned were the last received from General Joseph E. Johnston, from
whom subsequent events separated me until the close of the war; and
occasion is thus furnished for the expression of opinion of his
character and services.
In the full vigor of mature manhood, erect, alert, quick, and decisive of
speech, General Johnston was the beau ideal of a soldier. Without the least
proneness to blandishments, he gained and held the affection and confidence
of his men. Brave and impetuous in action, he had been often wounded, and
no officer of the general staff of the old United States army had seen so
much actual service with troops. During the Mexican war he was permitted to
take command of a voltigeur regiment, and rendered brilliant service. In
1854 he resigned from the engineers to accept the lieutenant-colonelcy of
a cavalry regiment. When the civil war became certain, a Virginian by
birth, he left the position of Quartermaster-General of the United States,
and offered his sword to the Confederacy. To the East, as his great
namesake Albert Sidney to the West, he was "the rose and fair expectancy"
of our cause; and his timely march from Patterson's front in the Valley
to assist Beauregard at Manassas confirmed public opinion of his capacity.
Yet he cannot be said to have proved a fortunate commander. Leaving out
of view Bentonville and the closing scenes in North Carolina, which were
rather the spasmodic efforts of despair than regular military movements,
General Johnston's "offensive" must be limited to Seven Pines or Fair Oaks.
Here his plan was well considered and singularly favored of fortune. Some
two corps of McClellan's army were posted on the southwest or Richmond side
of the Chickahominy, and a sudden rise of that stream swept away bridges
and overflowed the adjacent lowlands, cutting off these corps from their
supports. They ought to have been crushed, but Johnston fell, severely
wounded; upon which confusion ensued, and no results of importance were
attained. Official reports fail, most unwisely, to fix the responsibility
of the failure, and I do not desire to add to the gossip prevailing then
and since.
From his own account of the war we can gather that Johnston regrets he
did not fight on the Oostenaula, after Polk had joined him. It appears
that in a council two of his three corps commanders, Polk, Hardee, and
Hood, were opposed to fighting there; but to call a council at all was a
weakness not to be expected of a general of Johnston's ability and
self-reliant nature.
I have written of him as a master of logistics, and his skill in
handling troops was great. As a retreat, the precision and coolness of
his movements during the Georgia campaign would have enhanced the
reputation of Moreau; but it never seems to have occurred to him to
assume the offensive during the many turning movements of his flanks,
movements involving time and distance. Dispassionate reflection would
have brought him to the conclusion that Lee was even more overweighted
in Virginia than he in Georgia; that his Government had given him every
available man, only leaving small garrisons at Wilmington, Charleston,
Savannah, and Mobile; that Forrest's command in Mississippi, operating
on Sherman's communications, was virtually doing his work, while it was
idle to expect assistance from the trans-Mississippi region. Certainly,
no more egregious blunder was possible than that of relieving him from
command in front of Atlanta. If he intended to fight there, he was
entitled to execute his plan. Had he abandoned Atlanta without a
struggle, his removal would have met the approval of the army and
public, an approval which, under the circumstances of its action, the
Richmond Government failed to receive.
I am persuaded that General Johnston's mind was so jaundiced by the
unfortunate disagreement with President Davis, to which allusion has
been made in an earlier part of these reminiscences, as to seriously
cloud his judgment and impair his usefulness. He sincerely believed
himself the Esau of the Government, grudgingly fed on bitter herbs,
while a favored Jacob enjoyed the flesh-pots. Having known him
intimately for many years, having served under his command and studied
his methods, I feel confident that his great abilities under happier
conditions would have distinctly modified, if not changed, the current
of events. Destiny willed that Davis and Johnston should be brought into
collision, and the breach, once made, was never repaired. Each misjudged
the other to the end.
Ewell's division reached the western base of Swift Run Gap on a lovely
spring evening, April 30, 1862, and in crossing the Blue Ridge seemed to
have left winter and its rigors behind. Jackson, whom we moved to join,
had suddenly that morning marched toward McDowell, some eighty miles
west, where, after uniting with a force under General Edward Johnson, he
defeated the Federal general Milroy. Some days later he as suddenly
returned. Meanwhile we were ordered to remain in camp on the Shenandoah
near Conrad's store, at which place a bridge spanned the stream.
The great Valley of Virginia was before us in all its beauty. Fields of
wheat spread far and wide, interspersed with woodlands, bright in their
robes of tender green. Wherever appropriate sites existed, quaint old
mills, with turning wheels, were busily grinding the previous year's
harvest; and grove and eminence showed comfortable homesteads. The soft
vernal influence shed a languid grace over the scene. The theatre of war
in this region was from Staunton to the Potomac, one hundred and twenty
miles, with an average width of some twenty-five miles; and the Blue
Ridge and Alleghanies bounded it east and west. Drained by the
Shenandoah with its numerous affluents, the surface was nowhere flat,
but a succession of graceful swells, occasionally rising into abrupt
hills. Resting on limestone, the soil was productive, especially of
wheat, and the underlying rock furnished abundant metal for the
construction of roads. Railway communication was limited to the Virginia
Central, which entered the Valley by a tunnel east of Staunton and
passed westward through that town; to the Manassas Gap, which traversed
the Blue Ridge at the pass of that name and ended at Strasburg; and to
the Winchester and Harper's Ferry, thirty miles long. The first extended
to Richmond by Charlottesville and Gordonsville, crossing at the former
place the line from Washington and Alexandria to Lynchburg; the second
connected Strasburg and Front Royal, in the Valley, with the same line
at Manassas Junction; and the last united with the Baltimore and Ohio at
Harper's Ferry. Frequent passes or gaps in the mountains, through which
wagon roads had been constructed, afforded easy access from east and
west; and pikes were excellent, though unmetaled roads became heavy
after rains.
But the glory of the Valley is Massanutten. Rising abruptly from the
plain near Harrisonburg, twenty-five miles north of Staunton, this
lovely mountain extends fifty miles, and as suddenly ends near
Strasburg. Parallel with the Blue Ridge, and of equal height, its sharp
peaks have a bolder and more picturesque aspect, while the abruptness of
its slopes gives the appearance of greater altitude. Midway of
Massanutten, a gap with good road affords communication between
Newmarket and Luray. The eastern or Luray valley, much narrower than the
one west of Massanutten, is drained by the east branch of the
Shenandoah, which is joined at Front Royal, near the northern end of the
mountain, by its western affluent, whence the united waters flow north,
at the base of the Blue Ridge, to meet the Potomac at Harper's Ferry.
The inhabitants of this favored region were worthy of their inheritance.
The north and south were peopled by scions of old colonial families, and
the proud names of the "Old Dominion" abounded. In the central counties
of Rockingham and Shenandoah were many descendants of German settlers.
These were thrifty, substantial farmers, and, like their kinsmen of
Pennsylvania, expressed their opulence in huge barns and fat cattle. The
devotion of all to the Southern cause was wonderful. Jackson, a Valley
man by reason of his residence at Lexington, south of Staunton, was
their hero and idol. The women sent husbands, sons, lovers, to battle as
cheerfully as to marriage feasts. No oppression, no destitution could
abate their zeal. Upon a march I was accosted by two elderly sisters,
who told me they had secreted a large quantity of bacon in a well on
their estate, hard by. Federals had been in possession of the country,
and, fearing the indiscretion of their slaves, they had done the work at
night with their own hands, and now desired to _give_ the meat to their
people. Wives and daughters of millers, whose husbands and brothers were
in arms, worked the mills night and day to furnish flour to their
soldiers. To the last, women would go distances to carry the modicum of
food between themselves and starvation to a suffering Confederate.
Should the sons of Virginia ever commit dishonorable acts, grim indeed
will be their reception on the further shores of Styx. They can expect
no recognition from the mothers who bore them.
Ere the war closed, the Valley was ravaged with a cruelty surpassing
that inflicted on the Palatinate two hundred years ago. That foul deed
smirched the fame of Louvois and Turenne, and public opinion, in what
has been deemed a ruder age, forced an apology from the "Grand
Monarque." Yet we have seen the official report of a Federal general
wherein are recounted the many barns, mills, and other buildings
destroyed, concluding with the assertion that "a crow flying over the
Valley must take rations with him." In the opinion of the admirers of
the officer making this report, the achievement on which it is based
ranks with Marengo. Moreover, this same officer, General Sheridan, many
years after the close of the war, denounced several hundred thousands of
his fellow citizens as "banditti," and solicited permission of his
Government to deal with them as such. May we not well ask whether
religion, education, science and art combined have lessened the
brutality of man since the days of Wallenstein and Tilly?
While in camp near Conrad's store, the 7th Louisiana, Colonel Hays, a
crack regiment, on picket down stream, had a spirited affair, in which
the enemy was driven with the loss of a score of prisoners. Shortly
after, for convenience of supplies, I was directed to cross the river
and camp some miles to the southwest. The command was in superb
condition, and a four-gun battery from Bedford county, Virginia, Captain
Bowyer, had recently been added to it. The four regiments, 6th, 7th,
8th, and 9th Louisiana, would average above eight hundred bayonets. Of
Wheat's battalion of "Tigers" and the 7th I have written. The 6th,
Colonel Seymour, recruited in New Orleans, was composed of Irishmen,
stout, hardy fellows, turbulent in camp and requiring a strong hand, but
responding to kindness and justice, and ready to follow their officers
to the death. The 9th, Colonel Stafford, was from North Louisiana.
