THE FIRST BATTLE OF MANASSAS OR BULL RUN
July 19 At the first streak of dawn, Jackson aroused his men and
resumed the march. Before the column gained the plain, Stuart’s cavalry
clattered past, leaving Patterson at Charlestown, in ignorance of his
adversary’s escape, and congratulating himself on the success of his
cautious strategy. At Piedmont, a station at the foot of the Blue
Ridge, trains were waiting for the conveyance of the troops; and at
four o’clock in the afternoon Jackson and his brigade had reached
Manassas Junction. The cavalry, artillery, and waggons moved by road;
and the remainder of Johnston’s infantry was expected to follow the
First Brigade without delay. But in war, unless there has been ample
time for preparation, railways are not always an expeditious means of
travel. The line was single; so short notice had been given that it was
impossible to collect enough rolling-stock; the officials were
inexperienced; there was much mismanagement; and on the morning of
Sunday, July 21, only three brigades of the Army of the
Shenandoah—Jackson’s, Bee’s, and Bartow’s—together with the cavalry and
artillery, had joined Beauregard. Kirby Smith’s brigade, about 1,900
strong, was still upon the railway.
The delay might easily have been disastrous. Happily, the Federal
movements were even more tardy. Had the invading army been well
organised, Beauregard would probably have been defeated before Johnston
could have reached him. McDowell had advanced from Washington on the
afternoon of the 16th with 35,000 men. On the morning of the 18th, the
greater part of his force was concentrated
at Centreville, twenty-two miles from Washington, and five and a half
north-east of Manassas Junction. Beauregard’s outposts had already
fallen back to the banks of Bull Run, a stream made difficult by wooded
and precipitous banks, from two to three miles south, and of much the
same width as the Thames at Oxford.
It would have been possible to have attacked on the morning of the
19th, but the Federal commander was confronted by many obstacles. He
knew little of the country. Although it was almost within sight of the
capital, the maps were indifferent. Guides who could describe roads and
positions from a military point of view were not forthcoming. All
information had to be procured by personal reconnaissance, and few of
his officers had been trained to such work. Moreover, the army was most
unwieldy. 35,000 men, together with ten batteries, and the requisite
train of waggons, was a force far larger than any American officer had
yet set eyes upon; and the movement of such a mass demanded precise
arrangement on the part of the staff, and on the part of the troops
most careful attention to order and punctuality; but of these both
staff and troops were incapable. The invading force might have done
well in a defensive position, which it would have had time to occupy,
and where the supply of food and forage, carried on from stationary
magazines, would have been comparatively easy; but directly it was put
in motion, inexperience and indiscipline stood like giants in the path.
The Federal troops were utterly unfitted for offensive movement, and
both Scott and McDowell had protested against an immediate advance. The
regiments had only been organised in brigades a week previously. They
had never been exercised in mass. Deployment for battle had not yet
been practised, and to deploy 10,000 or 20,000 men for attack is a
difficult operation, even with well-drilled troops and an experienced
staff. Nor were the supply arrangements yet completed. The full
complement of waggons had not arrived, and the drivers on the spot were
as ignorant as they were insubordinate. The troops had received no
instruction in musketry, and many of the regiments
went into action without having once fired their rifles. But the
protests of the generals were of no effect. The Federal Cabinet decided
that in face of the public impatience it was impossible to postpone the
movement. “On to Richmond” was the universal cry. The halls of Congress
resounded with the fervid eloquence of the politicians. The press
teemed with bombastic articles, in which the Northern troops were
favourably compared with the regular armies of Europe, and the need of
discipline and training for the fearless and intelligent
representatives of the sovereign people was scornfully repudiated.
Ignorance of war and contempt for the lessons of history were to cost
the nation dear.
The march from Washington was a brilliant spectacle. The roads south of
the Potomac were covered with masses of men, well armed and well
clothed, amply furnished with artillery, and led by regular officers.
To the sound of martial music they had defiled before the President.
They were accompanied by scores of carriages. Senators, members of
Congress, and even ladies swelled the long procession. A crowd of
reporters rode beside the columns; and the return of a victorious army
could hardly have been hailed with more enthusiasm than the departure
of these untrained and unblooded volunteers. Yet, pitiful masquerade as
the march must have appeared to a soldier’s eye, the majority of those
who broke camp that summer morning were brave men and good Americans.
To restore the Union, to avenge the insult to their country’s flag,
they had come forward with no other compulsion than the love of their
mother-land. If their self-confidence was supreme and even arrogant, it
was the self-confidence of a strong and a fearless people, and their
patriotism was of the loftiest kind. It would have been easy for the
North, with her enormous wealth, to have organised a vast army of
mercenaries wherewith to crush the South. But no! her sons were not
willing that their country’s honour should be committed to meaner
hands.
As they advanced into Virginia, the men, animated by their
surroundings, stepped briskly forward, and the
country-side was gay with fantastic uniforms and gorgeous standards.
But the heat was oppressive, and the roads lay deep in dust. Knapsack,
rifle, and blankets became a grievous burden. The excitement died away,
and unbroken to the monotonous exertion of the march the three-months’
recruits lost all semblance of subordination. The compact array of the
columns was gradually lost, and a tail of laggards, rapidly increasing,
brought up the rear. Regiment mingled with regiment. By each roadside
brook the men fell out in numbers. Every blackberry bush was surrounded
by a knot of stragglers; and, heedless of the orders of those officers
who still attempted to keep them in the ranks, scores of so-called
soldiers sought the cool shade of the surrounding woods.[1] When
darkness fell the army was but six miles from its morning bivouacs; and
it was not till late the next day that the stragglers rejoined their
regiments.
