Chapter I

[Illustration: Portrait of Stonewall Jackson]

Stonewall Jackson

and the

AMERICAN CIVIL WAR

by the late

Colonel G. F. R. HENDERSON, C.B.

AUTHOR OF “THE BATTLE OF SPICHEREN, A TACTICAL STUDY”

AND “THE CAMPAIGN OF FREDERICKSBURG”

with an introduction by

FIELD-MARSHAL THE LATE

RIGHT HONOURABLE VISCOUNT WOLSELEY,

K.P., G.C.B., G.C.M.G., &c.

IN TWO VOLUMES—VOLUME I

_WITH PORTRAITS, MAPS, AND PLANS_

_TO MY FATHER_

—::—

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

PREFACE

Chapter I. WEST POINT

Chapter II. MEXICO. 1846–47

Chapter III. LEXINGTON. 1851–61

Chapter IV. SECESSION. 1860–61

Chapter V. HARPER’S FERRY

Chapter VI. THE FIRST BATTLE OF MANASSAS OR BULL RUN

Chapter VII. ROMNEY

Chapter VIII. KERNSTOWN

Chapter IX. M’DOWELL

Chapter X. WINCHESTER

Chapter XI. CROSS KEYS AND PORT REPUBLIC

Chapter XII. REVIEW OF THE VALLEY CAMPAIGN

Chapter XIII. THE SEVEN DAYS. GAINES’ MILL

Chapter XIV. THE SEVEN DAYS. FRAYSER’S FARM AND MALVERN HILL

Chapter XV. CEDAR RUN

Chapter XVI. GROVETON AND THE SECOND MANASSAS

Chapter XVII. THE SECOND MANASSAS (_continued_)

Chapter XVIII. HARPER’S FERRY

Chapter XIX. SHARPSBURG

Chapter XX. FREDERICKSBURG

Chapter XXI. THE ARMY OF NORTHERN VIRGINIA

Chapter XXII. WINTER QUARTERS

Chapter XXIII. CHANCELLORSVILLE

Chapter XXIV. CHANCELLORSVILLE (_continued_)

Chapter XXV. THE SOLDIER AND THE MAN

INDEX

ILLUSTRATIONS

PORTRAITS

STONEWALL JACKSON, LT.-GENERAL.

STONEWALL JACKSON AT THE AGE OF 24 (_from a daguerreotype_)

MAPS

THE CITY OF MEXICO.

THE UNITED STATES, 1861.

SITUATION, NIGHT OF JULY 17, 1861.

DISPOSITIONS, MORNING OF JULY 21, 1861.

BULL RUN.

SKETCH OF WEST VIRGINIA IN 1861.

THE VALLEY.

SITUATION, NIGHT OF MARCH 21, 1862.

BATTLE OF KERNSTOWN.

SITUATION, APRIL 30, 1862.

BATTLE OF MCDOWELL.

SITUATION, MAY 18, 1862.

BATTLE OF WINCHESTER.

BATTLES OF CROSS KEYS AND PORT REPUBLIC.

ENVIRONS OF RICHMOND

BATTLE OF GAINES’ MILL

THE SEVEN DAYS. JUNE 26–JULY 2, 1862

BATTLE OF MALVERN HILL

ENVIRONS OF WARRENTON

BATTLE OF CEDAR RUN

SITUATION ON AUGUST 27 (SUNSET), 1862

SITUATION ON AUGUST 28 (SUNSET), 1862

POSITIONS ON AUGUST 29, 1862

GROVETON AND SECOND MANASSAS

POSITIONS ON AUGUST 30, 1862, IN THE ATTACK ON JACKSON

POSITIONS ON AUGUST 30, 1862

HARPER’S FERRY

SHARPSBURG

POSITIONS DURING THE ATTACKS OF HOOKER AND MANSFIELD AT SHARPSBURG

FREDERICKSBURG

HOOKER’S PLAN OF CAMPAIGN

BATTLE OF CHANCELLORSVILLE

INTRODUCTION

Before the great Republic of the West had completed a century of

independent national existence, its political fabric was subjected to

the strain of a terrible internecine war. That the true cause of

conflict was the antagonism between the spirit of Federalism and the

theory of “States’ Rights” is very clearly explained in the following

pages, and the author exactly expresses the feeling with which most

Englishmen regard the question of Secession, when he implies that had

he been a New Englander he would have fought to the death to preserve

the Union, while had he been born in Virginia he would have done as

much in defence of a right the South believed inalienable. The war thus

brought about dragged on its weary length from the spring of 1861 to

the same season of 1865. During its progress reputations were made that

will live for ever in American history, and many remarkable men came to

the front. Among these not the least prominent was “Stonewall Jackson,”

who to the renown of a great soldier and unselfish patriot added the

brighter fame of a Christian hero; and to those who would know what

manner of man this Stonewall Jackson was, and why he was so universally

revered, so beloved, so trusted by his men, I can cordially recommend

Colonel Henderson’s delightful volumes. From their perusal I have

derived real pleasure and sound instruction. They have taught me much;

they have made me think still more; and I hope they may do the same for

many others in the British Army. They are worth the closest study, for

few military writers have possessed Colonel Henderson’s grasp of

tactical and strategical principles, or his knowledge of the methods

which have controlled their application by the most famous soldiers,

from Hannibal to Von Moltke. Gifted with a rare power of describing not

only great military events but the localities where they occurred, he

places clearly before his readers, in logical sequence, the

circumstances which brought them about. He has accomplished, too, the

difficult task of combining with a brilliant and critical history of a

great war the life-story of a great commander, of a most singular and

remarkable man. The figure, the character, the idiosyncrasies of the

famous Virginian, as well as the lofty motives which influenced him

throughout, are most sympathetically portrayed.

There have been few more fitted by natural instincts, by education, by

study, and by self-discipline to become leaders of men than Stonewall

Jackson. From the day he joined that admirable school at West Point he

may be said to have trained himself mentally, morally, and physically,

for the position to which he aspired, and which it would seem he always

believed he would reach. Shy as a lad, reserved as a man, speaking

little but thinking much, he led his own life, devouring the

experiences of great men, as recorded in military history, in order

that when his time came he should be capable of handling his troops as

they did. A man of very simple tastes and habits, but of strong

religious principles, drawn directly from the Bible; a child in purity;

a child in faith; the Almighty always in his thoughts, his stay in

trouble, his guide in every difficulty, Jackson’s individuality was

more striking and more complete than that of all others who played

leading parts in the great tragedy of Secession. The most reckless and

irreligious of the Confederate soldiers were silent in his presence,

and stood awestruck and abashed before this great God-fearing man; and

even in the far-off Northern States the hatred of the formidable

“rebel” was tempered by an irrepressible admiration of his piety, his

sincerity, and his resolution. The passions then naturally excited have

now calmed down, and are remembered no more by a reunited and

chivalrous nation. With that innate love of virtue and real worth which

has always distinguished the American people, there has long been

growing up, even among those who were the fiercest foes of the South, a

feeling of love and reverence for the memory of this great and

true-hearted man of war, who fell in what he firmly believed to be a

sacred cause. 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.

Colonel Henderson has made a special study of the Secession War, and it

would be difficult, in my opinion, to find a man better qualified in

every respect for the task he has undertaken. I may express the hope

that he will soon give us the history of the war from the death of

Stonewall Jackson to the fall of Richmond. Extending as it did over a

period of four years, and marked by achievements which are a lasting

honour to the Anglo-Saxon name, the struggle of the South for

independence is from every point of view one of the most important

events in the second half of the century, and it should not be left

half told. Until the battle where Stonewall Jackson fell, the tide of

success was flowing, and had borne the flag of the new Confederacy

within sight of the gates of Washington. Colonel Henderson deals only

with what I think may be called the period of Southern victories, for

the tide began to ebb when Jackson fell; and those who read his volumes

will, I am convinced, look forward eagerly to his story of the years

which followed, when Grant, with the skill of a practised strategist,

threw a net round the Confederate capital, drawing it gradually

together until he imprisoned its starving garrison, and compelled Lee,

the ablest commander of his day, to surrender at discretion.

But the application of strategical and tactical principles, and the

example of noble lives, are not the only or even the most valuable

lessons of great wars. There are lessons which concern nations rather

than individuals; and there are two to be learnt from the Secession War

which are of peculiar value to both England and the United States,

whose armies are comparatively small and raised by voluntary

enlistment. The first is the necessity of maintaining at all times (for

it is impossible to predict what tomorrow may have in store for us) a

well-organised standing army in the highest state of efficiency, and

composed of thoroughly-trained and full-grown men. This army to be

large enough for our military requirements, and adapted to the

character, the habits, and the traditions of the people. It is not

necessary that the whole force should be actually serving during peace:

one half of it, provided it is periodically drilled and exercised, can

be formed into a Reserve; the essential thing is that it should be as

perfect a weapon as can be forged.