Planters or sons of planters, many of them men of fortune, soldiering
was a hard task to which they only became reconciled by reflecting that
it was "niddering" in gentlemen to assume voluntarily the discharge of
duties and then shirk. The 8th, Colonel Kelly, was from the
Attakapas--"Acadians," the race of which Longfellow sings in
"Evangeline." A home-loving, simple people, few spoke English, fewer
still had ever before moved ten miles from their natal _cabanas_; and
the war to them was "a liberal education," as was the society of the
lady of quality to honest Dick Steele. They had all the light gayety of
the Gaul, and, after the manner of their ancestors, were born cooks. A
capital regimental band accompanied them, and whenever weather and
ground permitted, even after long marches, they would waltz and "polk"
in couples with as much zest as if their arms encircled the supple
waists of the Celestines and Melazies of their native Teche. The Valley
soldiers were largely of the Presbyterian faith, and of a solemn, pious
demeanor, and looked askant at the caperings of my Creoles, holding them
to be "devices and snares."
The brigade adjutant, Captain (afterward Colonel) Eustace Surget, who
remained with me until the war closed, was from Mississippi, where he
had large estates. Without the slightest military training, by study and
zeal, he soon made himself an accomplished staff officer. Of singular
coolness in battle, he never blundered, and, though much exposed, pulled
through without a scratch. My aide, Lieutenant Hamilton, grandson of
General Hamilton of South Carolina, was a cadet in his second year at
West Point when war was declared, upon which he returned to his State--a
gay, cheery lad, with all the pluck of his race.
At nightfall of the second day in this camp, an order came from General
Jackson to join him at Newmarket, twenty odd miles north; and it was
stated that my division commander, Ewell, had been apprised of the
order. Our position was near a pike leading south of west to
Harrisonburg, whence, to gain Newmarket, the great Valley pike ran due
north. All roads near our camp had been examined and sketched, and among
them was a road running northwest over the southern foot-hills of
Massanutten, and joining the Valley pike some distance to the north of
Harrisonburg. It was called the Keazletown road, from a little German
village on the flank of Massanutten; and as it was the hypothenuse of
the triangle, and reported good except at two points, I decided to take
it. That night a pioneer party was sent forward to light fires and
repair the road for artillery and trains. Early dawn saw us in motion,
with lovely weather, a fairish road, and men in high health and spirits.
Later in the day a mounted officer was dispatched to report our approach
and select a camp, which proved to be beyond Jackson's forces, then
lying in the fields on both sides of the pike. Over three thousand
strong, neat in fresh clothing of gray with white gaiters, bands playing
at the head of their regiments, not a straggler, but every man in his
place, stepping jauntily as on parade, though it had marched twenty
miles and more, in open column with arms at "right shoulder shift," and
rays of the declining sun flaming on polished bayonets, the brigade
moved down the broad, smooth pike, and wheeled on to its camping ground.
Jackson's men, by thousands, had gathered on either side of the road to
see us pass. Indeed, it was a martial sight, and no man with a spark of
sacred fire in his heart but would have striven hard to prove worthy of
such a command.
After attending to necessary camp details, I sought Jackson, whom I had
never met. And here it may be remarked that he then by no means held the
place in public estimation which he subsequently attained. His Manassas
reputation was much impaired by operations in the Valley, to which he
had been sent after that action. The winter march on Romney had resulted
in little except to freeze and discontent his troops; which discontent
was shared and expressed by the authorities at Richmond, and Jackson
resigned. The influence of Colonel Alek Boteler, seconded by that of the
Governor of Virginia, induced him to withdraw the resignation. At
Kernstown, three miles south of Winchester, he was roughly handled by
the Federal General Shields, and only saved from serious disaster by the
failure of that officer to push his advantage, though Shields was
usually energetic.
The mounted officer who had been sent on in advance pointed out a figure
perched on the topmost rail of a fence overlooking the road and field,
and said it was Jackson. Approaching, I saluted and declared my name and
rank, then waited for a response. Before this came I had time to see a
pair of cavalry boots covering feet of gigantic size, a mangy cap with
visor drawn low, a heavy, dark beard, and weary eyes--eyes I afterward
saw filled with intense but never brilliant light. A low, gentle voice
inquired the road and distance marched that day. "Keazletown road, six
and twenty miles." "You seem to have no stragglers." "Never allow
straggling." "You must teach my people; they straggle badly." A bow in
reply. Just then my creoles started their band and a waltz. After a
contemplative suck at a lemon, "Thoughtless fellows for serious work"
came forth. I expressed a hope that the work would not be less well done
because of the gayety. A return to the lemon gave me the opportunity to
retire. Where Jackson got his lemons "no fellow could find out," but he
was rarely without one. To have lived twelve miles from that fruit would
have disturbed him as much as it did the witty Dean.
Quite late that night General Jackson came to my camp fire, where he
stayed some hours. He said we would move at dawn, asked a few questions
about the marching of my men, which seemed to have impressed him, and
then remained silent. If silence be golden, he was a "bonanza." He
sucked lemons, ate hard-tack, and drank water, and praying and fighting
appeared to be his idea of the "whole duty of man."
In the gray of the morning, as I was forming my column on the pike,
Jackson appeared and gave the route--north--which, from the situation of
its camp, put my brigade in advance of the army. After moving a short
distance in this direction, the head of the column was turned to the
east and took the road over Massanutten gap to Luray. Scarce a word was
spoken on the march, as Jackson rode with me. From time to time a
courier would gallop up, report, and return toward Luray. An ungraceful
horseman, mounted on a sorry chestnut with a shambling gait, his huge
feet with outturned toes thrust into his stirrups, and such parts of his
countenance as the low visor of his shocking cap failed to conceal
wearing a wooden look, our new commander was not prepossessing. That
night we crossed the east branch of the Shenandoah by a bridge, and
camped on the stream, near Luray. Here, after three long marches, we
were but a short distance below Conrad's store, a point we had left
several days before. I began to think that Jackson was an unconscious
poet, and, as an ardent lover of nature, desired to give strangers an
opportunity to admire the beauties of his Valley. It seemed hard lines
to be wandering like sentimental travelers about the country, instead
of gaining "kudos" on the Peninsula.
Off the next morning, my command still in advance, and Jackson riding
with me. The road led north between the east bank of the river and the
western base of the Blue Ridge. Rain had fallen and softened it, so as
to delay the wagon trains in rear. Past midday we reached a wood
extending from the mountain to the river, when a mounted officer from
the rear called Jackson's attention, who rode back with him. A moment
later, there rushed out of the wood to meet us a young, rather
well-looking woman, afterward widely known as Belle Boyd. Breathless
with speed and agitation, some time elapsed before she found her voice.
Then, with much volubility, she said we were near Front Royal, beyond
the wood; that the town was filled with Federals, whose camp was on the
west side of the river, where they had guns in position to cover the
wagon bridge, but none bearing on the railway bridge below the former;
that they believed Jackson to be west of Massanutten, near Harrisonburg;
that General Banks, the Federal commander, was at Winchester, twenty
miles northwest of Front Royal, where he was slowly concentrating his
widely scattered forces to meet Jackson's advance, which was expected
some days later. All this she told with the precision of a staff officer
making a report, and it was true to the letter. Jackson was possessed of
these facts before he left Newmarket, and based his movements upon them;
but, as he never told anything, it was news to me, and gave me an idea
of the strategic value of Massanutten--pointed out, indeed, by
Washington before the Revolution. There also dawned on me quite another
view of our leader than the one from which I had been regarding him for
two days past.
Convinced of the correctness of the woman's statements, I hurried
forward at "a double," hoping to surprise the enemy's idlers in the
town, or swarm over the wagon bridge with them and secure it. Doubtless
this was rash, but I felt immensely "cocky" about my brigade, and
believed that it would prove equal to any demand. Before we had cleared
the wood Jackson came galloping from the rear, followed by a company of
horse. He ordered me to deploy my leading regiment as skirmishers on
both sides of the road and continue the advance, then passed on. We
speedily came in sight of Front Royal, but the enemy had taken the
alarm, and his men were scurrying over the bridge to their camp, where
troops could be seen forming. The situation of the village is
surpassingly beautiful. It lies near the east bank of the Shenandoah,
which just below unites all its waters, and looks directly on the
northern peaks of Massanutten. The Blue Ridge, with Manassas Gap,
through which passes the railway, overhangs it on the east; distant
Alleghany bounds the horizon to the west; and down the Shenandoah, the
eye ranges over a fertile, well-farmed country. Two bridges spanned the
river--a wagon bridge above, a railway bridge some yards lower. A good
pike led to Winchester, twenty miles, and another followed the river
north, whence many cross-roads united with the Valley pike near
Winchester. The river, swollen by rain, was deep and turbulent, with a
strong current. The Federals were posted on the west bank, here somewhat
higher than the opposite, and a short distance above the junction of
waters, with batteries bearing more especially on the upper bridge.