McDowell had intended to attack at once. “But I could not,” he says,
“get the troops forward earlier than we did. I wished them to go to
Centreville the second day, but when I went to urge them forward, I was
told that it was impossible for the men to march further. They had only
come from Vienna, about six miles, and it was not more than six and a
half miles further to Centreville, in all a march of twelve and a half
miles; but the men were foot-weary—not so much, I was told, by the
distance marched, as by the time they had been on foot, caused by the
obstructions in the road, and the slow pace we had to move to avoid
ambuscades. The men were, moreover, unaccustomed to marching, and not
used to carrying even the load of ‘light marching order.’ . . . The
trains, hurriedly gotten together, with horses, waggons, drivers, and
waggon-masters all new and unused to each other, moved with difficulty
and disorder, and were the cause of a day’s delay in getting the
provisions forward.”[2]
On the morning of the 18th, in order to attract the enemy’s attention
from his right, a brigade was sent south,
in the direction of Bull Run. The Confederate outposts fell back over
Blackburn’s Ford. The woods about the stream concealed the defenders’
forces, and the Federals pushed on, bringing artillery into action. Two
Confederate guns, after firing a few shots, were withdrawn under cover,
and the attacking troops reached the ford. Suddenly, from the high
timber on the further bank, volleys of musketry blazed out in their
very faces, and then came proof that some at least of the Federal
regiments were no more to be relied upon in action than on the march. A
portion of the force, despite the strong position of the enemy and the
heavy fire, showed a bold front, but at least one regiment turned and
fled, and was only rallied far in rear. The whole affair was a mistake
on the part of the commander. His troops had been heedlessly pushed
forward, and General Longstreet, commanding the opposing brigade, by
carefully concealing his infantry, had drawn him into an ambuscade. The
results of the action were not without importance. The Federals fell
back with a loss of 83 officers and men, and the Confederates were much
elated at their easy success. Among some of the Northerners, on the
other hand, the sudden check to the advance, and the bold bearing of
the enemy, turned confidence and enthusiasm into irrational
despondency. A regiment and a battery, which had enlisted for three
months and whose time was up, demanded their discharge, and
notwithstanding the appeals of the Secretary of War, “moved to the rear
to the sound of the enemy’s cannon.”[3]
McDowell’s plans were affected by the behaviour of his troops. He was
still ignorant, so skilfully had the march from the Valley been carried
out, that Johnston had escaped Patterson. He was well aware, however,
that such movement was within the bounds of possibility, yet he found
himself compelled to postpone attack until the 21st. The 19th and 20th
were spent in reconnaissance, and in bringing up supplies; and the lack
of organisation made the issue of rations a long process. But it was
the general’s
want of confidence in his soldiers that was the main cause of delay.
The Confederates were strongly posted. The bridges and fords across
Bull Run, with the exception of Sudley Ford, a long way up stream to
the Federal right, were obstructed with felled trees, and covered by
rude intrenchments. Even with regular troops a direct attack on a
single point of passage would have been difficult. McDowell’s first
idea was to pass across the front of the defences, and turn the right
at Wolf Run Shoals, five miles south-east of Union Mills. The country,
however, on this flank was found to be unfit for the operations of
large masses, and it was consequently determined to turn the
Confederate left by way of Sudley Springs.
The Federal army consisted of five divisions of infantry, forty-three
guns, and seven troops of regular cavalry. Nine batteries and eight
companies of infantry were supplied by the United States army, and
there was a small battalion of marines. The strength of the force told
off for the attack amounted to 30,000 all told.[4]
The Confederates, along the banks of Bull Run, disposed of 26,000
infantry, 2,500 cavalry, and 55 guns. Johnston, who had arrived on the
20th, had assumed command; but, ignorant of the country, he had allowed
Beauregard to make the dispositions for the expected battle. The line
occupied was extensive, six miles in length, stretching from the Stone
Bridge, where the Warrenton highroad crosses Bull Run, on the left, to
the ford at
Union Mills on the right. Besides these two points of passage there
were no less than six fords, to each of which ran a road from
Centreville. The country to the north was undulating and densely
wooded, and it would have been possible for the Federals, especially as
the Southern cavalry was held back south of the stream, to mass before
any one of the fords, unobserved, in superior numbers. Several of the
fords, moreover, were weakly guarded, for Beauregard, who had made up
his mind to attack, had massed the greater part of his army near the
railroad. The Shenandoah troops were in reserve; Bee’s and Bartow’s
brigades between McLean’s and Blackburn’s fords, Jackson’s between
Blackburn’s and Mitchell’s fords, in rear of the right centre.
The position south of Bull Run, originally selected by General Lee,[5]
was better adapted for defence than for attack. The stream, with its
high banks, ran like the ditch of a fortress along the front; and to
the south was the plateau on which stands Manassas Junction. The
plateau is intersected by several creeks, running through deep
depressions, and dividing the high ground into a series of bold
undulations, level on the top, and with gentle slopes. The most
important of the creeks is Young’s Branch, surrounding on two sides the
commanding eminence crowned by the Henry House, and joining Bull Run a
short distance below the Stone Bridge. That part of the field which
borders on Flat Run, and lies immediately north of Manassas Junction,
is generally thickly wooded; but shortly after passing New Market, the
Manassas-Sudley road, running north-west, emerges into more open
country, and, from the Henry House onward, passes over several parallel
ridges, deep in grass and corn, and studded between with groves of oak
and pine. Here the large fields, without hedges, and scantily fenced,
formed an admirable manœuvre ground; the wide depressions of the
creeks, separating the crests of the ridges by a space of fifteen or
sixteen hundred yards, gave free play to the artillery; the long easy
slopes could be swept by fire, and the groves were no obstruction to
the view.
The left flank of the Confederate position, facing north, on either
side of the Manassas-Sudley road, was thus an ideal battle-field.
[Illustration: Map showing the dispositions on the morning of July
21st, 1861.]