The second lesson is that to hand over to civilians the administration

and organisation of the army, whether in peace or in war, or to allow

them to interfere in the selection of officers for command or

promotion, is most injurious to efficiency; while, during war, to allow

them, no matter how high their political capacity, to dictate to

commanders in the field any line of conduct, after the army has once

received its commission, is simply to ensure disaster.

The first of these lessons is brought home to us by the opening events

of this unreasonably protracted war. As I have elsewhere said, most

military students will admit that had the United States been able,

early in 1861, to put into the field, in addition to their volunteers,

one Army Corps of regular troops, the war would have ended in a few

months. An enormous expenditure of life and money, as well as a serious

dislocation and loss of trade, would have been thus avoided. Never have

the evil consequences which follow upon the absence of an adequate and

well-organised army been more forcibly exemplified.

But, alas! when this lesson is preached in a country governed

alternately by rival political parties, and when there is no immediate

prospect of national danger, it falls on deaf ears. The demands made by

the soldiers to put the army on a thoroughly efficient footing are

persistently ignored, for the necessary means are almost invariably

required for some other object, more popular at the moment and in a

parliamentary—or party—sense more useful. The most scathing comment on

such a system of administration is furnished in the story told by

Colonel Henderson. The fearful trials to which the United States were

subjected expose the folly and self-deception of which even

well-meaning party leaders are too often capable. Ministers bluster

about fighting and yet refuse to spend enough money on the army to make

it fit for use; and on both sides of the Atlantic the lessons taught by

the Peninsula, the Crimea, and the Secession War are but seldom

remembered.

The pleasing notion that, whenever war comes, money can obtain for the

nation all that it requires is still, it would seem, an article of at

least lip-faith with the politicians of the English-speaking race

throughout the world. Gold will certainly buy a nation powder, pills,

and provisions; but no amount of wealth, even when supported by a

patriotic willingness to enlist, can buy discipline, training, and

skilful leading. Without these there can be no such thing as an

efficient army, and success in the field against serious opposition is

merely the idle dream of those who know not war.

If any nation could improvise an army at short notice it would be the

United States, for its men, all round, are more hardy, more

self-reliant, and quicker to learn than those of older communities.

But, notwithstanding this advantage, both in 1861 and 1898 the United

States failed to create the thoroughly efficient armies so suddenly

required, and in both instances the unnecessary sufferings of the

private soldier were the price paid for the weakness and folly of the

politicians. In 1861 the Governors of the several Northern States were

ordered to call for volunteers to enlist for ninety days, the men

electing their own officers. It was generally believed throughout the

North that all Southern resistance would collapse before the great

armies that would thus be raised. But the troops sent out to crush the

rebellion, when they first came under fire, were soldiers only in

outward garb, and at Bull Run, face to face with shot and shell, they

soon lapsed into the condition of a terrified rabble, and ran away from

another rabble almost equally demoralised; and this, not because they

were cowards, for they were of the same breed as the young regular

soldiers who retreated from the same field in such excellent order, but

because they neither understood what discipline was nor the necessity

for it, and because the staff and regimental officers, with few

exceptions, were untrained and inexperienced.

Mr. Davis, having prevented the Southern army from following up the

victory at Bull Run, gave the Northern States some breathing time. Mr.

Lincoln was thus able to raise a new army of over 200,000 men for the

projected advance on Richmond.

The new army was liberally supplied with guns, pontoons, balloons,

hospitals, and waggons; but, with the exception of a few officers

spared from the regular army, it was without trained soldiers to lead

it, or staff officers to move and to administer its Divisions. It must

be admitted, I think, that General McClellan did all that a man could

do in the way of training this huge mass. But when the day came for it

to move forward, it was still unfit for an offensive campaign against a

regular army. To the practised eye of an able and experienced soldier

who accompanied McClellan, the Federal host was an army only in name.

He likened it to a giant lying prone upon the earth, in appearance a

Hercules, but wanting the bone, the muscle, and the nervous

organisation necessary to set the great frame in motion. Even when the

army was landed in the Peninsula, although the process of training and

organisation had been going on for over six months, it was still a most

unwieldy force. Fortunately for the Union, the Confederate army, except

as regards the superior leaders and the cavalry, was hardly more

efficient.

The United States, fully realising their need of a larger regular army,

are now on the point of increasing their existing force to treble its

present strength. Their troops, like our own, are raised by voluntary

enlistment for a short period of service with the colours. England has

always very great difficulty in filling the ranks even with undeveloped

youths. The United States obtain as many full-grown men as they

require, because they have the wisdom to pay their men well, on a scale

corresponding to the market rate of wages. Here they are fortunate; but

men are not everything, and I will still draw the moral that a nation

is more than blind when it deliberately elects to entrust its defence

to an army that is not as perfect as training and discipline can make

it, that is not led by practised officers, staff and regimental, and

that is not provided with a powerful and efficient artillery.

Overwhelming disaster is in store for such nation if it be attacked by

a large regular army; and when it falls there will be none to pity. To

hang the ministers who led them astray, and who believed they knew

better than any soldier how the army should be administered, will be

but poor consolation to an angry and deluded people.

Let me now dwell briefly upon the second of the two great national

lessons taught by the Secession War. I shall say nothing here upon

civilian meddling with army organisation and with the selection of

officers for command, but I wish particularly to point out the result

of interference on the part of a legislative assembly or minister with

the plans and dispositions of the generals commanding in the field.

Take first the notorious instance of Mr. Lincoln’s interference with

McClellan in the spring of 1862. McClellan, who was selected to command

the army which was to capture Richmond and end the war, was a soldier

of known ability, and, in my opinion, if he had not been interfered

with by the Cabinet in Washington, he would probably have succeeded. It

is true, as Colonel Henderson has said, that he made a mistake in not

playing up to Lincoln’s susceptibilities with regard to the safety of

the Federal capital. But Lincoln made a far greater mistake in suddenly

reducing McClellan’s army by 40,000 men, and by removing Banks from his

jurisdiction, when the plan of campaign had been approved by the

Cabinet, and it was already too late to change it. It is possible,

considering the political situation, that the garrison of Washington

was too small, and it was certainly inefficient; but the best way of

protecting Washington was to give McClellan the means of advancing

rapidly upon Richmond. Such an advance would have made a Confederate

counterstroke against the Northern capital, or even a demonstration,

impossible. But to take away from McClellan 40,000 men, the very force

with which he intended to turn the Yorktown lines and drive the enemy

back on Richmond, and at the same time to isolate Banks in the

Shenandoah Valley, was simply playing into the enemy’s hands. What

Lincoln did not see was that to divide the Federal army into three

portions, working on three separate lines, was to run a far greater

risk than would be incurred by leaving Washington weakly garrisoned. I

cannot bring myself to believe that he in the least realised all that

was involved in changing a plan of operations so vast as McClellan’s.

Again, look at the folly of which Mr. Benjamin, the Confederate

Secretary of War, was guilty at the same period. The reader should

carefully study the chapter in which Colonel Henderson describes

Stonewall Jackson’s resignation of his command when his arrangements in

the field were altered, without his cognizance, by the Secretary of

War.

I should like to emphasise his words: “That the soldier,” he says, “is

but the servant of the statesman, as war is but an instrument of

diplomacy, no educated soldier will deny. Politics must always exercise

a supreme influence on strategy; yet it cannot be gainsaid that

interference with the commander in the field is fraught with the

gravest danger.”[1]

The absolute truth of this remark is proved, not only by many instances

in his own volumes, but by the history of war in all ages, and the

principle for which Jackson contended when he sent in his resignation

would seem too well founded to be open to the slightest question. Yet

there are those who, oblivious of the fact that neglect of this

principle has been always responsible for protracted wars, for useless

slaughter, and costly failures, still insist on the omniscience of

statesmen; who regard the protest of the soldier as the mere outcome of

injured vanity, and believe that politics must suffer unless the

politician controls strategy as well as the finances. Colonel

Henderson’s pages supply an instructive commentary on these ideas. In

the first three years of the Secession War, when Mr. Lincoln and Mr.

Stanton practically controlled the movements of the Federal forces, the

Confederates were generally successful. Further, the most glorious

epoch of the Confederacy was the critical period of 1862, when Lee was

allowed to exercise the full authority of Commander-in-Chief; and

lastly, the Northern prospects did not begin to brighten until Mr.

