The austere, determined features of the victor of Chancellorsville, just
as they appeared two weeks before the tragic shot that cost the
Confederacy its greatest Lieutenant-General--and, in the opinion of sound
historians, its chief hope for independence. Only once had a war
photograph of Jackson been taken up to April, 1863, when, just before the
movement toward Chancellorsville, he was persuaded to enter a
photographer's tent at Hamilton's Crossing, some three miles below
Fredericksburg, and to sit for his last portrait. At a glance one can feel
the self-expression and power in this stern worshiper of the God of
Battles; one can understand the eulogy written by the British military
historian, Henderson: "The fame of 'Stonewall' Jackson is no longer the
exclusive property of Virginia and the South; it has become the birthright
of every man privileged to call himself an American."
[Illustration: WHERE "STONEWALL" JACKSON FELL]
In this tangled nook Lee's right-hand man was shot through a terrible
mistake of his own soldiers. It was the second of May, 1863. After his
brilliant flank march, the evening attack on the rear of Hooker's army had
just been driven home. About half-past eight, Jackson had ridden beyond
his lines to reconnoiter for the final advance. A single rifle-shot rang
out in the darkness. The outposts of the two armies were engaged. Jackson
turned toward his own line, where the Eighteenth North Carolina was
stationed. The regiment, keenly on the alert and startled by the group of
strange horsemen riding through the gloom, fired a volley that brought
several men and horses to the earth. Jackson was struck once in the right
hand and twice in the left arm, a little below the shoulder. His horse
dashed among the trees; but with his bleeding right hand Jackson succeeded
in seizing the reins and turning the frantic animal back into the road.
Only with difficulty was the general taken to the rear so that his wounds
might be dressed. To his attendants he said, "Tell them simply that you
have a wounded Confederate officer." To one who asked if he was seriously
hurt, he replied: "Don't bother yourself about me. Win the battle first
and attend to the wounded afterward." He was taken to Guiney's Station. At
first it was hoped that he would recover, but pneumonia set in and his
strength gradually ebbed. On Sunday evening, May 10th, he uttered the
words which inspired the young poet, Sidney Lanier, to write his elegy,
beautiful in its serene resignation.
[Illustration: THE STONE WALL AT FREDERICKSBURG