July 21, 6.30 a.m. Sunday morning, the 21st of July, broke clear and
warm. Through a miscarriage of orders, the Confederate offensive
movement was delayed; and soon after six o’clock the Federals opened
with musketry and artillery against the small brigade commanded by
Colonel Evans, which held the Stone Bridge on the extreme left of the
Confederate line. An hour later the Shenandoah brigades, Bee’s,
Bartow’s, and Jackson’s, together with Bonham’s, were ordered up in
support.
8.30 a.m. The attack was feebly pressed, and at 8.30 Evans, observing a
heavy cloud of dust rising above the woods to the north of the
Warrenton road, became satisfied that the movement to his front was but
a feint, and that a column of the enemy was meanwhile marching to turn
his flank by way of Sudley Springs, about two miles north-west.
9 a.m. Sending back this information to the next brigade, he left four
companies to hold the bridge; and with six companies of riflemen, a
battalion called the Louisiana Tigers, and two six-pounder howitzers,
he moved across Young’s Branch, and took post on the Matthews Hill, a
long ridge, which, at the same elevation, faces the Henry Hill.
Evans’ soldierly instinct had penetrated the design of the Federal
commander, and his ready assumption of responsibility threw a strong
force across the path of the turning column, and gave time for his
superiors to alter their dispositions and bring up the reserves.
The Federal force opposite the Stone Bridge consisted of a whole
division; and its commander, General Tyler, had been instructed to
divert attention, by means of a vigorous demonstration, from the march
of Hunter’s and Heintzleman’s divisions to a ford near Sudley Springs.
Part of the Fifth Division was retained in reserve at Centreville, and
part threatened the fords over Bull Run below the Stone Bridge. The
Fourth Division had been left upon the railroad, seven miles in rear of
Centreville, in order to guard the communications with Washington.
Already, in forming the line of march, there had been much confusion.
The divisions had bivouacked in loose order, without any regard for the
morrow’s movements, and their concentration previous to the advance was
very tedious. The brigades crossed each other’s route; the march was
slow; and the turning column, blocked by Tyler’s division on its way to
the Stone Bridge, was delayed for nearly three hours.
9.30 a.m. At last, however, Hunter and Heintzleman crossed Sudley Ford;
and after marching a mile in the direction of Manassas Junction, the
leading brigade struck Evans’ riflemen. The Confederates were concealed
by a fringe of woods, and the Federals were twice repulsed. But
supports came crowding up, and Evans sent back for reinforcements. The
fight had lasted for an hour. It was near eleven o’clock, and the check
to the enemy’s advance had given time for the Confederates to form a
line of battle on the Henry Hill. Bee and Bartow, accompanied by
Imboden’s battery, were in position; Hampton’s Legion, a regiment
raised and commanded by an officer who was one of the wealthiest
planters in South Carolina, and who became one of the finest soldiers
in the Confederacy, was not far behind; and Jackson was coming up.[6]
Again the situation was saved by the prompt initiative of a brigade
commander. Bee had been ordered to support the troops at the Stone
Bridge. Moving forward towards the Henry Hill, he had been informed by
a mounted orderly that the whole Federal army seemed to be moving to
the north-west. A signal officer on the plateau who had caught the
glint of the brass field-pieces which accompanied the hostile column,
still several miles distant, had sent the message. Bee waited for no
further instructions. Ordering Bartow to follow, he climbed the Henry
Hill. The wide and beautiful landscape lay spread before him; Evans’
small command was nearly a mile distant, on the Matthews
Hill; and on the ridges to the far north-west he saw the glitter of
many bayonets.
11 a.m. Rapidly placing his battery in position near the Henry House,
Bee formed a line of battle on the crest above Young’s Branch; but very
shortly afterwards, acceding to an appeal for help from Evans, he
hurried his troops forward to the Matthews Hill. His new position
protected the rear of the companies which held the Stone Bridge; and so
long as the bridge was held the two wings of the Federal army were
unable to co-operate. But on the Matthews Hill, the enemy’s strength,
especially in artillery, was overwhelming; and the Confederates were
soon compelled to fall back to the Henry Hill. McDowell had already
sent word to Tyler to force the Stone Bridge; and Sherman’s brigade of
this division, passing the stream by a ford, threatened the flank of
Bee and Evans as they retreated across Young’s Branch.
The Federals now swarmed over the Matthews Hill; but Imboden’s battery,
which Bee had again posted on the Henry Hill, and Hampton’s Legion,
occupying the Robinson House, a wooden tenement on the open spur which
projects towards the Stone Bridge, covered the retirement of the
discomfited brigades. They were not, however, suffered to fall back
unharassed.
A long line of guns, following fast upon their tracks, and crossing the
fields at a gallop, came into action on the opposite slope. In vain
Imboden’s gunners, with their pieces well placed behind a swell of
ground, strove to divert their attention from the retreating infantry,
now climbing the slopes of the Henry Hill. The Federal batteries,
powerful in numbers, in discipline, and in materiel, plied their fire
fast. The shells fell in quick succession amongst the disordered ranks
of the Southern regiments, and not all the efforts of their officers
could stay their flight.
The day seemed lost. Strong masses of Northern infantry were moving
forward past the Stone House on the Warrenton turnpike. Hampton’s
Legion was retiring on the right. Imboden’s battery, with but three
rounds remaining for each piece, galloped back across the Henry Hill,
and
this commanding height, the key of the battle-ground, was abandoned to
the enemy. But help was at hand. Jackson, like Bee and Bartow, had been
ordered to the Stone Bridge. Hearing the heavy fire to his left
increasing in intensity, he had turned the head of his column towards
the most pressing danger, and had sent a messenger to Bee to announce
his coming. As he pushed rapidly forward, part of the troops he
intended to support swept by in disorder to the rear. Imboden’s battery
came dashing back, and that officer, meeting Jackson, expressed with a
profanity which was evidently displeasing to the general his disgust at
being left without support. “I’ll support your battery,” was the brief
reply; “unlimber right here.”