Lincoln, in March 1864, with that unselfish intelligence which

distinguished him, abdicated his military functions in favour of

General Grant. And yet while Lee and Grant had a free hand over the

military resources of their respective nations the political situation

suffered no harm whatever, no extravagant demands were made upon the

exchequer, and the Government derived fresh strength from the successes

of the armies.

The truth is that a certain class of civilians cannot rid themselves of

the suspicion that soldiers are consumed by an inordinate and

bloodthirsty ambition. They cannot understand that a man brought up

from his youth to render loyal obedience is less likely than most

others to run counter to constituted authority. They will not see that

a soldier’s pride in his own army and in the manhood of his own race

tends to make him a devoted patriot. They do not realise that a

commander’s familiarity with war, whether gained by study or

experience, must, unless his ability be limited, enable him to

accommodate his strategy to political exigencies. Nor will they admit

that he can possess a due sense of economy, although none knows better

than an educated soldier the part played in war by a sound and thrifty

administration of the national resources.

The soldier, on the other hand, knows that his art is most difficult,

that to apply strategical principles correctly experience, study,

knowledge of men, and an intimate acquaintance with questions of

supply, transport, and the movement of masses, are absolutely

necessary. He is aware that what may seem matters of small moment to

the civilian—such as the position of a brigade, the strength of a

garrison, the command of a detachment—may affect the whole course of a

campaign; and consequently, even if he had not the historical examples

of Aulic Councils and other such assemblies to warn him, he would rebel

against the meddling of amateurs. Let it not be forgotten that an

enormous responsibility rests on the shoulders of a commander in the

field: the honour of army committed to his charge, the lives of the

brave men under him, perhaps the existence of his country; and that

failure, even if he can plead that he only obeyed the orders of his

Government, or that he was supplied with inadequate means, will be laid

at his door. McDowell received no mercy after Bull Run, although he had

protested against attacking the Confederates; and it was long before

the reputation of Sir John Moore was cleared in the eyes of the English

people.

Such, to my mind, are the most important lessons to be drawn from this

history of the first period of the Secession War. But it is not alone

to draw attention to the teaching on these points that I have acceded,

as an old friend, to Colonel Henderson’s request that I should write an

Introduction to his second edition. In these days of sensational

literature and superficial study there is a prejudice against the story

that fills more than one volume. But the reader who opens these pages

is so carried away by the intense interest of the subject, clothed as

it is in forcible and yet graceful language, that he closes them with

regret; and I am only too glad to ask others to share the very great

pleasure I have myself enjoyed in reading them. I know of no book which

will add more largely to the soldier’s knowledge of strategy and the

art of war; and the ordinary reader will find in this Life of Stonewall

Jackson, true and accurate as it is, all the charm and fascination of a

great historical romance.

[1] Vol. i, p. 206.

PREFACE

To write the life of a great general, to analyse his methods of war and

discipline, to appraise the weight of his responsibilities, and to

measure the extent of his capacity, it would seem essential that the

experience of the writer should have run on parallel lines. An ordinary

soldier, therefore, who notwithstanding his lack of such experience

attempts the task, may be justly accused of something worse than

presumption. But if we were to wait for those who are really qualified

to deal with the achievements of famous captains, we should, as a rule,

remain in ignorance of the lessons of their lives, for men of the

requisite capacity are few in a generation. So the task, if it is to be

done at all, must perforce be left to those who have less knowledge but

more leisure.

In the present case, however, the mass of contemporary testimony is so

large that any initial disadvantages, I venture to think, will be less

conspicuous than they might otherwise have been. The Official Records

of the War of the Rebellion contain every dispatch, letter, and

message, public or confidential, which has been preserved; and in the

daily correspondence of the generals on both sides, together with the

voluminous reports of officers of all grades, the tale of the campaigns

is written so plain that none can fail to read. Again, Stonewall

Jackson’s military career, either in full or in part, has been narrated

by more than one of his staff officers, whose intercourse with him was

necessarily close and constant; and, in addition, the literature of the

war abounds with articles and sketches contributed by soldiers of all

ranks who, at one time or another, served under his command. It has

been my privilege, moreover, to visit the battle-fields of Virginia

with men who rode by his side when he won his victories, to hear on the

spot the description of his manœuvres, of his bearing under fire, and

of his influence over his troops. I can thus make fairly certain that

my facts are accurate. But in endeavouring to ascertain the strength of

the armies at different periods I have been less fortunate. For the

most part I have rested on the Official Records;[1] it is to be

regretted, however, that, so far as the Confederates are concerned,

there are several gaps in the series of returns, and I have found it

extremely difficult to arrive at a fair estimate of the approximate

strength at any period within these intervals. For instance, the

numbers at Lee’s disposal at the end of August 1862 rest on the basis

of a return dated July 20, and in the meantime several regiments and

batteries had been transferred elsewhere, while others had been added.

I have done my best, however, to trace all such changes; and where

officers and employed men are not included in the returns, I have been

careful to add a normal percentage to the official totals.

As regards Jackson’s place in history, my labours have been greatly

facilitated by the published opinions of many distinguished

soldiers—American, English, French, and German; and I have endeavoured,

at every step, as the surest means of arriving at a just conclusion, to

compare his conduct of military affairs with that of the acknowledged

masters of war. His private life, from his boyhood onwards, has been so

admirably depicted by his widow,[2] that I have had nothing more to do

than to select from her pages such incidents and letters as appear best

suited to illustrate his character, and to add a few traits and

anecdotes communicated by his personal friends.

Several biographies have already been published, and that written by

the late Reverend R. L. Dabney, D.D., sometime Major in the Confederate

army, and Jackson’s Chief of the Staff for several months, is so

complete and powerful that the need of a successor is not at once

apparent. This work, however, was brought out before the war had

ceased, and notwithstanding his intimate relations with his hero, it

was impossible for the author to attain that fulness and precision of

statement which the study of the Official Records can alone ensure. Nor

was Dr. Dabney a witness of all the events he so vigorously described.

It is only fitting, however, that I should acknowledge the debt I owe

to a soldier and writer of such conspicuous ability. Not only have I

quoted freely from his pages, but he was good enough, at my request, to

write exhaustive memoranda on many episodes of Jackson’s career.

Cooke’s Life of Jackson is still popular, and deservedly so; but Cooke,

like Dr. Dabney, had no access to the Official Records, and his

narrative of the battles, picturesque and lifelike as it is, can hardly

be accepted as sober history. On the other hand, the several works of

the late Colonel William Allan, C.S.A., in collaboration with Major

Hotchkiss, C.S.A., are as remarkable for their research and accuracy as

for their military acumen; while the volumes of the Southern Historical

Society, together with the remarkable series of articles entitled

“Battles and Leaders of the Civil War,” written by the leading

participants on either side, are a perfect mine of wealth to the

historical student. I need hardly add that the memoirs and biographies

of both the Federal and Confederate generals, of Lee, Grant, Stuart,

Sherman, Johnston, Longstreet, Beauregard, McClellan, Hancock,

Pendleton and others, are a necessary complement to the Official

Records.

Nevertheless, with all this mass of information at my command, had it

not been for the exceeding kindness of the friends and comrades of

Stonewall Jackson, I much doubt whether I should have been able to

complete my task. To the late Major Hotchkiss, his trusted staff

officer, whatever of value these volumes may contain is largely due.

Not only did he correct the topographical descriptions, but he

investigated most carefully many disputed points; and in procuring the

evidence of eye-witnesses, and thus enabling me to check and amplify

the statements of previous writers, he was indefatigable. Dr. Hunter

McGuire, Medical Director of Jackson’s successive commands, has given

me much of his valuable time. The Reverend J. P. Smith, D.D., Jackson’s

aide-de-camp, has rendered me great assistance; and from many officers

and men of the Stonewall Brigade, of Jackson’s Division, and of the

Second Army Corps, I have received contributions to this memorial of

their famous chief. Generals Gustavus Smith, Fitzhugh Lee, Stephen D.

Lee, and N. G. Harris, Colonel Williams, Colonel Poague, and R. E. Lee,

Esquire, of Washington, D.C., all formerly of the Confederate States

Army, have supplied me with new matter. Colonel Miller, U.S.A., most

courteously responded to my request for a copy of the services of his

regiment, the First Artillery, in the Mexican war. The late General

John Gibbon, U.S.A., wrote for me his reminiscences of Jackson as a

cadet at West Point, and as a subaltern in Mexico; and many officers

who fought for the Union have given me information as to the tactics

and discipline of the Federal armies. The Reverend J. Graham, D.D., of

Winchester, Virginia; Dr. H. A. White, of Washington and Lee

University, Lexington, Virginia, author of an admirable life of General

Lee; and the Hon. Francis Lawley, once Special Correspondent of the

_Times_ in the Confederate States, have been most kind in replying to

my many questions. To Major-General Hildyard, C.B., late Commandant of

the Staff College, I am indebted for much valuable criticism on the

campaigns of 1862; and my warmest thanks are here tendered to the

Commander-in-Chief, Field-Marshal Lord Wolseley, for much information

and more encouragement.