Under instructions, my brigade was drawn up in line, a little retired
from the river, but overlooking it--the Federals and their guns in full
view. So far, not a shot had been fired. I rode down to the river's
brink to get a better look at the enemy through a field-glass, when my
horse, heated by the march, stepped into the water to drink. Instantly a
brisk fire was opened on me, bullets striking all around and raising a
little shower-bath. Like many a foolish fellow, I found it easier to get
into than out of a difficulty. I had not yet led my command into action,
and, remembering that one must "strut" one's little part to the best
advantage, sat my horse with all the composure I could muster. A
provident camel, on the eve of a desert journey, would not have laid in
a greater supply of water than did my thoughtless beast. At last he
raised his head, looked placidly around, turned, and walked up the bank.
This little incident was not without value, for my men welcomed me with
a cheer; upon which, as if in response, the enemy's guns opened, and,
having the range, inflicted some loss on my line. We had no guns up to
reply, and, in advance as has been mentioned, had outmarched the troops
behind us. Motionless as a statue, Jackson sat his horse some few yards
away, and seemed lost in thought. Perhaps the circumstances mentioned
some pages back had obscured his star; but if so, a few short hours
swept away the cloud, and it blazed, Sirius-like, over the land. I
approached him with the suggestion that the railway bridge might be
passed by stepping on the cross-ties, as the enemy's guns bore less
directly on it than on the upper bridge. He nodded approval. The 8th
regiment was on the right of my line, near at hand; and dismounting,
Colonel Kelly led it across under a sharp musketry fire. Several men
fell to disappear in the dark water beneath; but the movement continued
with great rapidity, considering the difficulty of walking on ties, and
Kelly with his leading files gained the opposite shore. Thereupon the
enemy fired combustibles previously placed near the center of the wagon
bridge. The loss of this structure would have seriously delayed us, as
the railway bridge was not floored, and I looked at Jackson, who, near
by, was watching Kelly's progress. Again he nodded, and my command
rushed at the bridge. Concealed by the cloud of smoke, the suddenness of
the movement saved us from much loss; but it was rather a near thing. My
horse and clothing were scorched, and many men burned their hands
severely while throwing brands into the river. We were soon over, and
the enemy in full flight to Winchester, with loss of camp, guns, and
prisoners. Just as I emerged from flames and smoke, Jackson was by my
side. How he got there was a mystery, as the bridge was thronged with my
men going at full speed; but smoke and fire had decidedly freshened up
his costume.
In the angle formed by the two branches of the river was another camp
held by a Federal regiment from Maryland. This was captured by a gallant
little regiment of Marylanders, Colonel Bradley Johnson, on our side. I
had no connection with this spirited affair, saving that these
Marylanders had acted with my command during the day, though not
attached to it. We followed the enemy on the Winchester road, but to
little purpose, as we had few horsemen over the river. Carried away by
his ardor, my commissary, Major Davis, gathered a score of mounted
orderlies and couriers, and pursued until a volley from the enemy's rear
guard laid him low on the road, shot through the head. During my service
west of the Mississippi River, I sent for the colonel of a mounted
regiment from western Texas, a land of herdsmen, and asked him if he
could furnish men to hunt and drive in cattle. "Why! bless you, sir, I
have men who can find cattle where there _aint any_," was his reply.
Whatever were poor Davis's abilities as to non-existent supplies, he
could find all the country afforded, and had a wonderful way of cajoling
old women out of potatoes, cabbages, onions, and other garden stuff,
giving variety to camp rations, and of no small importance in preserving
the health of troops. We buried him in a field near the place of his
fall. He was much beloved by the command, and many gathered quietly
around the grave. As there was no chaplain at hand, I repeated such
portions of the service for the dead as a long neglect of pious things
enabled me to recall.
Late in the night Jackson came out of the darkness and seated himself by
my camp fire. He mentioned that I would move with him in the morning,
then relapsed into silence. I fancied he looked at me kindly, and
interpreted it into an approval of the conduct of the brigade. The
events of the day, anticipations of the morrow, the death of Davis,
drove away sleep, and I watched Jackson. For hours he sat silent and
motionless, with eyes fixed on the fire. I took up the idea that he was
inwardly praying, and he remained throughout the night.
Off in the morning, Jackson leading the way, my brigade, a small body of
horse, and a section of the Rockbridge (Virginia) artillery forming the
column. Major Wheat, with his battalion of "Tigers," was directed to
keep close to the guns. Sturdy marchers, they trotted along with the
horse and artillery at Jackson's heels, and after several hours were
some distance in advance of the brigade, with which I remained.
A volley in front, followed by wild cheers, stirred us up to a
"double," and we speedily came upon a moving spectacle. Jackson had
struck the Valley pike at Middletown, twelve miles south of Winchester,
along which a large body of Federal horse, with many wagons, was
hastening north. He had attacked at once with his handful of men,
overwhelmed resistance, and captured prisoners and wagons. The gentle
Tigers were looting right merrily, diving in and out of wagons with the
activity of rabbits in a warren; but this occupation was abandoned on my
approach, and in a moment they were in line, looking as solemn and
virtuous as deacons at a funeral. Prisoners and spoil were promptly
secured. The horse was from New England, a section in which horsemanship
was an unknown art, and some of the riders were strapped to their
steeds. Ordered to dismount, they explained their condition, and were
given time to unbuckle. Many breastplates and other protective devices
were seen here, and later at Winchester. We did not know whether the
Federals had organized cuirassiers, or were recurring to the customs of
Gustavus Adolphus. I saw a poor fellow lying dead on the pike, pierced
through breastplate and body by a rifle ball. Iron-clad men are of small
account before modern weapons.
A part of the Federal column had passed north before Jackson reached the
pike, and this, with his mounted men, he pursued. Something more than a
mile to the south a road left the pike and led directly west, where the
Federal General Fremont, of whom we shall hear more, commanded "the
Mountain Department." Attacked in front, as described, a body of
Federals, horse, artillery, and infantry, with some wagons, took this
road, and, after moving a short distance, drew up on a crest, with
unlimbered guns. Their number was unknown, and for a moment they looked
threatening. The brigade was rapidly formed and marched straight upon
them, when their guns opened. A shell knocked over several men of the
7th regiment, and a second, as I rode forward to an eminence to get a
view, struck the ground under my horse and exploded. The saddle cloth on
both sides was torn away, and I and Adjutant Surget, who was just behind
me, were nearly smothered with earth; but neither man nor horse received
a scratch. The enemy soon limbered up and fled west. By some
well-directed shots, as they crossed a hill, our guns sent wagons flying
in the air, with which "P.P.C." we left them and marched north.
At dusk we overtook Jackson, pushing the enemy with his little mounted
force, himself in advance of all. I rode with him, and we kept on
through the darkness. There was not resistance enough to deploy
infantry. A flash, a report, and a whistling bullet from some covert met
us, but there were few casualties. I quite remember thinking at the time
that Jackson was invulnerable, and that persons near him shared that
quality. An officer, riding hard, overtook us, who proved to be the
chief quartermaster of the army. He reported the wagon trains far
behind, impeded by a bad road in Luray Valley. "The ammunition wagons?"
sternly. "All right, sir. They were in advance, and I doubled teams on
them and brought them through." "Ah!" in a tone of relief.
To give countenance to this quartermaster, if such can be given of a
dark night, I remarked jocosely: "Never mind the wagons. There are
quantities of stores in Winchester, and the General has invited me to
breakfast there to-morrow."
Jackson, who had no more capacity for jests than a Scotchman, took this
seriously, and reached out to touch me on the arm. In fact, he was of
Scotch-Irish descent, and his unconsciousness of jokes was _de race_.
Without physical wants himself, he forgot that others were differently
constituted, and paid little heed to commissariat; but woe to the man
who failed to bring up ammunition! In advance, his trains were left far
behind. In retreat, he would fight for a wheelbarrow.
Some time after midnight, by roads more direct from Front Royal, other
troops came on the pike, and I halted my jaded people by the roadside,
where they built fires and took a turn at their haversacks.
Moving with the first light of morning, we came to Kernstown, three
miles from Winchester, and the place of Jackson's fight with Shields.
Here heavy and sustained firing, artillery and small arms, was heard. A
staff officer approached at full speed to summon me to Jackson's
presence and move up my command. A gallop of a mile or more brought me
to him. Winchester was in sight, a mile to the north. To the east Ewell
with a large part of the army was fighting briskly and driving the enemy
on to the town. On the west a high ridge, overlooking the country to the
south and southeast, was occupied by a heavy mass of Federals with guns
in position. Jackson was on the pike, and near him were several
regiments lying down for shelter, as the fire from the ridge was heavy
and searching. A Virginian battery, Rockbridge artillery, was fighting
at a great disadvantage, and already much cut up. Poetic authority
asserts that "Old Virginny never tires," and the conduct of this battery
justified the assertion of the muses. With scarce a leg or wheel for man
and horse, gun or caisson, to stand on, it continued to hammer away at
the crushing fire above.