11.30 a.m. At this moment appeared General Bee, approaching at full
gallop, and he and Jackson met face to face. The latter was cool and
composed; Bee covered with dust and sweat, his sword in his hand, and
his horse foaming. “General,” he said, “they are beating us back!”
“Then, sir, we will give them the bayonet;” the thin lips closed like a
vice, and the First Brigade, pressing up the slope, formed into line on
the eastern edge of the Henry Hill.
Jackson’s determined bearing inspired Bee with renewed confidence. He
turned bridle and galloped back to the ravine where his officers were
attempting to reform their broken companies. Riding into the midst of
the throng, he pointed with his sword to the Virginia regiments,
deployed in well-ordered array on the height above. “Look!” he shouted,
“there is Jackson standing like a stone wall! Rally behind the
Virginians!” The men took up the cry; and the happy augury of the
expression, applied at a time when defeat seemed imminent and hearts
were failing, was remembered when the danger had passed away.
The position which Jackson had occupied was the strongest that could be
found. He had not gone forward to the crest which looks down upon
Young’s Branch, and commands the slopes by which the Federals were
advancing. From that crest extended a wide view, and a wide field of
fire; but both flanks would have been exposed. The
Henry House was nothing more than a cottage; neither here nor elsewhere
was there shelter for his riflemen, and they would have been exposed to
the full force of the Federal artillery without power of reply. But on
the eastern edge of the hill, where he had chosen to deploy, ran a belt
of young pines, affording excellent cover, which merged into a dense
oak wood near the Sudley road.
Along the edge of the pines Jackson placed his regiments, with six guns
to support them. Lying in rear of the guns were the 4th and 27th
Virginia; on the right was the 5th; on the left the 2nd and 33rd. Both
flanks were in the woods, and Stuart, whom Jackson had called upon to
secure his left, was watching the ground beyond the road. To the front,
for a space of five hundred yards, stretched the level crest of the
hill; and the ground beyond the Henry House, dipping to the valley of
Young’s Branch, where the Federals were now gathering, was wholly
unseen. But as the tactics of Wellington so often proved, a position
from which the view is limited, well in rear of a crest line, may be
exceedingly strong for defence, provided that troops who hold it can
use the bayonet. It would be difficult in the extreme for the Federals
to pave the way for their attack with artillery. From the guns on the
Matthews Hill the Virginia regiments were well sheltered, and the range
was long. To do effective work the hostile batteries would have to
cross Young’s Branch, ascend the Henry Hill, and come into action
within five hundred yards of Jackson’s line. Even if they were able to
hold their ground at so short a range, they could make no accurate
practice under the fire of the Confederate marksmen.
12 noon In rear of Jackson’s line, Bee, Bartow, and Evans were rallying
their men, when Johnston and Beauregard, compelled, by the unexpected
movement of the Federals, to abandon all idea of attack, appeared upon
the Henry Hill. They were accompanied by two batteries of artillery,
Pendleton’s and Alburtis’. The colours of the broken regiments were
ordered to the front, and the men rallied, taking post on Jackson’s
right. The
moment was critical. The blue masses of the Federals, the dust rolling
high above them, were already descending the opposite slopes. The guns
flashed fiercely through the yellow cloud; and the Confederate force
was but a handful. Three brigades had been summoned from the fords; but
the nearest was four miles distant, and many of the troops upon the
plateau were already half-demoralised by retreat. The generals set
themselves to revive the courage of their soldiers. Beauregard galloped
along the line, cheering the regiments in every portion of the field,
and then, with the colour-bearers accompanying him, rode forward to the
crest. Johnston was equally conspicuous. The enemy’s shells were
bursting on every side, and the shouts of the Confederates, recognising
their leaders as they dashed across the front, redoubled the uproar.
Meanwhile, before the centre of his line, with an unconcern which had a
marvellous effect on his untried command, Jackson rode slowly to and
fro. Except that his face was a little paler, and his eyes brighter, he
looked exactly as his men had seen him so often on parade; and as he
passed along the crest above them they heard from time to time the
reassuring words, uttered in a tone which betrayed no trace of
excitement, “Steady, men! steady! all’s well!”
It was at this juncture, while the confusion of taking up a new
position with shattered and ill-drilled troops was at the highest, that
the battle lulled. The Federal infantry, after defeating Bee and Evans,
had to cross the deep gully and marshy banks of Young’s Branch, to
climb the slope of the Henry Hill, and to form for a fresh attack. Even
with trained soldiers a hot fight is so conducive of disorder, that it
is difficult to initiate a rapid pursuit, and the Northern regiments
were very slow in resuming their formations. At the same time, too, the
fire of their batteries became less heavy. From their position beyond
Young’s Branch the rifled guns had been able to ply the Confederate
lines with shell, and their effective practice had rendered the work of
rallying the troops exceedingly difficult. But when his infantry
advanced, McDowell ordered one half of his artillery, two fine
batteries of regulars, made up
principally of rifled guns, to cross Young’s Branch. This respite was
of the utmost value to the Confederates. The men, encouraged by the
gallant bearing of their leaders, fell in at once upon the colours, and
when Hunter’s regiments appeared on the further rim of the plateau they
were received with a fire which for a moment drove them back. But the
regular batteries were close at hand, and as they came into action the
battle became general on the Henry Hill. The Federals had 16,000
infantry available; the Confederates no more than 6,500. But the latter
were superior in artillery, 16 pieces confronting 12. The Federal guns,
however, were of heavier calibre; the gunners were old soldiers, and
both friend and foe testify to the accuracy of their fire, their fine
discipline, and staunch endurance. The infantry, on the other hand, was
not well handled. The attack was purely frontal. No attempt whatever
was made to turn the Confederate flanks, although the Stone Bridge,
except for the abattis, was now open, and Johnston’s line might easily
have been taken in reverse. Nor does it appear that the cavalry was
employed to ascertain where the flanks rested. Moreover, instead of
massing the troops for a determined onslaught, driven home by sheer
weight of numbers, the attack was made by successive brigades, those in
rear waiting till those in front had been defeated; and, in the same
manner, the brigades attacked by successive regiments. Such tactics
were inexcusable. It was certainly necessary to push the attack home
before the Confederate reinforcements could get up; and troops who had
never drilled in mass would have taken much time to assume the orthodox
formation of several lines of battle, closely supporting one another.