I cannot conceal from myself, however, that notwithstanding the

numerous authorities I have been enabled to consult, as well as the

intrinsic interest of my subject, many of the following chapters will

be found excessively dull by civilian readers. Stonewall Jackson’s

military career was not all hard fighting; nor was it on the

battlefield alone that his supreme ability for war was made manifest.

His time and thoughts were more occupied by strategy, that is, by

combinations made out of the enemy’s sight, than by tactics, that is,

by manœuvres executed in the enemy’s presence. But strategy,

unfortunately, is an unpopular science, even among soldiers, requiring

both in practice and in demonstration constant and careful study of the

map, the closest computation of time and space, a grasp of many

factors, and the strictest attention to the various steps in the

problems it presents. At the same time, it is a science which repays

the student, although he may have no direct concern with military

affairs; for not only will a comprehension of its immutable principles

add a new interest to the records of stirring times and great

achievements, but it will make him a more useful citizen.

In free countries like Great Britain, her colonies, and the United

States, the weight of intelligent opinion, in all matters of moment,

generally turns the scale; and if it were generally understood that, in

regular warfare, success depends on something more than rank and

experience, no Government would dare entrust the command of the army to

any other than the most competent soldier. The campaigns of the Civil

War show how much may be achieved, even with relatively feeble means,

by men who have both studied strategy and have the character necessary

for its successful practice; and they also show, not a whit less

forcibly, what awful sacrifices may be exacted from a nation ignorant

that such a science exists. And such ignorance is widespread. How

seldom do we hear a knowledge of strategy referred to as an

indispensable acquirement in those who aspire to high command? How

often is it repeated, although in so doing the speakers betray their

own shortcomings, that strategy is a mere matter of common-sense? Yet

the plain truth is that strategy is not only the determining factor in

civilised warfare, but that, in order to apply its principles, the

soundest common-sense must be most carefully trained. Of all the

sciences connected with war it is the most difficult. If the names of

the great captains, soldiers and sailors, be recalled, it will be seen

that it is to the breadth of their strategical conceptions rather than

to their tactical skill that they owe their fame. An analysis of the

great wars shows that their course was generally marked by the same

vicissitudes. First we have the great strategist, a Hannibal, or a

Napoleon, or a Lee, triumphing with inferior numbers over adversaries

who are tacticians and nothing more. Then, suddenly, the tide of

victory is checked, and brilliant manœuvres no longer avail. Fabius and

Scipio, Wellington, Nelson, and St. Vincent, Grant, Sherman, and

Farragut, have replaced the mere tacticians; and the superior

resources, wielded with strategical skill, exert their inevitable

effect. Or it may be that fortune is constant throughout to her first

favourite; and that a Marlborough, a Frederick, a Washington, a Moltke,

opposed only by good fighting men, never by an accomplished strategist,

marches from victory to victory. It is impossible, then, to estimate

the ability of any general without considering his strategy. Moreover,

in this age of inventions, of rapid movement, and of still more rapid

communication, the science is more complicated and even more important

than heretofore; and it is deserving, therefore, of far closer

attention, from both soldiers and civilians, than it has hitherto

received. It is for these reasons that I have described and discussed

in such minute detail the strategy of the campaigns with which Jackson

had to do.

I have only to add that should anything in these pages wound the

susceptibilities of any one of those splendid soldiers and gallant

gentlemen who took part in the Civil War, whether he be Northerner or

Southerner, I here tender him my humblest apologies; assuring him, at

the same time, that while compiling these pages I have always borne in

mind the words of General Grant: “I would like to see truthful history

written. Such history will do full credit to the courage, endurance,

and ability of the American citizen, no matter what section he hailed

from, or in what ranks he fought.” I am very strongly of opinion that

any fair-minded man may feel equal sympathy with both Federal and

Confederate. Both were so absolutely convinced that their cause was

just, that it is impossible to conceive either Northerner or Southerner

acting otherwise than he did. If Stonewall Jackson had been a New

Englander, educated in the belief that secession was rebellion, he

would assuredly have shed the last drop of his blood in defence of the

Union; if Ulysses Grant had been a Virginian, imbibing the doctrine of

States’ rights with his mother’s milk, it is just as certain that he

would have worn the Confederate grey. It is with those Northerners who

would have allowed the Union to be broken, and with those Southerners

who would have tamely surrendered their hereditary rights, that no

Englishman would be willing to claim kinship.

[1] Referred to in the text as O.R.

[2] _Memoirs of Stonewall Jackson._ The Prentice Press, Louisville,

Kentucky.

Chapter I

WEST POINT[1]

In the first quarter of the century, on the hills which stand above the

Ohio River, but in different States of the Union, were born two

children, destined, to all appearance, to lives of narrow interests and

thankless toil. They were the sons of poor parents, without influence

or expectations; their native villages, deep in the solitudes of the

West, and remote from the promise and possibilities of great cities,

offered no road to fortune. In the days before the railway, escape from

the wilderness, except for those with long purses, was very difficult;

and for those who remained, if their means were small, the farm and the

store were the only occupations. But a farmer without capital was

little better than a hired hand; trade was confined to the petty

dealings of a country market; and although thrift and energy, even

under such depressing conditions, might eventually win a competence,

the most ardent ambition could hardly hope for more. Never was an

obscure existence more irretrievably marked out than for these children

of the Ohio; and yet, before either had grown grey, the names of

Abraham Lincoln, President of the United States, and of Stonewall

Jackson, Lieutenant-General in the Confederate Army, were household

words in both America and Europe. Descendants of the pioneers, those

hardy borderers, half soldiers and half

farmers, who held and reclaimed, through long years of Indian warfare,

the valleys and prairies of the West, they inherited the best

attributes of a frank and valiant race. Simple yet wise, strong yet

gentle, they were gifted with all the qualities which make leaders of

men. Actuated by the highest principles, they both ennobled the cause

for which they fought; and while the opposition of such kindred natures

adds to the dramatic interest of the Civil War, the career of the great

soldier, although a theme perhaps less generally attractive, may be

followed as profitably as that of the great statesmen. Providence dealt

with them very differently. The one was struck down by a mortal wound

before his task was well begun; his life, to all human seeming, was

given in vain, and his name will ever be associated with the mournful

memories of a lost cause and a vanished army. The other, ere he fell

beneath the assassin’s stroke, had seen the abundant fruits of his

mighty labours; his sun set in a cloudless sky. And yet the resemblance

between them is very close. Both dared

For that sweet mother-land which gave them birth

Nobly to do, nobly to die. Their names,

Graven on memorial columns, are a song

Heard in the future; . . . more than wall

And rampart, their examples reach a hand

Far thro’ all years, and everywhere they meet

And kindle generous purpose, and the strength

To mould it into action pure as theirs.

Jackson, in one respect, was more fortunate than Lincoln. Although born

to poverty, he came of a Virginia family which was neither unknown nor

undistinguished, and as showing the influences which went to form his

character, its history and traditions may be briefly related.

It is an article of popular belief that the State of Virginia, the Old

Dominion of the British Crown, owes her fame to the blood of the

English Cavaliers. The idea, however, has small foundation in fact. Not

a few of her great names are derived from a less romantic source, and

the Confederate general, like many of his neighbours in the western

portion of the State, traced his

origin to the Lowlands of Scotland. An ingenious author of the last

century, himself born on Tweed-side, declares that those Scotch

families whose patronymics end in “son,” although numerous and

respectable, and descended, as the distinctive syllable denotes, from

the Vikings, have seldom been pre-eminent either in peace or war. And

certainly, as regards the Jacksons of bygone centuries, the assertion

seems justified. The name is almost unknown to Border history. In

neither lay nor legend has it been preserved; and even in the “black

lists” of the wardens, where the more enterprising of the community

were continually proclaimed as thieves and malefactors, it is seldom

honoured with notice. The omission might be held as evidence that the

family was of peculiar honesty, but, in reality, it is only a proof

that it was insignificant. It is not improbable that the Jacksons were

one of the landless clans, whose only heritages were their rude “peel”

towers, and who, with no acknowledged chief of their own race,

followed, as much for protection as for plunder, the banner of some

more powerful house. In course of time, when the Marches grew peaceful

and morals improved, when cattle-lifting, no longer profitable, ceased

to be an honourable occupation, such humbler marauders drifted away

into the wide world, leaving no trace behind, save the grey ruins of

their grim fortalices, and the incidental mention of some probably

disreputable scion in a chapman’s ballad. Neither mark nor memory of

the Jacksons remains in Scotland. We only know that some members of the

clan, impelled probably by religious persecution, made their way to

Ulster, where a strong colony of Lowlanders had already been

established.