Jackson, impassive as ever, pointed to the ridge and said, "You must
carry it." I replied that my command would be up by the time I could
inspect the ground, and rode to the left for that purpose. A small
stream, Abraham's creek, flowed from the west through the little vale at
the southern base of the ridge, the ascent of which was steep, though
nowhere abrupt. At one point a broad, shallow, trough-like depression
broke the surface, which was further interrupted by some low copse,
outcropping stone, and two fences. On the summit the Federal lines were
posted behind a stone wall, along a road coming west from the pike. Worn
somewhat into the soil, this road served as a countersink and
strengthened the position. Further west, there was a break in the ridge,
which was occupied by a body of horse, the extreme right of the enemy's
line.
There was scarce time to mark these features before the head of my
column appeared, when it was filed to the left, close to the base of the
ridge, for protection from the plunging fire. Meanwhile, the Rockbridge
battery held on manfully and engaged the enemy's attention. Riding on
the flank of my column, between it and the hostile line, I saw Jackson
beside me. This was not the place for the commander of the army, and I
ventured to tell him so; but he paid no attention to the remark. We
reached the shallow depression spoken of, where the enemy could depress
his guns, and his fire became close and fatal. Many men fell, and the
whistling of shot and shell occasioned much ducking of heads in the
column. This annoyed me no little, as it was but child's play to the
work immediately in hand. Always an admirer of delightful "Uncle Toby,"
I had contracted the most villainous habit of his beloved army in
Flanders, and, forgetting Jackson's presence, ripped out, "What the
h--are you dodging for? If there is any more of it, you will be halted
under this fire for an hour." The sharp tones of a familiar voice
produced the desired effect, and the men looked as if they had swallowed
ramrods; but I shall never forget the reproachful surprise expressed in
Jackson's face. He placed his hand on my shoulder, said in a gentle
voice, "I am afraid you are a wicked fellow," turned, and rode back to
the pike.
The proper ground gained, the column faced to the front and began the
ascent. At the moment the sun rose over the Blue Ridge, without cloud or
mist to obscure his rays. It was a lovely Sabbath morning, the 25th of
May, 1862. The clear, pure atmosphere brought the Blue Ridge and
Alleghany and Massanutten almost overhead. Even the cloud of murderous
smoke from the guns above made beautiful spirals in the air, and the
broad fields of luxuriant wheat glistened with dew. It is remarkable
how, in the midst of the most absorbing cares, one's attention may be
fixed by some insignificant object, as mine was by the flight past the
line of a bluebird, one of the brightest-plumaged of our feathered
tribes, bearing a worm in his beak, breakfast for his callow brood.
Birdie had been on the war path, and was carrying home spoil.
As we mounted we came in full view of both armies, whose efforts in
other quarters had been slackened to await the result of our movement. I
felt an anxiety amounting to pain for the brigade to acquit itself
handsomely; and this feeling was shared by every man in it. About half
way up, the enemy's horse from his right charged; and to meet it, I
directed Lieutenant-Colonel Nicholls, whose regiment, the 8th, was on
the left, to withhold slightly his two flank companies. By one volley,
which emptied some saddles, Nicholls drove off the horse, but was soon
after severely wounded. Progress was not stayed by this incident.
Closing the many gaps made by the fierce fire, steadied the rather by
it, and preserving an alignment that would have been creditable on
parade, the brigade, with cadenced step and eyes on the foe, swept
grandly over copse and ledge and fence, to crown the heights from which
the enemy had melted away. Loud cheers went up from our army, prolonged
to the east, where warm-hearted Ewell cheered himself hoarse, and led
forward his men with renewed energy. In truth, it was a gallant feat of
arms, worthy of the pen of him who immortalized the charge of the
"Buffs" at Albuera.
Breaking into column, we pursued closely. Jackson came up and grasped my
hand, worth a thousand words from another, and we were soon in the
streets of Winchester, a quaint old town of some five thousand
inhabitants. There was a little fighting in the streets, but the people
were all abroad--certainly all the women and babies. They were frantic
with delight, only regretting that so many "Yankees" had escaped, and
seriously impeded our movements. A buxom, comely dame of some five and
thirty summers, with bright eyes and tight ankles, and conscious of
these advantages, was especially demonstrative, exclaiming, "Oh! you are
too late--too late!" Whereupon, a tall Creole from the Teche sprang from
the ranks of the 8th regiment, just passing, clasped her in his arms,
and imprinted a sounding kiss on her ripe lips, with "Madame! je
n'arrive jamais trop tard." A loud laugh followed, and the dame, with a
rosy face but merry twinkle in her eye, escaped.
Past the town, we could see the Federals flying north on the Harper's
Ferry and Martinsburg roads. Cavalry, of which there was a considerable
force with the army, might have reaped a rich harvest, but none came
forward. Raised in the adjoining region, our troopers were gossiping
with their friends, or worse. Perhaps they thought that the war was
over. Jackson joined me, and, in response to my question, "Where is the
cavalry?" glowered and was silent. After several miles, finding that we
were doing no good--as indeed infantry, preserving its organization,
cannot hope to overtake a flying enemy--I turned into the fields and
camped.
Here I will "say my say" about Confederate cavalry; and though there
were exceptions to the following remarks, they were too few to qualify
their general correctness. The difficulty of converting raw men into
soldiers is enhanced manifold when they are mounted. Both man and horse
require training, and facilities for rambling, with temptation so to do,
are increased. There was but little time, and it may be said less
disposition, to establish camps of instruction. Living on horseback,
fearless and dashing, the men of the South afforded the best possible
material for cavalry. They had every quality but discipline, and
resembled Prince Charming, whose manifold gifts, bestowed by her
sisters, were rendered useless by the malignant fairy. Scores of them
wandered about the country like locusts, and were only less destructive
to their own people than the enemy. The universal devotion of Southern
women to their cause led them to give indiscriminately to all wearing
the gray. Cavalry officers naturally desired to have as large commands
as possible, and were too much indulged in this desire. Brigades and
regiments were permitted to do work appropriate to squadrons and
companies, and the cattle were unnecessarily broken down. Assuredly, our
cavalry rendered much excellent service, especially when dismounted and
fighting as infantry. Such able officers as Stuart, Hampton, and the
younger Lees in the east, Forrest, Green, and Wheeler in the west,
developed much talent for war; but their achievements, however
distinguished, fell far below the standard that would have been reached
had not the want of discipline impaired their efforts and those of their
men.
After the camp was established, I rode back to Winchester to look after
my wounded and see my sister, the same who had nursed me the previous
autumn. By a second marriage she was Mrs. Dandridge, and resided in the
town. Her husband, Mr. Dandridge, was on duty at Richmond. Depot of all
Federal forces in the Valley, Winchester was filled with stores.
Prisoners, guns, and wagons, in large numbers, had fallen into our
hands. Of especial value were ordnance and medical stores.
The following day my command was moved ten miles north on the pike
leading by Charlestown to Harper's Ferry, and after a day some miles
east toward the Shenandoah. This was in consequence of the operations of
the Federal General Shields, who, in command of a considerable force to
the east of the Blue Ridge, passed Manassas Gap and drove from Front
Royal a regiment of Georgians, left there by Jackson. Meanwhile, a part
of the army was pushed forward to Martinsburg and beyond, while another
part threatened and shelled Harper's Ferry. Jackson himself was engaged
in forwarding captured stores to Staunton.
On Saturday, May 31, I received orders to move through Winchester, clear
the town of stragglers, and continue to Strasburg. Few or no stragglers
were found in Winchester, whence the sick and wounded, except extreme
cases, had been taken. I stopped for a moment, at a house near the field
of the 25th, to see Colonel Nicholls. He had suffered amputation of the
arm that morning, and the surgeons forbade his removal; so that, much to
my regret and more to his own, he was left. We reached camp at Strasburg
after dark, a march of thirty odd miles, weather very warm. Winder, with
his brigade, came in later, after a longer march from the direction of
Harper's Ferry. Jackson sat some time at my camp fire that night, and
was more communicative than I remember him before or after. He said
Fremont, with a large force, was three miles west of our present camp,
and must be defeated in the morning. Shields was moving up Luray Valley,
and might cross Massanutten to Newmarket, or continue south until he
turned the mountain to fall on our trains near Harrisonburg. The
importance of preserving the immense trains, filled with captured
stores, was great, and would engage much of his personal attention;
while he relied on the army, under Ewell's direction, to deal promptly
with Fremont. This he told in a low, gentle voice, and with many
interruptions to afford time, as I thought and believe, for inward
prayer. The men said that his anxiety about the wagons was because of
the lemons among the stores.
Dawn of the following day (Sunday) was ushered in by the sound of
Fremont's guns. Our lines had been early drawn out to meet him, and
skirmishers pushed up to the front to attack. Much cannonading, with
some rattle of small arms, ensued. The country was densely wooded, and
little save the smoke from the enemy's guns could be seen. My brigade
was in reserve a short distance to the rear and out of the line of fire;
and here a ludicrous incident occurred. Many slaves from Louisiana had
accompanied their masters to the war, and were a great nuisance on a
march, foraging far and wide for "prog" for their owners' messes. To
abate this, they had been put under discipline and made to march in rear
of the regiments to which they pertained. They were now, some scores,
assembled under a large tree, laughing, chattering, and cooking
breakfast. On a sudden, a shell burst in the tree-top, rattling down
leaves and branches in fine style, and the rapid decampment of the
servitors was most amusing. But I must pause to give an account of my
own servant, Tom Strother, who deserves honorable and affectionate
mention at my hands, and serves to illustrate a phase of Southern life
now passed away.