Yet there was no valid reason, beyond the inexperience of the generals
in dealing with large bodies, that brigades should have been sent into
action piecemeal, or that the flanks of the defence should have been
neglected. The fighting, nevertheless, was fierce. The Federal
regiments, inspirited by their success on the Matthews Hill, advanced
with confidence, and soon pushed forward past the Henry House. “The
contest that ensued,”
says General Imboden, “was terrific. Jackson ordered me to go from
battery to battery and see that the guns were properly aimed and the
fuses cut the right length. This was the work of but a few minutes. On
returning to the left of the line of guns, I stopped to ask General
Jackson’s permission to rejoin my battery. The fight was just then hot
enough to make him feel well. His eyes fairly blazed. He had a way of
throwing up his left hand with the open palm towards the person he was
addressing. And, as he told me to go, he made this gesture. The air was
full of flying missiles, and as he spoke he jerked down his hand, and I
saw that blood was streaming from it. I exclaimed, “General, you are
wounded.” “Only a scratch—a mere scratch,” he replied, and binding it
hastily with a handkerchief, he galloped away along his line.”[7]
1.30 p.m. When the battle was at its height, and across that narrow
space, not more than five hundred yards in width, the cannon thundered,
and the long lines of infantry struggled for the mastery, the two
Federal batteries, protected by two regiments of infantry on their
right, advanced to a more effective position. The movement was fatal.
Stuart, still guarding the Confederate left, was eagerly awaiting his
opportunity, and now, with 150 troopers, filing through the fences on
Bald Hill, he boldly charged the enemy’s right. The regiment thus
assailed, a body of Zouaves, in blue and scarlet, with white turbans,
was ridden down, and almost at the same moment the 33rd Virginia,
posted on Jackson’s left, charged forward from the copse in which they
had been hidden. The uniforms in the two armies at this time were much
alike, and from the direction of their approach it was difficult at
first for the officers in charge of the Federal batteries to make sure
that the advancing troops were not their own. A moment more and the
doubtful regiment proved its identity by a deadly volley, delivered at
a range of seventy yards. Every gunner was shot down; the teams were
almost annihilated, and several officers fell killed or wounded. The
Zouaves, already much shaken by Stuart’s well-timed
charge, fled down the slopes, dragging with them another regiment of
infantry.
Three guns alone escaped the marksmen of the 33rd. The remainder stood
upon the field, silent and abandoned, surrounded by dying horses,
midway between the opposing lines.
This success, however, brought but short relief to the Confederates.
The enemy was not yet done with. Fresh regiments passed to the attack.
The 33rd was driven back, and the thin line upon the plateau was hard
put to it to retain its ground. The Southerners had lost heavily. Bee
and Bartow had been killed, and Hampton wounded. Few reinforcements had
reached the Henry Hill. Stragglers and skulkers were streaming to the
rear. The Federals were thronging forward, and it seemed that the
exhausted defenders must inevitably give way before the successive
blows of superior numbers. The troops were losing confidence. Yet no
thought of defeat crossed Jackson’s mind. “General,” said an officer,
riding hastily towards him, “the day is going against us.” “If you
think so, sir,” was the quiet reply, “you had better not say anything
about it.” And although affairs seemed desperate, in reality the crisis
of the battle had already passed. McDowell had but two brigades
remaining in reserve, and one of these—of Tyler’s division—was still
beyond Bull Run. His troops were thoroughly exhausted; they had been
marching and fighting since midnight; the day was intensely hot; they
had encountered fierce resistance; their rifled batteries had been
silenced, and the Confederate reinforcements were coming up. Two of
Bonham’s regiments had taken post on Jackson’s right, and a heavy force
was approaching on the left. Kirby Smith’s brigade, of the Army of the
Shenandoah, coming up by train, had reached Manassas Junction while the
battle was in progress. It was immediately ordered to the field, and
had been already instructed by Johnston to turn the enemy’s right.
But before the weight of Smith’s 1,900 bayonets could be thrown into
the scale, the Federals made a vigorous effort to carry the Henry Hill.
Those portions of the Confederate
line which stood on the open ground gave way before them. Some of the
guns, ordered to take up a position from which they could cover the
retreat, were limbering up; and with the exception of the belt of
pines, the plateau was abandoned to the hostile infantry, who were
beginning to press forward at every point. The Federal engineers were
already clearing away the abattis from the Stone Bridge, in order to
give passage to Tyler’s third brigade and a battery of artillery; “and
all were certain,” says McDowell, “that the day was ours.”
2.45 p.m. Jackson’s men were lying beneath the crest of the plateau.