Under a milder sky and a less drastic government the expatriated Scots

lost nothing of their individuality. Masterful and independent from the

beginning, masterful and independent they remained, inflexible of

purpose, impatient of justice, and staunch to their ideals. Something,

perhaps, they owed to contact with the Celt. Wherever the Ulster folk

have made their home, the breath of the wholesome North has followed

them, preserving

untainted their hereditary virtues. Shrewd, practical, and thrifty,

prosperity has consistently rewarded them; and yet, in common with the

Irishmen of English stock, they have found in the trade of arms the

most congenial outlet for their energies. An abiding love of peace can

hardly be enumerated amongst their more prominent characteristics; and

it is a remarkable fact, which, unless there is some mysterious

property in the air, can only be explained by the intermixture of

races, that Ireland “within the Pale” has been peculiarly prolific of

military genius. As England has bred admirals, so the sister isle has

bred soldiers. The tenacious courage of the Anglo-Saxon, blended with

the spirit of that people which above all others delights in war, has

proved on both sides of the Atlantic a most powerful combination of

martial qualities. The same mixed strain which gave England Wolfe and

Wellington, the Napiers and the Lawrences, has given America some of

her greatest captains; and not the least famous of her Presidents is

that General Jackson who won the battle of New Orleans in 1814. So,

early in the century the name became known beyond the seas; but whether

the same blood ran in the veins of the Confederate general and of the

soldier President is a matter of some doubt. The former, in almost

every single respect, save his warm heart, was the exact converse of

the typical Irishman, the latter had a hot temper and a ready wit.

Both, however, were undeniably fond of fighting, and a letter still

preserved attests that their ancestors had lived in the same parish of

Londonderry.[2]

1748 John Jackson, the great-grandfather of our hero, landed in America

in 1748, and it was not long before he set his face towards the

wilderness. The emigrants from Ulster appear as a rule to have moved

westward. The States along the coast were already colonised, and,

despite its fertility, the country was little to their taste. But

beyond the border, in the broad Appalachian valley which runs from the

St. Lawrence to Alabama, on the

banks of the great rivers, the Susquehanna, the Ohio, the Cumberland,

and the Tennessee, they found a land after their own heart, a soil with

whose properties they were familiar, the sweet grasses and soft

contours of their native hills. Here, too, there was ample room for

their communities, for the West was as yet but sparsely tenanted. No

inconsiderable number, penetrating far into the interior, settled

eventually about the headwaters of the Potomac and the James. This

highland region was the debatable ground of the United States. So late

as 1756 the State of Virginia extended no further than the crests of

the Blue Ridge. Two hundred miles westward forts flying French colours

dominated the valley of the Ohio, and the wild and inhospitable tract,

a very labyrinth of mountains, which lay between, was held by the

fierce tribes of the “Six Nations” and the Leni-Lenape. Two years later

the French had been driven back to Canada; but it was not till near the

close of the century that the savage was finally dispossessed of his

spacious hunting grounds.

It was on these green uplands, where fight and foray were as frequent

as once on the Scottish border, that John Jackson and his wife, a

fellow passenger to America, by name Elizabeth Cummins, first pitched

their camp, and here is still the home of their descendants.

January 21, 1824 In the little town of Clarksburg, now the county-seat

of Harrison, but then no more than a village in the Virginia backwoods,

Thomas Jonathan Jackson was born on January 21, 1824. His father was a

lawyer, clever and popular, who had inherited a comfortable patrimony.

The New World had been generous to the Jacksons. The emigrant of 1748

left a valuable estate, and his many sons were uniformly prosperous.

Nor was their affluence the reward of energy and thrift alone, for the

lands reclaimed by axe and plough were held by a charter of sword and

musket. The redskin fought hard for his ancestral domains. The

stockaded forts, which stood as a citadel of refuge in every

settlement, were often the scene of fierce attack and weary leaguer,

and the nursing mothers of the frontier families were no strangers to

war and bloodshed. The last great

battle with the Indians east of the Ohio was fought in 1774, but the

military experience of the pioneers was not confined to the warfare of

the border. John Jackson and his sons bore arms in the War of

Independence, and the trained riflemen of West Virginia were welcome

recruits in the colonial ranks. With the exception of the Highlanders

of the ’45, who had been deported in droves to the plantations, no race

had less cause to remain loyal to the Crown than the men of Ulster

blood. Even after the siege of Londonderry they had been proscribed and

persecuted; and in the War of Independence the fiercest enemies of King

George were the descendants of the same Scotch-Irish who had held the

north of Ireland for King William.

In Washington’s campaigns more than one of the Jacksons won rank and

reputation; and when peace was established they married into

influential families. Nor was the next generation less successful.

Judges, senators, and soldiers upheld the honour of the name, and

proved the worth of the ancestral stock. They were marked, it is said,

by strong and characteristic features, by a warm feeling of clanship, a

capacity for hard work, and a decided love of roving. Some became

hunters, others explorers, and the race is now scattered from Virginia

to Oregon. A passion for litigation was a general failing, and none of

them could resist the fascination of machinery. Every Jackson owned a

mill or factory of some sort—many of them more than one—and their

ventures were not always profitable. Jackson’s father, among others,

found it easier to make money than to keep it. Generous and incautious,

he became deeply involved by becoming security for others; high play

increased his embarrassments; and when he died in 1827 every vestige of

his property was swept away. His young widow, left with three small

children, two sons and a daughter, became dependent on the assistance

of her kinsfolk for a livelihood, and on the charity of the Freemasons

for a roof. When Thomas, her second son, was six years old, she married

a Captain Woodson; but her second matrimonial venture was not more

fortunate than her first. Her husband’s means were small, and necessity

soon compelled her to commit her two boys to the care of their father’s

relatives.

1831 Within a year the children stood round her dying bed, and at a

very early age our little Virginian found himself a penniless orphan.

But, as he never regretted his poverty, so he never forgot his mother.

To the latest hour of his life he loved to recall her memory, and years

after she had passed away her influence still remained. Her beauty, her

counsels, their last parting, and her happy death, for she was a woman

of deep religious feeling, made a profound impression on him. To his

childhood’s fancy she was the embodiment of every grace; and so strong

had been the sympathy between them, that even in the midst of his

campaigns she was seldom absent from his thoughts. After her death the

children found a home with their father’s half-brother, who had

inherited the family estates, and was one of the largest slave-owners

in the district. Their surroundings, however, could hardly be called

luxurious. Life on the Ohio was very different from life on the coast.

The western counties of Virginia were still practically on the frontier

of the United States. The axe had thinned the interminable woods; mills

were busy on each mountain stream, and the sunny valleys were rich in

fruit and corn. But as yet there was little traffic. Steam had not yet

come to open up the wilderness. The population was small and widely

scattered; and the country was cut off as much by nature as by distance

from the older civilisation of the East. The parallel ranges of the

Alleghenies, with their pathless forests and great canyons, were a

formidable barrier to all intercourse. The West was a world in itself.

The only outlets eastward were the valleys of the Potomac and the

James, the one leading to Washington, the other to Richmond; and so

seldom were they used that the yeomen of the Ohio uplands were almost

as much opposed, both in character and in mode of life, to the planters

beyond the Blue Ridge, as the Covenanters of Bothwell Brig to the

gentlemen of Dundee’s Life Guards.

Although the sturdy independence and simple habits of

the borderers were not affected by contact with wealthier communities,

isolation was not in every way a blessing. Served by throngs of slaves,

the great landowners of East Virginia found leisure to cultivate the

arts which make life more pleasant. The rambling houses on the banks of

the James, the Rappahannock, and the Potomac, built on the model of

English manors, had their libraries and picture-galleries. A classical

academy was the boast of every town, and a university training was

considered as essential to the son of a planter as to the heir of an

English squire. A true aristocracy, in habit and in lineage, the

gentlemen of Virginia long swayed the councils of the nation, and among

them were many who were intimate with the best representatives of

European culture. Beyond the Alleghenies there were no facilities for

education; and even had opportunities offered few would have had the

leisure to enjoy them. Labour was scarce, either slave or hired. The

owners of farms were their own managers and overseers, and young men

had to serve a practical apprenticeship to lumbering and agriculture.

To this rule, despite his uncle’s wealth, Jackson was no exception. He

had to fight his own battle, to rub shoulders with all sorts and

conditions of men, and to hold his own as best he could.