As under feudal institutions the arms of heiresses were quartered with
those of the families into which they married, in the South their slaves
adopted the surname of the mistress; and one curious in genealogy could
trace the descent and alliances of an old family by finding out the
names used by different slaves on the estate. Those of the same name
were a little clannish, preserving traditions of the family from which
their fathers had come, and magnifying its importance. In childhood I
often listened with credulous ears to wondrous tales of the magnificence
of my forefathers in Virginia and Maryland, who, these imaginative
Africans insisted, dwelt in palaces, surrounded by brave, handsome sons,
lovely, virtuous daughters, and countless devoted servants. The
characters of many Southern children were doubtless influenced by such
tales, impressive from the good faith of the narrators. My paternal
grandmother was Miss Sarah Strother of Virginia, and from her estate
came these Strother negroes. Tom, three years my senior, was my foster
brother and early playmate. His uncle, Charles Porter Strother (to give
him his full name), had been body servant to my grandfather, Colonel
Richard Taylor, whom he attended in his last illness. He then filled the
same office to my father, following him through his Indian and Mexican
campaigns, and dying at Washington a year before his master. Tom served
in Florida and Mexico as "aide-de-camp" to his uncle, after which he
married and became father of a large family. On this account I hesitated
to bring him to Virginia, but he would come, and was a model servant.
Tall, powerful, black as ebony, he was a mirror of truth and honesty.
Always cheerful, I never heard him laugh or knew of his speaking unless
spoken to. He could light a fire in a minute under the most unfavorable
conditions and with the most unpromising material, made the best coffee
to be tasted outside of a creole kitchen, was a "dab" at camp stews and
roasts, groomed my horses (one of which he rode near me), washed my
linen, and was never behind time. Occasionally, when camped near a
house, he would obtain starch and flat-irons, and get up my extra shirt
in a way to excite the envy of a professional clear-starcher; but such
red-letter days were few.
I used to fancy that there was a mute sympathy between General Jackson
and Tom, as they sat silent by a camp fire, the latter respectfully
withdrawn; and an incident here at Strasburg cemented this friendship.
When my command was called into action, I left Tom on a hill where all
was quiet. Thereafter, from a change in the enemy's dispositions, the
place became rather hot, and Jackson, passing by, advised Tom to move;
but he replied, if the General pleased, his master told him to stay
there and would know where to find him, and he did not believe shells
would trouble him. Two or three nights later, Jackson was at my fire
when Tom came to give me some coffee; where upon Jackson rose and
gravely shook him by the hand, and then told me the above.
After the war was closed, Tom returned with me to New Orleans, found his
wife and children all right, and is now prosperous. My readers have had
so much fighting lately, and are about to have so much more, as to
render unnecessary an apology for introducing Tom's history.
To return. Cannonading continued without much effect, and Ewell summoned
me to his presence, directing the brigade to remain in position till
further orders. Jackson, busy with his trains, was not at the moment on
the field, which he visited several times during the day, though I did
not happen to see him. To reach Ewell, it was necessary to pass under
some heavy shelling, and I found myself open to the reproach visited
previously on my men. Whether from fatigue, loss of sleep, or what,
there I was, nervous as a lady, ducking like a mandarin. It was
disgusting, and, hoping that no one saw me, I resolved to take it out of
myself the first opportunity. There is a story of Turenne, the greatest
soldier of the Bourbons, which, if not true, is _ben trovato_. Of a
nervous temperament, his legs on the eve of an action trembled to such
an extent as to make it difficult to mount his horse. Looking at them
contemptuously, he said: "If you could foresee the danger into which I
am going to take you, you would tremble more." It was with a similar
feeling, not only for my legs, but for my entire carcass, that I reached
Ewell, and told him I was no more good than a frightened deer. He
laughed, and replied: "Nonsense! 'tis Tom's strong coffee. Better give
it up. Remain here in charge while I go out to the skirmishers. I can't
make out what these people are about, for my skirmish line has stopped
them. They won't advance, but stay out there in the wood, making a great
fuss with their guns; and I do not wish to commit myself to much advance
while Jackson is absent." With this, he put spurs to his horse and was
off, and soon a brisk fusillade was heard, which seemed gradually to
recede. During Ewell's absence, surrounded by his staff, I contrived to
sit my horse quietly. Returning, he said: "I am completely puzzled. I
have just driven everything back to the main body, which is large. Dense
wood everywhere. Jackson told me not to commit myself too far. At this
rate my attentions are not likely to become serious enough to commit any
one. I wish Jackson was here himself." I suggested that my brigade might
be moved to the extreme right, near the Capon road, by which Fremont had
marched, and attempt to strike that road, as this would enable us to
find out something. He replied: "Do so; that may stir them up, and I am
sick of this fiddling about." Had Ewell been in command, he would have
"pitched in" long before; but he was controlled by instructions not to
be drawn too far from the pike.
We found the right of our line held by a Mississippi regiment, the
colonel of which told me that he had advanced just before and driven the
enemy. Several of his men were wounded, and he was bleeding profusely
from a hit in his leg, which he was engaged in binding with a
handkerchief, remarking that "it did not pester him much." Learning our
purpose, he was eager to go in with us, and was not at all pleased to
hear that I declined to change General Ewell's dispositions. A plucky
fellow, this colonel, whose name, if ever known, I cannot recall. The
brigade moved forward until the enemy was reached, when, wheeling to the
left, it walked down his line. The expression is used advisedly, for it
was nothing but a "walk-over." Sheep would have made as much resistance
as we met. Men decamped without firing, or threw down their arms and
surrendered, and it was so easy that I began to think of traps. At
length we got under fire from our own skirmishers, and suffered some
casualties, the only ones received in the movement.
Our whole skirmish line was advancing briskly as the Federals retired. I
sought Ewell, and reported. We had a fine game before us, and the
temptation to play it was great; but Jackson's orders were imperative
and wise. He had his stores to save, Shields to guard against, Lee's
grand strategy to promote; and all this he accomplished, alarming
Washington, fastening McDowell's strong corps at Fredericksburg and
preventing its junction with McClellan, on whose right flank he
subsequently threw himself at Cold Harbor. He could not waste time
chasing Fremont, but we, who looked from a lower standpoint, grumbled
and shared the men's opinion about the _lemon wagons_.
The prisoners taken in our promenade were Germans, speaking no English;
and we had a similar experience a few days later. In the Federal Army
was a German corps, the 11th, commanded by General O.O. Howard, and
called by both sides "the Flying Dutchmen." Since the time of Arminius
the Germans have been a brave people; to-day, in military renown, they
lead the van of the nations; but they require a cause and leaders. In
our Revolutionary struggle the Hessians were unfortunate at Bennington,
Saratoga, and Trenton. We have millions of German citizens, and
excellent citizens they are. Let us hope that the foregoing facts may be
commended to them, so their ways may be ways of peace in their adopted
land.
Although the movement along the enemy's line was successful, as
described, it was rash and foolish. Fremont had troops which, had they
been in the place of these Germans, would have made us pass one of
Rabelais's unpleasant quarters of an hour. Alarm and disgust at my own
nervousness occasioned it, proving weak nerves to be the source of rash
acts.
Fremont made no further sign, and as the day declined the army was
recalled to the pike and marched south. Jackson, in person, gave me
instructions to draw up my brigade facing west, on some hills above the
pike, and distant from it several hundred yards, where I was to remain.
He said that the road was crowded, and he wanted time to clear it, that
Fremont was safe for the night, and our cavalry toward Winchester
reported Banks returned to that place from the Potomac, but not likely
to move south before the following day; then rode off, and so rapidly as
to give me no time to inquire how long I was to remain, or if the
cavalry would advise me in the event that Banks changed his purpose.
This was near sunset, and by the time the command was in position
darkness fell upon us. No fires were allowed, and, stacking arms, the
men rested, munching cold rations from their haversacks. It was their
first opportunity for a bite since early morning.
I threw myself on the ground, and tried in vain to sleep. No sound could
be heard save the clattering of hoofs on the pike, which as the night
wore on became constant. Hour after hour passed, when, thinking I heard
firing to the north, I mounted and looked for the pike. The darkness was
so intense that it could not have been found but for the white
limestone. Some mounted men were passing, whom I halted to question.
They said their command had gone on to rejoin the army, and, they
supposed, had missed me in the dark; but there was a squadron behind,
near the enemy's advance, which, a large cavalry force, had moved from
Winchester at an early period of the day and driven our people south.
This was pleasant; for Winder's brigade had marched several hours since,
and a wide interval existed between us.
More firing, near and distinct, was heard, and the command was ordered
down to the pike, which it reached after much stumbling and swearing,
and some confusion. Fortunately, the battery, Captain Bowyer, had been
sent forward at dusk to get forage, and an orderly was dispatched to put
it on the march. The 6th (Irish) regiment was in rear, and I took two
companies for a rear guard. The column had scarce got into motion before
a party of horse rushed through the guard, knocking down several men,
one of whom was severely bruised. There was a little pistol-shooting and
sabre-hacking, and for some minutes things were rather mixed. The
enemy's cavalry had charged ours, and driven it on the infantry. One
Federal was captured and his horse given to the bruised man, who
congratulated the rider on his promotion to a respectable service. I
dismounted, gave my horse to Tom to lead, and marched with the guard.