Only one of his regiments—the 33rd—had as yet been engaged in the open,
and his guns in front still held their own. Riding to the centre of his
line, where the 2nd and 4th Virginia were stationed, he gave orders for
a counterstroke. “Reserve your fire till they come within fifty yards,
then fire and give them the bayonet; and when you charge, yell like
furies!” Right well did the hot Virginian blood respond. Inactive from
the stroke of noon till three o’clock, with the crash and cries of
battle in their ears, and the shells ploughing gaps in their recumbent
ranks, the men were chafing under the stern discipline which held them
back from the conflict they longed to join. The Federals swept on,
extending from the right and left, cheering as they came, and following
the flying batteries in the ardour of success. Suddenly, a long grey
line sprang from the ground in their very faces; a rolling volley threw
them back in confusion; and then, with their fierce shouts pealing high
above the tumult, the 2nd and 4th Virginia, supported by the 5th,
charged forward across the hill. At the same moment that the enemy’s
centre was thus unexpectedly assailed, Kirby Smith’s fresh brigade bore
down upon the flank,[8] and Beauregard, with ready judgment, dispatched
his staff officers to order a general advance. The broken remnants of
Bee, Hampton, and Evans advanced upon Jackson’s right, and victory,
long wavering, crowned the standards of the South. The Federals were
driven past
the guns, now finally abandoned, past the Henry House, and down the
slope. McDowell made one desperate endeavour to stay the rout. Howard’s
brigade was rapidly thrown in. But the centre had been completely
broken by Jackson’s charge; the right was giving way, and the
Confederates, manning the captured guns, turned them on the masses
which covered the fields below.
Howard, although his men fought bravely, was easily repulsed; in a few
minutes not a single Federal soldier, save the dead and dying, was to
be seen upon the plateau.
Illustration: Map of the field of Bull Run. For larger view click on
image
3.30 p.m. A final stand was made by McDowell along Young’s Branch; and
there, at half-past three, a line of battle was once more established,
the battalion of regular infantry forming a strong centre. But another
Confederate brigade, under General Early, had now arrived, and again
the enemy’s right was overthrown, while Beauregard, leaving Jackson,
whose brigade had lost all order and many men in its swift advance, to
hold the plateau, swept forward towards the Matthews Hill. The movement
was decisive. McDowell’s volunteers broke up in the utmost confusion.
The Confederate infantry was in no condition to pursue, but the cavalry
was let loose, and before long the retreat became a panic. The regular
battalion, composed of young soldiers, but led by experienced officers,
alone preserved its discipline, moving steadily in close order through
the throng of fugitives, and checking the pursuing troopers by its firm
and confident bearing. The remainder of the army dissolved into a mob.
It was not that the men were completely demoralised, but simply that
discipline had not become a habit. They had marched as individuals,
going just so far as they pleased, and halting when they pleased; they
had fought as individuals, bravely enough, but with little combination;
and when they found that they were beaten, as individuals they
retreated. “The old soldier,” wrote one of the regular officers a week
later, “feels safe in the ranks, unsafe out of the ranks, and the
greater the danger the more pertinaciously he clings to his place. The
volunteer of three months never attains this instinct of discipline.
Under danger, and
even under mere excitement, he flies away from his ranks, and hopes for
safety in dispersion. At four o’clock in the afternoon of the 21st
there were more than 12,000 volunteers on the battle-field of Bull Run
who had entirely lost their regimental organisation. They could no
longer be handled as troops, for the officers and men were not
together. Men and officers mingled together promiscuously; and it is
worthy of remark that this disorganisation did not result from defeat
or fear, for up to four o’clock we had been uniformly successful. The
instinct of discipline which keeps every man in his place had not been
acquired. We cannot suppose that the enemy had attained a higher degree
of discipline than our own, but they acted on the defensive, and were
not equally exposed to disorganisation.”[9]
“Cohesion was lost,” says one of McDowell’s staff; “and the men walked
quietly off. There was no special excitement except that arising from
the frantic efforts of officers to stop men who paid little or no
attention to anything that was said; and there was no panic, in the
ordinary sense and meaning of the word, until the retiring soldiers,
guns, waggons, Congressmen and carriages, were fired upon, on the road
east of Bull Run.”[10]
At Centreville the reserve division stood fast; and the fact that these
troops were proof against the infection of panic and the exaggerated
stories of the fugitives is in itself strong testimony to the native
courage of the soldiery.
A lack of competent Staff officers, which, earlier in the day, had
prevented an advance on Centreville by the Confederate right, brought
Johnston’s arrangements for pursuit to naught. The cavalry, weak in
numbers, was soon incumbered with squads of prisoners; darkness fell
upon the field, and the defeated army streamed over the roads to
Washington, followed only by its own fears.
Why the Confederate generals did not follow up their success on the
following day is a question round which controversy raged for many a
year. Deficiencies in
commissariat and transport; the disorganisation of the army after the
victory; the difficulties of a direct attack upon Washington, defended
as it was by a river a mile broad, with but a single bridge, and
patrolled by gunboats; the determination of the Government to limit its
military operations to a passive defence of Confederate territory, have
all been pressed into service as excuses. “Give me 10,000 fresh
troops,” said Jackson, as the surgeon dressed his wound, “and I would
be in Washington to-morrow.” Before twenty-four hours had passed
reinforcements had increased the strength of Johnston’s army to 40,000.
Want of organisation had undoubtedly prevented McDowell from winning a
victory on the 19th or 20th, but pursuit is a far less difficult
business than attack. There was nothing to interfere with a forward
movement. There were supplies along the railway, and if the mechanism
for their distribution and the means for their carriage were wanting,
the counties adjoining the Potomac were rich and fertile. Herds of
bullocks were grazing in the pastures, and the barns of the farmers
were loaded with grain. It was not a long supply train that was
lacking, nor an experienced staff, nor even well-disciplined
battalions; but a general who grasped the full meaning of victory, who
understood how a defeated army, more especially of new troops, yields
at a touch, and who, above all, saw the necessity of giving the North
no leisure to develop her immense resources. For three days Jackson
impatiently awaited the order to advance, and his men were held ready
with three days’ cooked rations in their haversacks. But his superiors
gave no sign, and he was reluctantly compelled to abandon all hope of
reaping the fruits of victory.