It was a hard school, then, in which he grew to manhood. But for that

very reason it was a good school for the future soldier. For a man who

has to push his own way in the world, more especially if he has to

carve it with his sword, a boyhood passed amidst surroundings which

boast of no luxury and demand much endurance, is the best probation.

Von Moltke has recorded that the comfortless routine of the Military

Academy at Copenhagen inured him to privation, and Jackson learned the

great lesson of self-reliance in the rough life of his uncle’s

homestead.

The story of his early years is soon told. As a blue-eyed child, with

long fair hair, he was curiously thoughtful and exceedingly

affectionate. His temper was generous and cheerful. His truthfulness

was proverbial, and his little sister found in him the kindest of

playmates

and the sturdiest of protectors. He was distinguished, too, for his

politeness, although good manners were by no means rare in the rustic

West. The manly courtesy of the true American is no exotic product; nor

is the universal deference to woman peculiar to any single class. The

farmer of the backwoods might be ignorant of the conventionalities, but

the simplicity and unselfishness which are the root of all good

breeding could be learned in West Virginia as readily as in Richmond.

Once, tempted by his brother, the boy left his adopted home, and the

two children, for the elder was no more than twelve, wandered down the

Ohio to the Mississippi, and spent the summer on a lonely and malarious

island, cutting wood for passing steamers. No one opposed their going,

and it seems to have been considered quite natural in that independent

community that the veriest urchins should be allowed to seek their

fortunes for themselves. Returning, ragged and fever-stricken, the

little adventurers submitted once more to the routine of the farm and

to the intermittent studies of a country school. After his failure as a

man of business, our small hero showed no further inclination to seek

his fortunes far afield. He was fond of his home. His uncle, attracted

by his steadiness and good sense, treated him more as a companion than

a child; and in everything connected with the farm, as well as in the

sports of the country side, the boy took the keenest interest. Delicate

by nature, with a tendency to consumption inherited from his mother,

his physique and constitution benefited by a life of constant exercise

and wholesome toil. At school he was a leader in every game, and his

proficiency in the saddle proved him a true Virginian. Fox-hunting and

horse-racing were popular amusements, and his uncle not only kept a

stable of well-bred horses, but had a four-mile race-course on his own

grounds. As a light-weight jockey the future general was a useful

member of the household, and it was the opinion of the neighbourhood

that “if a horse had any winning qualities whatever in him, young

Jackson never failed to bring them out.”

In the management of the estate he learned early to put

his shoulder to the wheel. Transporting timber from the forest to the

saw-mill was one of his most frequent tasks, and tradition records that

if a tree were to be moved from ground of unusual difficulty, or if

there were one more gigantic than the rest, the party of labourers was

put under his control, and the work was sure to be effected.

One who knew him well has described his character. “He was a youth of

exemplary habits, of indomitable will and undoubted courage. He was not

what is nowadays termed brilliant, but he was one of those untiring,

matter-of-fact persons who would never give up an undertaking until he

accomplished his object. He learned slowly, but what he got into his

head he never forgot. He was not quick to decide, except when excited,

and then, when he made up his mind to do a thing, he did it on short

notice and in quick time. Once, while on his way to school, an

overgrown rustic behaved rudely to one of the school-girls. Jackson

fired up, and told him he must apologise at once or he would thrash

him. The big fellow, supposing that he was more than a match for him,

refused, whereupon Jackson pitched into him, and gave him a severe

pounding.”

His surroundings, then, although neither refined nor elevating, were

not unwholesome; but of the moral influences to which he was subjected,

so much cannot be said, while the stock of piety that the original

settlers brought with them had not entirely vanished. There was much

irregularity of life; few men gave any thought to religion, and young

Jackson drifted with the tide. Yet there was something that preserved

him from contamination. His uncle, kindest of guardians, though

irreligious and a sportsman, was scrupulously exacting in matters of

integrity and veracity. His associates included the most respectable,

yet the morals of the sporting fraternity of a frontier settlement are

not likely to have been edifying. That his nephew, as he himself

declares, was an ardent frequenter of races, “house-raisings,”[3] and

country dances is hardly surprising, and it is assuredly no ground

whatever for reproach. Nor is it strange that, amid much laxity, he

should have retained

his integrity, that his regard for truth should have remained

untarnished, and that he should have consistently held aloof from all

that was mean and vile. His mother was no mere memory to that

affectionate nature.

His good qualities, however, would scarcely of themselves have done

more than raise him to a respectable rank amongst the farmers of West

Virginia. A spur was wanting to urge him beyond the limits of so

contracted an existence, and that spur was supplied by an honourable

ambition. Penniless and dependent as he was, he still remembered that

his ancestors had been distinguished beyond the confines of their

native county, and this legitimate pride in his own people, a far-off

reflection, perhaps, of the traditional Scottish attitude towards name

and pedigree, exercised a marked influence on his whole career. “To

prove himself worthy of his forefathers was the purpose of his early

manhood. It gives us a key to many of the singularities of his

character; to his hunger for self-improvement; to his punctilious

observance, from a boy, of the essentials of gentlemanly bearing, and

to the uniform assertion of his self-respect.”[4]

1841 It was his openly expressed wish for larger advantages than those

offered by a country school that brought about his opportunity. In

1841, at the age of seventeen, he became a constable of the county. A

sort of minor sheriff, he had to execute the decrees of the justices,

to serve their warrants, to collect small debts, and to summon

witnesses. It was a curious office for a boy, but a year or two before

he had been seized with some obscure form of dyspepsia, and the idea

that a life on horseback, which his duties necessitated, might restore

his health, had induced his relatives to obtain the post for him.

Jackson himself seems to have been influenced by the hope that his

salary would help towards his education, and by the wish to become

independent of his uncle’s bounty. His new duties were uncongenial,

but, despite his youth, he faced his responsibilities with a

determination which men of maturer years might well have envied. In

everything

he was scrupulously exact. His accounts were accurately kept; he was

punctuality itself, and his patience was inexhaustible. For two years

he submitted cheerfully to the drudgery of his position,

re-establishing his health, but without advancing a single step towards

the goal of his ambition. But before he was nineteen his hopes were

unexpectedly realised.

1842 The Military Academy at West Point not only provided, at the

expense of the nation, a sound and liberal education, but offered an

opening to an honourable career. Nominations to cadetships were made by

the Secretary of War, on the recommendation of members of Congress, and

in 1842 a vacancy occurred which was to be filled by a youth from the

Congressional District in which Clarksburg was included. Jackson,

informed of the chance by a friendly blacksmith, eagerly embraced it,

and left no stone unturned to attain his object. Every possible

influence that could be brought to bear on the member for the district

was immediately enlisted. To those who objected that his education was

too imperfect to enable him even to enter the Academy, he replied that

he had the necessary application, that he hoped he had the capacity,

and that he was at least determined to try. His earnestness and courage

won upon all. His application was strongly backed by those who had

learned to value his integrity and exactness, and Mr. Hays, the member

for the district, wrote that he would do all in his power to secure the

appointment. No sooner had the letter been read than Jackson determined

to go at once to Washington, in order that he might be ready to proceed

to West Point without a moment’s delay. Packing a few clothes into a

pair of saddlebags, he mounted his horse, and accompanied by a servant,

who was to bring the animal home, rode off to catch the coach at

Clarksburg. It had already passed, but galloping on, he overtook it at

the next stage, and on his arrival at Washington, Mr. Hays at once

introduced him to the Secretary of War. On presenting him, he explained

the disadvantages of his education, but begged indulgence for him on

account of his pluck and determination. The Secretary plied him with

questions,

but Jackson was not to be diverted from his purpose; and so good was

the impression which he made that he then and there received his

warrant, accompanied by some excellent advice. “Sir,” said the

Secretary, “you have a good name. Go to West Point, and the first man

who insults you, knock him down, and have it charged to my account!”

Mr. Hays proposed that the new-fledged cadet should stay with him for a

few days in order to see the sights of Washington. But as the Academy

was already in session, Jackson, with a strong appreciation of the

value of time, begged to decline. He was content to ascend to the roof

of the Capitol, then still building, and look once on the magnificent

panorama of which it is the centre.

At his feet lay the city, with its busy streets and imposing edifices.

To the south ran the Potomac, bearing on its ample tide the snowy sails

of many merchantmen, and spanned by a bridge more than a mile in

length. Over against the Capitol, looking down on that wide-watered

shore, stood the white porch of Arlington, once the property of

Washington, and now the home of a young officer of the United States

army, Robert Edward Lee. Beyond Arlington lay Virginia, Jackson’s

native State, stretching back in leafy hills and verdant pastures, and

far and low upon the western horizon his own mountains loomed faintly

through the summer haze. It was a strange freak of fortune that placed

him at the very outset of his career within sight of the theatre of his

most famous victories. It was a still stranger caprice that was to make

the name of the simple country youth, ill-educated and penniless, as

terrible in Washington as the name of the Black Douglas was once in

Durham and Carlisle.