From time to time the enemy would charge, but we could hear him coming
and be ready. The guard would halt, about face, front rank with fixed
bayonets kneel, rear rank fire, when, by the light of the flash, we
could see emptied saddles. Our pursuers' fire was wild, passing over
head; so we had few casualties, and these slight; but they were bold and
enterprising, and well led, often charging close up to the bayonets. I
remarked this, whereupon the Irishmen answered, "Devil thank 'em for
that same." There was no danger on the flanks. The white of the pike
alone guided us. Owls could not have found their way across the fields.
The face of the country has been described as a succession of rolling
swells, and later the enemy got up guns, but always fired from the
summits, so that his shells passed far above us, exploding in the
fields. Had the guns been trained low, with canister, it might have
proved uncomfortable, for the pike ran straight to the south. "It was a
fine night intirely for divarsion," said the Irishmen, with which
sentiment I did not agree; but they were as steady as clocks and chirpy
as crickets, indulging in many a jest whenever the attentions of our
friends in the rear were slackened. They had heard of Shields's
proximity, and knew him to be an Irishman by birth, and that he had
Irish regiments with him. During an interlude I was asked if it was not
probable that we would encounter Shields, and answering affirmatively,
heard: "Them Germans is poor creatures, but Shields's boys will be after
fighting." Expressing a belief that my "boys" could match Shields's any
day, I received loud assurance from half a hundred Tipperary throats:
"You may bet your life on that, sor." Thus we beguiled the weary hours.
During the night I desired to relieve the guard, but was diverted from
my purpose by scornful howls of "We are the boys to see it out." As
Argyle's to the tartan, my heart has warmed to an Irishman since that
night.
Daylight came, and I tried to brace myself for hotter work, when a body
of troops was reported in position to the south of my column. This
proved to be Charles Winder with his (formerly Jackson's own) brigade.
An accomplished soldier and true brother-in-arms, he had heard the
enemy's guns during the night, and, knowing me to be in rear, halted and
formed line to await me. His men were fed and rested, and he insisted on
taking my place in the rear. Passing through Winder's line, we moved
slowly, with frequent halts, so as to remain near, the enemy pressing
hard during the morning. The day was uncommonly hot, the sun like fire,
and water scarce along the road; and our men suffered greatly.
Just after midday my brisk young aide, Hamilton, whom I had left with
Winder to bring early intelligence, came to report that officer in
trouble and want of assistance. My men were so jaded as to make me
unwilling to retrace ground if it could be avoided; so they were ordered
to form line on the crest of the slope at hand, and I went to Winder, a
mile to the rear. His brigade, renowned as the "Stonewall," was deployed
on both sides of the pike, on which he had four guns. Large masses of
cavalry, with guns and some sharp-shooters, were pressing him closely,
while far to the north clouds of dust marked the approach of troops. His
line was on one of the many swells crossing the pike at right angles,
and a gentle slope led to the next crest south, beyond which my brigade
was forming. The problem was to retire without giving the enemy, eager
and persistent, an opportunity to charge. The situation looked so blue
that I offered to move back my command; but Winder thought he could pull
through, and splendidly did he accomplish it. Regiment by regiment, gun
by gun, the brigade was withdrawn, always checking the enemy, though
boldly led. Winder, cool as a professor playing the new German game,
directed every movement in person, and the men were worthy of him and of
their first commander, Jackson. It was very close work in the vale
before he reached the next crest, and heavy volleys were necessary to
stay our plucky foes; but, once there, my command showed so strong as to
impress the enemy, who halted to reconnoiter, and the two brigades were
united without further trouble.
The position was good, my battery was at hand, and our men were so
fatigued that we debated whether it was not more comfortable to fight
than retreat. We could hold the ground for hours against cavalry, and
night would probably come before infantry got up, while retreat was
certain to bring the cavalry on us. At this juncture up came General
Turner Ashby, followed by a considerable force of horse, with guns. This
officer had been engaged in destroying bridges in Luray Valley, to
prevent Shields from crossing that branch of the Shenandoah, and now
came, much to our satisfaction, to take charge of the rear. He proceeded
to pay his respects to our friends, and soon took them off our hands. We
remained an hour to rest the men and give Ashby time to make his
dispositions, then moved on.
Before sunset heavy clouds gathered, and the intense heat was broken by
a regular downpour, in the midst of which we crossed the bridge over the
west branch of the Shenandoah--a large stream--at Mount Jackson, and
camped. There was not a dry thread about my person, and my boots would
have furnished a respectable bath. Notwithstanding the flood, Tom soon
had a fire, and was off to hunt forage for man and beast. Here we were
less than ten miles from Newmarket, between which and this point the
army was camped. Jackson was easy about Massanutten Gap. Shields must
march south of the mountain to reach him, while the river, just crossed,
was now impassable except by bridge.
We remained thirty-six hours in this camp, from the evening of the 2d
until the morning of the 4th of June--a welcome rest to all. Two days of
light marching carried us thence to Harrisonburg, thirty miles. Here
Jackson quitted the pike leading to Staunton, and took the road to Port
Republic. This village, twelve miles southeast of Harrisonburg, lies at
the base of the Blue Ridge, on the east bank of the Shenandoah. Several
streams unite here to form the east (locally called south) branch of
that river; and here too was the only bridge from Front Royal south, all
others having been destroyed by Ashby to prevent Shields from crossing.
This commander was pushing a part of his force south, from Front Royal
and Luray, on the east bank.
The army passed the night of June 5 in camp three miles from
Harrisonburg toward Port Republic. Ewell's division, which I had
rejoined for the first time since we met Jackson, was in rear; and the
rear brigade was General George Stewart's, composed of one Maryland and
two Virginia regiments. My command was immediately in advance of
Stewart's. Ashby had burnt the bridge at Mount Jackson to delay Fremont,
and was camped with his horse in advance of Harrisonburg. The road to
Port Republic was heavy from recent rains, causing much delay to trains,
so that we did not move on the morning of the 6th. Early in the day
Fremont, reenforced from Banks, got up; and his cavalry, vigorously led,
pushed Ashby through Harrisonburg, where a sharp action occurred,
resulting in the capture of many Federals--among others, Colonel Percy
Wyndham, commanding brigade, whose meeting with Major Wheat has been
described. Later, while Ewell was conversing with me, a message from
Ashby took him to the rear. Federal cavalry, supported by infantry, was
advancing on Ashby. Stewart's brigade was lying in a wood, under cover
of which Ewell placed it in position. A severe struggle ensued; the
enemy was driven, and many prisoners were taken. I had ridden back with
Ewell, and so witnessed the affair, uncommonly spirited, and creditable
to both sides. Colonel Kane of Philadelphia was among the prisoners and
painfully wounded. Having known his father, Judge Kane, as well as his
brother, the Arctic explorer, I solicited and obtained from Jackson his
parole.
Colonel Nicholls, left wounded near Winchester, had married a short time
previous to the war, and his young wife now appeared, seeking to join
her husband. Jackson referred her request to Ewell, who passed it to me.
Of this I was informed by Captain Nicholls, 8th regiment, brother to the
colonel, killed a few days after at Cold Harbor. Much cavalry
skirmishing was still going on around Harrisonburg, dangerous for a lady
to pass through; and besides, she had come from Port Republic, seen our
situation, and might be indiscreet. These considerations were stated to
Captain Nicholls, but his sister-in-law insisted on seeing me. A small,
fairy-like creature, plucky as a "Dandie Dinmont" terrier, and with a
heart as big as Massanutten, she was seated in a nondescript trap, drawn
by two mules, driven by a negro. One look from the great, tearful eyes
made of me an abject coward, and I basely shuffled the refusal to let
her pass on to Jackson. The Parthian glance of contempt that reached me
through her tears showed that the lady understood and despised my
paltering. Nicholls was speedily exchanged, became a general officer,
lost a foot at Chancellorsville, and, after leading his people up out of
captivity, is now the conservative Governor of Louisiana.
The skirmishing spoken of in the above connection developed into severe
work, in which General Ashby was killed. Alluding to his death in an
official report, Jackson says, "As a partisan officer I never knew his
superior." Like Claverhouse, "with a face that painters loved to limn
and ladies look upon," he was the most daring and accomplished rider in
a region of horsemen. His courage was so brilliant as to elicit applause
from friend and foe, but he was without capacity or disposition to
enforce discipline on his men. I witnessed his deep chagrin at the
conduct of our troopers after the enemy had been driven from Winchester
in May. With proper organization and discipline, his bold riders under
his lead might have accomplished all that the lamented Nolan claimed as
possible for light cavalry. Popular imagination, especially the female,
is much in error as to these matters. Graceful young cavaliers, with
flowing locks, leaping cannon to saber countless foes, make a
captivating picture. In the language of Bosquet, "'Tis beautiful, but
'tis not war"; and grave mishaps have been occasioned by this
misconception. Valor is as necessary now as ever in war, but
disciplined, subordinated valor, admitting the courage and energies of
all to be welded and directed to a common end. It is much to be desired
that the ladies would consent to correct their opinions; for, after all,
their approval stimulates our best fighting.