It is true that the Confederates were no more fit for offensive
operations than McDowell’s troops. “Our army,” says General Johnston,
“was more disorganised by victory than that of the United States by
defeat.” But it is to be remembered that if the Southerners had moved
into Maryland, crossing the Potomac by some of the numerous fords near
Harper’s Ferry, they would have found no organised opposition, save the
_débris_ of McDowell’s army, between them
and the Northern capital. On July 26, five days after the battle, the
general who was to succeed McDowell arrived in Washington and rode
round the city. “I found,” he wrote, “no preparations whatever for
defence, not even to the extent of putting the troops in military
position. Not a regiment was properly encamped, not a single avenue of
approach guarded. All was chaos, and the streets, hotels, and bar-rooms
were filled with drunken officers and men, absent from their regiments
without leave, a perfect pandemonium. Many had even gone to their
homes, their flight from Bull Run terminating in New York, or even in
New Hampshire and Maine. There was really nothing to prevent a small
cavalry force from riding into the city. A determined attack would
doubtless have carried Arlington Heights and placed the city at the
mercy of a battery of rifled guns. If the Secessionists attached any
value to the possession of Washington, they committed their greatest
error in not following up the victory of Bull Run.” On the same date,
the Secretary of War, Mr. Stanton, wrote as follows: “The capture of
Washington seems now to be inevitable; during the whole of Monday and
Tuesday [July 22 and 23] it might have been taken without resistance.
The rout, overthrow, and demoralisation of the whole army were
complete.”[11]
Of his own share in the battle, either at the time or afterwards,
Jackson said but little. A day or two after the battle an anxious crowd
was gathered round the post-office at Lexington, awaiting intelligence
from the front. A letter was handed to the Reverend Dr. White, who,
recognising the handwriting, exclaimed to the eager groups about him,
“Now we shall know all the facts.” On opening it he found the
following, and no more:
“My dear Pastor,—In my tent last night, after a fatiguing day’s
service, I remembered that I had failed to send you my contribution to
our coloured Sunday school. Enclosed you will find my check for that
object, which please acknowledge at your earliest convenience, and
oblige yours faithfully, T. J. Jackson.”
To his wife, however, he was less reserved. “Yesterday,” he wrote, we
“fought a great battle and gained a great victory, for which all the
glory is due to God alone. . . . Whilst great credit is due to other
parts of our gallant army, God made my brigade more instrumental than
any other in repulsing the main attack. This is for your information
only—say nothing about it. Let others speak praise, not myself.”
Again, on August 5: “And so you think the papers ought to say more
about your husband. My brigade is not a brigade of newspaper
correspondents. I know that the First Brigade was the first to meet and
pass our retreating forces—to push on with no other aid than the smiles
of God; to boldly take up its position with the artillery that was
under my command—to arrest the victorious foe in his onward progress—to
hold him in check until the reinforcements arrived—and finally to
charge bayonets, and, thus advancing, to pierce the enemy’s centre. I
am well satisfied with what it did, and so are my generals, Johnston
and Beauregard. It is not to be expected that I should receive the
credit that Generals Johnston and Beauregard would, because I was under
them; but I am thankful to my ever-kind Heavenly Father that He makes
me content to await His own good time and pleasure for
commendation—knowing that all things work together for my good. If my
brigade can always play so important and useful a part as it did in the
last battle, I trust I shall ever be most grateful. As you think the
papers do not notice me enough, I send a specimen, which you will see
from the upper part of the paper is a ‘leader.’ My darling, never
distrust our God, Who doeth all things well. In due time He will make
manifest all His pleasure, which is all His people should desire. You
must not be concerned at seeing other parts of the army lauded, and my
brigade not mentioned. Truth is mighty and will prevail. When the
official reports are published, if not before, I expect to see justice
done to this noble body of patriots.”[12]
These letters reveal a generous pride in the valour of his
troops, and a very human love of approbation struggles with the curb
which his religious principles had placed on his ambition. Like Nelson,
he felt perhaps that before long he would have “a Gazette of his own.”
But still, of his own achievements, of his skilful tactics, of his
personal behaviour, of his well-timed orders, he spoke no word, and the
victory was ascribed to a higher power. “The charge of the 2nd and 4th
Virginia,” he wrote in his modest report, “through the blessing of God,
Who gave us the victory, pierced the centre of the enemy.”[13]
And Jackson’s attitude was that of the Southern people. When the news
of Bull Run reached Richmond, and through the crowds that thronged the
streets passed the tidings of the victory, there was neither wild
excitement nor uproarious joy. No bonfires lit the darkness of the
night; no cannon thundered out salutes; the steeples were silent till
the morrow, and then were heard only the solemn tones that called the
people to prayer. It was resolved, on the day following the battle, by
the Confederate Congress: “That we recognise the hand of the Most High
God, the King of kings and Lord of lords, in the glorious victory with
which He has crowned our arms at Manassas, and that the people of these
Confederate States are invited, by appropriate services on the ensuing
Sabbath, to offer up their united thanksgivings and prayers for this
mighty deliverance.”
The spoils of Bull Run were large; 1,500 prisoners, 25 guns, ten stand
of colours, several thousand rifles, a large quantity of ammunition and
hospital stores, twenty-six waggons, and several ambulances were left
in the victors’ hands. The Federal losses were 460 killed and 1,124
wounded; the Confederate, 387 killed, 1,582 wounded, and 13 missing.
The First Brigade suffered more severely than any other in the Southern
army. Of 3,000 officers and men, 488 were killed or wounded, nearly a
fourth of the total loss.
A few days after the battle Johnston advanced to Centreville, and from
the heights above the broad Potomac his cavalry vedettes looked upon
the spires of Washington.