1842 It was in July 1842 that one of America’s greatest soldiers first

answered to his name on the parade-ground at West Point. Shy and

silent, clad in Virginia homespun, with the whole of his personal

effects carried in a pair of weather-stained saddle bags, the

impression that he made on his future comrades, as the Secretary of War

appears to have anticipated, was by no means favourable. The West Point

cadets were then, as now, remarkable

for their upright carriage, the neatness of their appointments, and

their soldierly bearing towards their officers and towards each other.

The grey coatee, decorated with bright buttons and broad gold lace, the

shako with tall plumes, the spotless white trousers, set off the trim

young figures to the best advantage; and the full-dress parade of the

cadet battalion, marked by discipline and precision in every movement,

is still one of the most attractive of military spectacles.

These natty young gentlemen were not slow to detect the superficial

deficiencies of the newcomer. A system of practical joking, carried to

extremes, had long been a feature of West Point life. Jackson, with the

rusticity of the backwoods apparent at every turn, promised the highest

sport. And here it may be written, once for all, that however nearly in

point of character the intended victim reached the heroic standard, his

outward graces were few. His features were well cut, his forehead high,

his mouth small and firm, and his complexion fresh. Yet the ensemble

was not striking, nor was it redeemed by grave eyes and a heavy jaw, a

strong but angular frame, a certain awkwardness of movement, and large

hands and feet. His would-be tormentors, however, soon found they had

mistaken their man. The homespun jacket covered a natural shrewdness

which had been sharpened by responsibility. The readiness of resource

which had characterised the whilom constable was more than a match for

their most ingenious schemes; and baffled by a temper which they were

powerless to disturb, their attempts at persecution, apparently more

productive of amusement to their victim than to themselves, were soon

abandoned.

Rough as was the life of the Virginia border, it had done something to

fit this unpromising recruit for the give and take of his new

existence. Culture might be lacking in the distant West, but the air

men breathed was at least the blessed breath of independence. Each was

what he made himself. A man’s standing depended on his success in life,

and success was within the reach of all. There, like his neighbours,

Jackson had learned to take his

own part; like them he acknowledged no superiority save that of actual

merit, and believing that the richest prize might be won by energy and

perseverance, without diffidence or misgiving he faced his future. He

knew nothing of the life of the great nation of which he was so

insignificant an atom, of the duties of the army, of the manners of its

officers. He knew only that even as regards education he had an uphill

task before him. He was indeed on the threshold of a new world, with

his own way to make, and apparently no single advantage in his favour.

But he came of a fighting race; he had his own inflexible resolution to

support him, and his determination expressed itself in his very

bearing. Four cadets, three of whom were afterwards Confederate

generals,[5] were standing together when he first entered the gates of

the Academy. “There was about him,” says one of them, “so sturdy an

expression of purpose that I remarked, ‘That fellow looks as if he had

come to stay.’”

Jackson’s educational deficiencies were more difficult of conquest than

the goodwill of his comrades. His want of previous training placed him

at a great disadvantage. He commenced his career amongst “the

Immortals” (the last section of the class), and it was only by the most

strenuous efforts that he maintained his place. His struggles at the

blackboard were often painful to witness. In the struggle to solve a

problem he invariably covered both his face and uniform with chalk, and

he perspired so freely, even in the coldest weather, that the cadets,

with boyish exaggeration, declared that whenever “the General,” as he

had at once been dubbed in honour of his namesake, the victor of New

Orleans, got a difficult proposition he was certain to flood the

classroom. It was all he could do to pass his first examination.[6]

“We were studying,” writes a classmate, “algebra and analytical

geometry that winter, and Jackson was very low in his class. Just

before the signal lights out he would pile up his grate with anthracite

coal, and lying prone before it on the floor, would work away at his

lessons by

the glare of the fire, which scorched his very brain, till a late hour

of the night. This evident determination to succeed not only aided his

own efforts directly, but impressed his instructors in his favour. If

he could not master the portion of the text-book assigned for the day,

he would not pass it over, but continued to work at it till he

understood it. Thus it often happened that when he was called out to

repeat his task, he had to reply that he had not yet reached the lesson

of the day, but was employed upon the previous one. There was then no

alternative but to mark him as unprepared, a proceeding which did not

in the least affect his resolution.”

Despite all drawbacks, his four years at the Academy were years of

steady progress. “The Immortals” were soon left far behind. At the end

of the first twelve months he stood fifty-first in a class of

seventy-two, but when he entered the first class, and commenced the

study of logic, that bugbear to the majority, he shot from near the

foot of the class to the top. In the final examination he came out

seventeenth, notwithstanding that the less successful years were taken

into account, and it was a frequent remark amongst his brother cadets

that if the course had been a year longer he would have come out first.

His own satisfaction was complete. Not only was his perseverance

rewarded by a place sufficiently high to give him a commission in the

artillery, but his cravings for knowledge had been fully gratified.

West Point was much more than a military school. It was a university,

and a university under the very strictest discipline, where the science

of the soldier formed only a portion of the course. Subjects which are

now considered essential to a military education were not taught at

all. The art of war gave place to ethics and engineering; and

mathematics and chemistry were considered of far more importance than

topography and fortification. Yet with French, history, and drawing, it

will be admitted that the course was sufficiently comprehensive. No

cadet was permitted to graduate unless he had reached a high standard

of proficiency. Failures were numerous. In the four years the classes

grew gradually

smaller, and the survival of the fittest was a principle of

administration which was rigidly observed.

The fact, then, that a man had passed the final examination at West

Point was a sufficient certificate that he had received a thorough

education, that his mental faculties had been strengthened by four

years of hard work, and that he was well equipped to take his place

amongst his fellow men. And it was more than this. Four years of the

strictest discipline, for the cadets were allowed only one vacation

during their whole course, were sufficient to break in even the most

careless and the most slovenly to neatness, obedience, and punctuality.

Such habits are not easily unlearned, and the West Point certificate

was thus a guarantee of qualities that are everywhere useful. It did

not necessarily follow that because a cadet won a commission he

remained a soldier. Many went to civil life, and the Academy was an

excellent school for men who intended to find a career as surveyors or

engineers. The great railway system of the United States was then in

its infancy; its development offered endless possibilities, and the

work of extending civilisation in a vast and rapidly improving country

had perhaps more attraction for the ambitious than the career of arms.

The training and discipline of West Point were not, then, concentrated

in one profession, but were disseminated throughout the States; and it

was with this purpose that the institution of the Academy had been

approved by Congress.

In the wars with England the militia of the different States had

furnished the means both of resistance and aggression, but their grave

shortcomings, owing principally to the lack of competent officers, had

been painfully conspicuous. After 1814, the principle that the militia

was the first line of defence was still adhered to, and the standing

army was merely maintained as a school for generals and a frontier

guard. It was expected, however, that in case of war the West Point

graduates would supply the national forces with a large number of

officers who, despite their civil avocations, would at least be

familiar with drill and discipline. This fact is to be borne in mind

in view of the Civil War. The demands of the enormous armies then put

into the field were utterly unprecedented, and the supply of West

Pointers was altogether inadequate to meet them; but the influence of

the Military Academy was conspicuous throughout. Not a few of the most

able generals were little more than boys; and yet, as a rule, they were

far superior to those who came from the militia or volunteers. Four

years of strict routine, of constant drill, and implicit subordination,

at the most impressionable period of life, proved a far better training

for command than the desultory and intermittent service of a citizen

army.

During his stay at West Point Jackson’s development was not all in one

direction. He gained in health and strength. When he joined he had not

yet attained his full height, which fell short of six feet by two

inches. The constant drilling developed his frame. He grew rapidly, and

soon acquired the erect bearing of the soldier; but notwithstanding the

incessant practice in riding, fencing and marching, his anatomical

peculiarities still asserted themselves. It was with great difficulty

that he mastered the elementary process of keeping step, and despite

his youthful proficiency as a jockey, the regulation seat of the

dragoon, to be acquired on the back of a rough cavalry trooper, was an

accomplishment which he never mastered. If it be added that his shyness

never thawed, that he was habitually silent, it is hardly surprising to

find that he had few intimates at the Academy. Caring nothing for the

opinion of others, and tolerant of association rather than seeking it,

his self-contained nature asked neither sympathy nor affection. His

studious habits never left him. His only recreation was a rapid walk in

the intervals of the classes. His whole thoughts and his whole energy

were centred on doing his duty, and passing into the army with all the

credit he could possibly attain. Although he was thoroughly happy at

West Point, life to him, even at that early age, was a serious

business, and most seriously he set about it.