On the 7th of June we marched to a place within four miles of Port
Republic, called Cross Keys, where several roads met. Near at hand was
the meeting-house of a sect of German Quakers, Tunkers or Dunkards, as
they are indifferently named. Here Jackson determined to await and fight
Fremont, who followed him hard; but as a part of Shields's force was now
unpleasantly near, he pushed on to Port Republic with Winder's and other
infantry, and a battery, which camped on the hither bank of the river.
Jackson himself, with his staff and a mounted escort, crossed the bridge
and passed the night in the village.
Ewell, in immediate charge at Cross Keys, was ready early in the morning
of the 8th, when Fremont attacked. The ground was undulating, with much
wood, and no extended view could be had. In my front the attack, if such
it could be called, was feeble in the extreme--an affair of skirmishers,
in which the enemy yielded to the slightest pressure. A staff officer of
Jackson's, in hot haste, came with orders from his chief to march my
brigade double-quick to Port Republic. Elzey's brigade, in second line
to the rear, was asked to take my place and relieve my skirmishers;
then, advising the staff officer to notify Ewell, whom he had not seen,
we started on the run, for such a message from Jackson meant business.
Two of the intervening miles were quickly passed, when another officer
appeared with orders to halt. In half an hour, during which the sound of
battle at Cross Keys thickened, Jackson came. As before stated, he had
passed the night in the village, with his staff and escort. Up as usual
at dawn, he started alone to recross the bridge, leaving his people to
follow. The bridge was a few yards below the last house in the village,
and some mist overhung the river. Under cover of this a small body of
horse, with one gun, from Shields's forces, had reached the east end of
the bridge and trained the gun on it. Jackson was within an ace of
capture. As he spurred across, the gun was fired on him, but without
effect, and the sound brought up staff and escort, when the horse
retired north. This incident occasioned the order to me. After relating
it (all save his own danger), Jackson passed on to Ewell. Thither I
followed, to remain in reserve until the general forward movement in the
afternoon, by which Fremont was driven back with loss of prisoners. We
did not persist far, as Shields's force was near upon us. From Ewell I
learned that there had been some pretty fighting in the morning, though
less than might have been expected from Fremont's numbers. I know not if
the presence of this commander had a benumbing influence on his troops,
but certainly his advanced cavalry and infantry had proved bold and
enterprising.
In the evening we moved to the river and camped. Winder's and other
brigades crossed the bridge, and during the night Ewell, with most of
the army, drew near, leaving Trimble's brigade and the horse at Cross
Keys. No one apprehended another advance by Fremont. The following
morning, Sunday, June 9, my command passed the bridge, moved several
hundred yards down the road, and halted. Our trains had gone east over
the Blue Ridge. The sun appeared above the mountain while the men were
quietly breakfasting. Suddenly, from below, was heard the din of
battle, loud and sustained, artillery and small arms. The men sprang
into ranks, formed column, and marched, and I galloped forward a short
mile to see the following scene:
From the mountain, clothed to its base with undergrowth and timber, a
level--clear, open, and smooth--extended to the river. This plain was
some thousand yards in width. Half a mile north, a gorge, through which
flowed a small stream, cut the mountain at a right angle. The northern
shoulder of this gorge projected farther into the plain than the
southern, and on an elevated plateau of the shoulder were placed six
guns, sweeping every inch of the plain to the south. Federal lines,
their right touching the river, were advancing steadily, with banners
flying and arms gleaming in the sun. A gallant show, they came on.
Winder's and another brigade, with a battery, opposed them. This small
force was suffering cruelly, and its skirmishers were driven in on their
thin supporting line. As my Irishmen predicted, "Shields's boys were
after fighting." Below, Ewell was hurrying his men over the bridge, but
it looked as if we should be doubled up on him ere he could cross and
develop much strength. Jackson was on the road, a little in advance of
his line, where the fire was hottest, with reins on his horse's neck,
seemingly in prayer. Attracted by my approach, he said, in his usual
voice, "Delightful excitement." I replied that it was pleasant to learn
he was enjoying himself, but thought he might have an indigestion of
such fun if the six-gun battery was not silenced. He summoned a young
officer from his staff, and pointed up the mountain. The head of my
approaching column was turned short up the slope, and speedily came to a
path running parallel with the river. We took this path, the guide
leading the way. From him I learned that the plateau occupied by the
battery had been used for a charcoal kiln, and the path we were
following, made by the burners in hauling wood, came upon the gorge
opposite the battery. Moving briskly, we reached the hither side a few
yards from the guns. Infantry was posted near, and riflemen were in the
undergrowth on the slope above. Our approach, masked by timber, was
unexpected. The battery was firing rapidly, enabled from elevation to
fire over the advancing lines. The head of my column began to deploy
under cover for attack, when the sounds of battle to our rear appeared
to recede, and a loud Federal cheer was heard, proving Jackson to be
hard pressed. It was rather an anxious moment, demanding instant action.
Leaving a staff officer to direct my rear regiment--the 7th, Colonel
Hays--to form in the wood as a reserve, I ordered the attack, though the
deployment was not completed, and our rapid march by a narrow path had
occasioned some disorder. With a rush and shout the gorge was passed and
we were in the battery. Surprise had aided us, but the enemy's infantry
rallied in a moment and drove us out. We returned, to be driven a second
time. The riflemen on the slope worried us no little, and two companies
of the 9th regiment were sent up the gorge to gain ground above and
dislodge them, which was accomplished. The fighting in and around the
battery was hand to hand, and many fell from bayonet wounds. Even the
artillerymen used their rammers in a way not laid down in the Manual,
and died at their guns. As Conan said to the devil, "'Twas claw for
claw." I called for Hays, but he, the promptest of men, and his splendid
regiment, could not be found. Something unexpected had occurred, but
there was no time for speculation. With a desperate rally, in which I
believe the drummer-boys shared, we carried the battery for the third
time, and held it. Infantry and riflemen had been driven off, and we
began to feel a little comfortable, when the enemy, arrested in his
advance by our attack, appeared. He had countermarched, and, with left
near the river, came into full view of our situation. Wheeling to the
right, with colors advanced, like a solid wall he marched straight upon
us. There seemed nothing left but to set our backs to the mountain and
die hard. At the instant, crashing through the underwood, came Ewell,
outriding staff and escort. He produced the effect of a reenforcement,
and was welcomed with cheers. The line before us halted and threw
forward skirmishers. A moment later, a shell came shrieking along it,
loud Confederate cheers reached our delighted ears, and Jackson, freed
from his toils, rushed up like a whirlwind, the enemy in rapid retreat.
We turned the captured guns on them as they passed, Ewell serving as a
gunner. Though rapid, the retreat never became a rout. Fortune had
refused her smiles, but Shields's brave "boys" preserved their
organization and were formidable to the last; and had Shields himself,
with his whole command, been on the field, we should have had tough work
indeed.
Jackson came up, with intense light in his eyes, grasped my hand, and
said the brigade should have the captured battery. I thought the men
would go mad with cheering, especially the Irishmen. A huge fellow, with
one eye closed and half his whiskers burned by powder, was riding
cock-horse on a gun, and, catching my attention, yelled out, "We told
you to bet on your boys." Their success against brother Patlanders
seemed doubly welcome. Strange people, these Irish! Fighting every one's
battles, and cheerfully taking the hot end of the poker, they are only
found wanting when engaged in what they believe to be their national
cause. Excepting the defense of Limerick under brilliant Sarsfield, I
recall no domestic struggle in which they have shown their worth.
While Jackson pursued the enemy without much effect, as his cavalry,
left in front of Fremont, could not get over till late, we attended to
the wounded and performed the last offices to the dead, our own and the
Federal. I have never seen so many dead and wounded in the same limited
space. A large farmhouse on the plain, opposite the mouth of the gorge,
was converted into a hospital. Ere long my lost 7th regiment, sadly cut
up, rejoined. This regiment was in rear of the column when we left
Jackson to gain the path in the woods, and before it filed out of the
road his thin line was so pressed that Jackson ordered Hays to stop the
enemy's rush. This was done, for the 7th would have stopped a herd of
elephants, but at a fearful cost. Colonel Hays was severely wounded,
among many others, and the number of killed was large. Upon my promotion
to Major-General, Hays succeeded to the command of the brigade, served
through the war, returned to the practice of the law, and died in New
Orleans. He was brother to Colonel Jack Hays, formerly of Texas, now of
California, and shared much of the fighting ability of that renowned
partisan.
The young officer who guided us through the wood deserves mention, as he
was one of the first to reach the battery, where he was killed.
Lieutenant English, near Harper's Ferry, Virginia, proved to be his name
and place of birth.
Many hours passed in discharge of sad duties to the wounded and dead,
during which Fremont appeared on the opposite bank of the river and
opened his guns; but, observing doubtless our occupation, he ceased his
fire, and after a short time withdrew. It may be added here that Jackson
had caused such alarm at Washington as to start Milroy, Banks, Fremont,
and Shields toward that capital, and the great valley was cleared of the
enemy.
We passed the night high up the mountain, where we moved to reach our
supply wagons. A cold rain was falling, and before we found them every
one was tired and famished. I rather took it out of the train-master for
pushing so far up, although I had lunched comfortably from the haversack
of a dead Federal. It is not pleasant to think of now, but war _is_ a
little hardening.
On the 12th of June the army moved down to the river, above Port
Republic, where the valley was wide, with many trees, and no enemy to
worry or make us afraid. Here closed Jackson's wonderful Valley campaign
of 1862.[3]
[Footnote 3: A part of the foregoing text was published in the number of
the "North American Review" for March, 1878, under the title of
"Stonewall Jackson and the Valley Campaign." In a kind and friendly
letter, dated New York, March 21, General Shields corrects some
misapprehensions into which I had fallen, more especially concerning his
_personal_ connection with the events described. I had been unable to
procure a copy of General Shields's report, which, he informs me in the
same letter, was suppressed by Secretary Stanton.]
The Louisiana brigade marched from its camp near Conrad's store, to
join Jackson at Newmarket, on the 21st of May. In twenty days it marched
over two hundred miles, fought in five actions, of which three were
severe, and several skirmishes, and, though it had suffered heavy loss
in officers and men, was yet strong, hard as nails, and full of
confidence. I have felt it a duty to set forth the achievements of the
brigade, than which no man ever led braver into action, in their proper
light, because such reputation as I gained in this campaign is to be
ascribed to its excellence.
For the first time since several weeks, friend Ewell and I had a chance
to renew our talks; but events soon parted us again. Subsequently he was
wounded in the knee at the second battle of Manassas, and suffered
amputation of the leg in consequence. His absence of mind nearly proved
fatal. Forgetting his condition, he suddenly started to walk, came down
on the stump, imperfectly healed, and produced violent haemorrhage.
About the close of the war he married Mrs. Brown, a widow, and daughter
of Judge Campbell, a distinguished citizen of Tennessee, who had
represented the United States at the court of St. Petersburg, where this
lady was born. She was a kinswoman of Ewell, and said to have been his
early love. He brought her to New Orleans in 1866, where I hastened to
see him. He took me by the hand and presented me to "my wife, Mrs.
Brown." How well I remember our chat! How he talked of his plans and
hopes and happiness, and of his great lot of books, which he was afraid
he would never be able to read through. The while "my wife, Mrs. Brown,"
sat by, handsome as a picture, smiling on her General, as well she
might, so noble a gentleman. A few short years, and both he and his wife
passed away within an hour of each other; but his last years were made
happy by her companionship, and comfortable by the wealth she had
brought him. Dear Dick Ewell! Virginia never bred a truer gentleman, a
braver soldier, nor an odder, more lovable fellow.
On the second day in this camp General Winder came to me and said that
he had asked leave to go to Richmond, been refused, and resigned. He
commanded Jackson's old brigade, and was aggrieved by some unjust
interference. Holding Winder in high esteem, I hoped to save him to the
army, and went to Jackson, to whose magnanimity I appealed, and to
arouse this dwelt on the rich harvest of glory he had reaped in his
brilliant campaign. Observing him closely, I caught a glimpse of the
man's inner nature. It was but a glimpse. The curtain closed, and he was
absorbed in prayer. Yet in that moment I saw an ambition boundless as
Cromwell's, and as merciless. This latter quality was exhibited in his
treatment of General Richard Garnett, cousin to Robert Garnett, before
mentioned, and his codisciple at West Point. I have never met officer or
soldier, present at Kernstown, who failed to condemn the harsh treatment
of Garnett after that action. Richard Garnett was subsequently restored
to command at my instance near Jackson, and fell on the field of
Gettysburg.
No reply was made to my effort for Winder, and I rose to take my leave,
when Jackson said he would ride with me. We passed silently along the
way to my camp, where he left me. That night a few lines came from
Winder, to inform me that Jackson had called on him, and his resignation
was withdrawn.
Charles Winder was born in Maryland, graduated at West Point in 1850,
embarked soon thereafter for California in charge of a detachment of
recruits, was wrecked on the coast, and saved his men by his coolness
and energy. He left the United States army to join the Confederacy, and
was killed at Cedar Run some weeks after this period. Had he lived, he
would have reached and adorned high position.
And now a great weariness and depression fell upon me. I was threatened
with a return of the illness experienced the previous autumn. For many
weeks I had received no intelligence from my family. New Orleans had
fallen, and my wife and children resided there or on an estate near the
city. I hoped to learn of them at Richmond; change might benefit health,
and matters were quiet in the Valley. Accordingly, a short leave was
asked for and granted; and although I returned within three days to join
my command on the march to Cold Harbor, we were absorbed in the larger
army operating against McClellan, and I saw but little of Jackson.
I have written that he was ambitious; and his ambition was vast,
all-absorbing. Like the unhappy wretch from whose shoulders sprang the
foul serpent, he loathed it, perhaps feared it; but he could not escape
it--it was himself--nor rend it--it was his own flesh. He fought it with
prayer, constant and earnest--Apollyon and Christian in ceaseless
combat. What limit to set to his ability I know not, for he was ever
superior to occasion. Under ordinary circumstances it was difficult to
estimate him because of his peculiarities--peculiarities that would have
made a lesser man absurd, but that served to enhance his martial fame,
as those of Samuel Johnson did his literary eminence. He once observed,
in reply to an allusion to his severe marching, that it was better to
lose one man in marching than five in fighting; and, acting on this, he
invariably surprised the enemy--Milroy at McDowell, Banks and Fremont in
the Valley, McClellan's right at Cold Harbor, Pope at second Manassas.
Fortunate in his death, he fell at the summit of glory, before the sun
of the Confederacy had set, ere defeat, and suffering, and selfishness
could turn their fangs upon him. As one man, the South wept for him;
foreign nations shared the grief; even Federals praised him. With Wolfe
and Nelson and Havelock, he took his place in the hearts of
English-speaking peoples.
In the first years of this century, a great battle was fought on the
plains of the Danube. A determined charge on the Austrian center gained
the victory for France. The courage and example of a private soldier,
who there fell, contributed much to the success of the charge. Ever
after, at the parades of his battalion, the name of Latour d'Auvergne
was first called, when the oldest sergeant stepped to the front and
answered, "Died on the field of honor." In Valhalla, beyond the grave,
where spirits of warriors assemble, when on the roll of heroes the name
of Jackson is reached, it will be for the majestic shade of Lee to
pronounce the highest eulogy known to our race--"Died on the field of
duty."
I reached Richmond, by Charlottesville and Lynchburg, the day after
leaving camp, and went to the war office, where I found letters from my
family. My wife and children had left New Orleans on a steamer just as
Farragut's fleet arrived, and were on the Atchafalaya River with
friends, all well. While reading my letters, an acquaintance in high
position in the office greeted me, but went on to say, if I knew what
was afoot, my stay in Richmond would be short. Taking the hint, and
feeling improved in health in consequence of relief from anxiety about
my family, I returned to the station at once, and took rail to
Charlottesville. Arrived there, I met the Valley army in march to the
southeast, and joined my command.
That night we camped between Charlottesville and Gordonsville, in Orange
County, the birthplace of my father. A distant kinsman, whom I had never
met, came to invite me to his house in the neighborhood. Learning that I
always slept in camp, he seemed so much distressed as to get my consent
to breakfast with him, if he would engage to have breakfast at the
barbarous hour of sunrise. His house was a little distant from the road;
so, the following morning, he sent a mounted groom to show the way. My
aide, young Hamilton, accompanied me, and Tom of course followed. It was
a fine old mansion, surrounded by well-kept grounds. This immediate
region had not yet been touched by war. Flowering plants and rose trees,
in full bloom, attested the glorious wealth of June. On the broad
portico, to welcome us, stood the host, with his fresh, charming wife,
and, a little retired, a white-headed butler. Greetings over with host
and lady, this delightful creature, with ebon face beaming hospitality,
advanced, holding a salver, on which rested a huge silver goblet filled
with Virginia's nectar, mint julep. Quantities of cracked ice rattled
refreshingly in the goblet; sprigs of fragrant mint peered above its
broad rim; a mass of white sugar, too sweetly indolent to melt, rested
on the mint; and, like rose buds on a snow bank, luscious strawberries
crowned the sugar. Ah! that julep! Mars ne'er received such tipple from
the hands of Ganymede. Breakfast was announced, and what a breakfast! A
beautiful service, snowy table cloth, damask napkins, long unknown;
above all, a lovely woman in crisp gown, with more and handsomer roses
on her cheek than in her garden. 'Twas an idyl in the midst of the stern
realities of war! The table groaned beneath its viands. Sable servitors
brought in, hot and hot from the kitchen, cakes of wondrous forms,
inventions of the tropical imagination of Africa, inflamed by Virginian
hospitality. I was rather a moderate trencherman, but the performance of
Hamilton was Gargantuan, alarming. Duty dragged us from this Eden; yet
in hurried adieus I did not forget to claim of the fair hostess the
privilege of a cousin. I watched Hamilton narrowly for a time. The youth
wore a sodden, apoplectic look, quite out of his usual brisk form. A
gallop of some miles put him right, but for many days he dilated on the
breakfast with the gusto of one of Hannibal's veterans on the delights
of Capua.