Still, unsociable and irresponsive as he was, there were those in whose

company he found pleasure, cadets who had

studied subjects not included in the West Point course, and from whom

there was something to be learned. It was an unwritten law of the

Academy that those of the senior year should not make companions of

their juniors. But Jackson paid no heed to the traditionary code of

etiquette. His acquaintances were chosen regardless of standing, as

often from the class below him as his own; and in yet another fashion

his strength of character was displayed. Towards those who were guilty

of dishonourable conduct he was merciless almost to vindictiveness. He

had his own code of right and wrong, and from one who infringed it he

would accept neither apology nor excuse. His musket, which was always

scrupulously clean, was one day replaced by another in most slovenly

order. He called the attention of his captain to his loss, and

described the private mark by which it was to be identified. That

evening, at the inspection of arms, it was found in the hands of

another cadet, who, when taxed with his offence, endeavoured to shield

himself by falsehood. Jackson’s anger was unbounded, and for the moment

his habitual shyness completely disappeared. He declared that such a

creature should not continue a member of the Academy, and demanded that

he should be tried by court-martial and expelled. It was only by means

of the most persevering remonstrances on the part of his comrades and

his officers that he could be induced to waive his right of pressing

the charge. His regard for duty, too, was no less marked than his

respect for truth. During one half-year his room-mate was

orderly-sergeant of his company, and this good-natured if perfunctory

young gentleman often told Jackson that he need not attend the

_réveille_ roll-call, at which every cadet was supposed to answer to

his name. Not once, however, did he avail himself of the privilege.[7]

At the same time he was not altogether so uncompromising as at first

sight he appeared. At West Point, as in after years, those who saw him

interested or excited noticed that his smile was singularly sweet, and

the cadets knew that it revealed a warm heart within. Whenever, from

sickness or misfortune, a comrade stood in need of

sympathy, Jackson was the first to offer it, and he would devote

himself to his help with a tenderness so womanly that it sometimes

excited ridicule. Sensitive he was not, for of vanity he had not the

slightest taint; but of tact and sensibility he possessed more than his

share. If he was careless of what others thought of him, he thought

much of them. Though no one made more light of pain on his own account,

no one could have more carefully avoided giving pain to others, except

when duty demanded it; and one of his classmates[8] testifies that he

went through the trying ordeal of four years at West Point without ever

having a hard word or bad feeling from cadet or professor.

Nor did his comrades fail to remember that when he was unjustly blamed

he chose to bear the imputation silently rather than expose those who

were really at fault. And so, even in that lighthearted battalion, his

sterling worth compelled respect. All honoured his efforts and wished

him God-speed. “While there were many,” says Colonel Turnley, “who

seemed to surpass him in intellect, in geniality, and in

good-fellowship, there was no one of our class who more absolutely

possessed the respect and confidence of all; and in the end Old Jack,

as he was always called, with his desperate earnestness, his

unflinching straightforwardness, and his high sense of honour, came to

be regarded by his comrades with something very like affection.”

One peculiarity cannot be passed by.

When at study he always sat bolt upright at his table with his book

open before him, and when he was not using pencil and paper to solve a

problem, he would often keep his eyes fixed on the wall or ceiling in

the most profound abstraction. “No one I have ever known,” says a cadet

who shared his barrack-room, “could so perfectly withdraw his mind from

surrounding objects or influences, and so thoroughly involve his whole

being in the subject under consideration. His lessons were uppermost in

his mind, and to thoroughly understand them was always his

determined effort. To make the author’s knowledge his own was ever the

point at which he aimed. This intense application of mind was naturally

strengthened by constant exercise, and month by month, and year by

year, his faculties of perception developed rapidly, until he grasped

with unerring quickness the inceptive points of all ethical and

mathematical problems.”

This power of abstraction and of application is well worth noting, for

not only was it remarkable in a boy, but, as we shall see hereafter, it

had much to do with the making of the soldier.

At West Point Jackson was troubled with the return of the obscure

complaint which had already threatened him, and he there began that

rigid observance of the laws of health which afterwards developed to

almost an eccentricity. His peculiar attitude when studying was due to

the fear that if he bent over his work the compression of his internal

organs might increase their tendency to disease.

And not only did he lay down rules for his physical regimen. A book of

maxims which he drew up at West Point has been preserved, and we learn

that his scrupulous exactness, his punctilious courtesy, and his choice

of companions were the outcome of much deliberation.

Nothing in this curious volume occurs to show that his thoughts had yet

been turned to religion. It is as free from all reference to the

teachings of Christianity as the maxims of Marcus Aurelius.

Every line there written shows that at this period of Jackson’s life

devotion to duty was his guiding rule; and, notwithstanding his

remarkable freedom from egotism, the traces of an engrossing ambition

and of absolute self-dependence are everywhere apparent. Many of the

sentiments he would have repudiated in after-life as inconsistent with

humility; but there can be no question that it was a strong and

fearless hand that penned on a conspicuous page the sentence: “You can

be what you resolve to be.”

Jackson was already a man in years when he passed his final

examination, and here the record of his boyhood

may fitly close. He had made no particular mark at the Academy.

1846 His memory, in the minds of his comrades, was associated with his

gravity, his silence, his kind heart, and his awkward movements. No one

suspected him of nobler qualities than dogged perseverance and a strict

regard for truth. The officers and sergeants of the cadet battalion

were supplied by the cadets themselves; but Jackson was never promoted.

In the mimic warfare of the playground at Brienne Napoleon was master

of the revels. His capacity for command had already been detected; but

neither comrade nor teacher saw beneath the unpromising exterior of the

West Point student a trace of aught save what was commonplace.

And yet there is much in the boyhood of Stonewall Jackson that

resembles the boyhood of Napoleon, of all great soldiers the most

original. Both were affectionate. Napoleon lived on bread and water

that he might educate his brothers; Jackson saved his cadet’s pay to

give his sister a silk dress. Both were indefatigable students,

impressed with the conviction that the world was to be conquered by

force of intellect. Jackson, burning his lessons into his brain, is but

the counterpart of the young officer who lodged with a professor of

mathematics that he might attend his classes, and who would wait to

explain the lectures to those who had not clearly understood them. Both

were provincial, neither was prepossessing. If the West Point cadets

laughed at Jackson’s large hands and feet, was not Napoleon, with his

thin legs thrust into enormous boots, saluted by his friend’s children,

on his first appearance in uniform, with the nickname of _Le Chat

Botté_? It is hard to say which was the more laughable: the spare and

bony figure of the cadet, sitting bolt upright like a graven image in a

tight uniform, with his eyes glued to the ceiling of his barrack-room,

or the young man, with gaunt features, round shoulders, and uncombed

hair, who wandered alone about the streets of Paris in 1795.

They had the same love of method and of order. The accounts of the

Virginian constable was not more scrupulously kept than the ledgers of

Napoleon’s household, nor

could they show a greater regard for economy than the tailor’s bill,

still extant, on which the future Emperor gained a reduction of four

_sous._ But it was not on such trivial lines alone that they run

parallel. An inflexibility of purpose, an absolute disregard of popular

opinion, and an unswerving belief in their own capacity, were

predominant in both. They could say “No.” Neither sought sympathy, and

both felt that they were masters of their own fate. “You can be

whatever you resolve to be” may be well placed alongside the speech of

the brigadier of five-and-twenty: “Have patience. I will command in

Paris presently. What should I do there now?”

But here the parallel ends. In Jackson, even as a cadet, self was

subordinate to duty. Pride was foreign to his nature. He was incapable

of pretence, and his simplicity was inspired by that disdain of all

meanness which had been his characteristic from a child. His brain was

disturbed by no wild visions; no intemperate ambition confused his

sense of right and wrong. “The essence of his mind,” as has been said

of another of like mould, “was clearness, healthy purity,

incompatibility with fraud in any of its forms.” It was his instinct to

be true and straightforward as it was Napoleon’s to be false and

subtle. And, if, as a youth, he showed no trace of marked intellectual

power; if his instructors saw no sign of masterful resolution and a

genius for command, it was because at West Point, as elsewhere, his

great qualities lay dormant, awaiting the emergency that should call

them forth.

[1] Copyright 1897 by Longmans, Green, & Co.

[2] This letter is in the possession of Thomas Jackson Arnold,

Esquire, of Beverly, West Virginia, nephew of General “Stonewall”

Jackson.

[3] Anglicè, “house-warmings.”

[4] Dabney, vol. i, p. 29.

[5] A. P. Hill, G. E. Pickett, and D. H. Maury.

[6] Communicated by General John Gibbon, U.S.A.

[7] Communicated by Colonel P. T. Turnley.

[8] Colonel Turnley.