But it was in vain that the Confederate troopers rode to and fro on the
river bank and watered their horses within sight of the Capitol. The
enemy was not to be beguiled across the protecting stream. But it was
not from fear. Although the disaster had been as crushing as
unexpected, it was bravely met. The President’s demand for another army
was cheerfully complied with. Volunteers poured in from every State.
The men were no longer asked to serve for three months, but for three
years. Washington became transformed into an enormous camp; great
earthworks rose on the surrounding heights; and the training of the new
levies went steadily forward. There was no cry for immediate action.
Men were not wanting who believed that the task of coercion was
impossible. Able statesmen and influential journalists advised the
President to abandon the attempt. But Lincoln, true to the trust which
had been committed to his keeping, never flinched from his resolve that
the Union should be restored. He, too, stood like a wall between his
defeated legions and the victorious foe. Nor was the nation less
determined. The dregs of humiliation had been drained, and though the
draught was bitter it was salutary. The President was sustained with no
half-hearted loyalty. His political opponents raved and threatened; but
under the storm of recrimination the work of reorganising the army went
steadily forward, and the people were content that until the generals
declared the army fit for action the hour of vengeance should be
postponed.
To the South, Bull Run was a Pyrrhic victory. It relieved Virginia of
the pressure of the invasion; it proved to the world that the attitude
of the Confederacy was something more than the reckless revolt of a
small section; but it led the Government to indulge vain hopes of
foreign intervention, and it increased the universal contempt for the
military qualities of the Northern soldiers. The hasty judgment of the
people construed a single victory as proof of their superior capacity
for war, and the defeat of McDowell’s army was attributed to the
cowardice of his volunteers. The opinion was absolutely erroneous. Some
of the Federal regiments had misbehaved, it is true; seized with sudden
panic, to which all raw troops are peculiarly susceptible, they had
dispersed before the strong counterstroke of the Confederates. But the
majority had displayed a sterling courage. There can be little question
that the spirit of the infantry depends greatly on the staunchness of
the artillery. A single battery, pushed boldly forward into the front
of battle, has often restored the vigour of a wavering line. Although
the losses it inflicts may not be large, the moral effect of its
support is undeniable. So long as the guns hold fast victory seems
possible. But when these useful auxiliaries are driven back or captured
a general depression becomes inevitable. The retreat of the artillery
strikes a chill into the fighting line which is ominous of defeat, and
it is a wise regulation that compels the batteries, even when their
ammunition is exhausted, to stand their ground. The Federal infantry at
Bull Run had seen their artillery overwhelmed, the teams destroyed, the
gunners shot down, and the enemy’s riflemen swarming amongst the
abandoned pieces. But so vigorous had been their efforts to restore the
battle, that the front of the defence had been with difficulty
maintained; the guns, though they were eventually lost, had been
retaken; and without the assistance of their artillery, but exposed to
the fire, at closest range, of more than one battery, the Northern
regiments had boldly pushed forward across the Henry Hill. The
Confederates, during the greater part of the battle, were certainly
outnumbered; but at the close they were the stronger, and the piecemeal
attacks of the Federals neutralised the superiority which the invading
army originally possessed.
McDowell appears to have employed 18,000 troops in the attack; Johnston
and Beauregard about the same number.[14]
A comparison of the relative strength of the two armies, considering
that raw troops have a decided advantage on the defensive, detracts, to
a certain degree, from the credit of the victory; and it will hardly be
questioned that had
the tactics of the Federals been better the victory would have been
theirs. The turning movement by Sudley Springs was a skilful manœuvre,
and completely surprised both Johnston and Beauregard. It was
undoubtedly risky, but it was far less dangerous than a direct attack
on the strong position along Bull Run.
The retention of the Fourth Division between Washington and Centreville
would seem to have been a blunder; another 5,000 men on the field of
battle should certainly have turned the scale. But more men were hardly
wanted. The Federals during the first period of the fight were strong
enough to have seized the Henry Hill. Bee, Bartow, Evans, and Hampton
had been driven in, and Jackson alone stood fast. A strong and
sustained attack, supported by the fire of the regular batteries, must
have succeeded.[15] The Federal regiments, however, were practically
incapable of movement under fire. The least change of position broke
them into fragments; there was much wild firing; it was impossible to
manœuvre; and the courage of individuals proved a sorry substitute for
order and cohesion. The Confederates owed their victory simply and
solely to the fact that their enemies had not yet learned to use their
strength.
The summer months went by without further fighting on the Potomac; but
the camps at Fairfax and at Centreville saw the army of Manassas
thinned by furloughs and by sickness. The Southern youth had come out
for battle, and the monotonous routine of the outpost line and the
parade-ground was little to their taste. The Government dared not
refuse the numberless applications for leave of absence, the more so
that in the crowded camps the sultry heat of the Virginia woodlands
bred disease of a virulent type. The First Brigade seems to have
escaped from all these evils. Its commander found his health improved
by his life in the open air. His wound
had been painful. A finger was broken, but the hand was saved, and some
temporary inconvenience alone resulted. As he claimed no furlough for
himself, so he permitted no absence from duty among his troops. “I
can’t be absent,” he wrote to his wife, “as my attention is necessary
in preparing my troops for hard fighting, should it be required; and as
my officers and soldiers are not permitted to visit their wives and
families, I ought not to see mine. It might make the troops feel that
they are badly treated, and that I consult my own comfort, regardless
of theirs.”
In September his wife joined him for a few days at Centreville, and
later came Dr. White, at his invitation, to preach to his command.
Beyond a few fruitless marches to support the cavalry on the outposts,
of active service there was none. But Jackson was not the man to let
the time pass uselessly. He had his whole brigade under his hand, a
force which wanted but one quality to make it an instrument worthy of
the hand that wielded it, and that quality was discipline. Courage and
enthusiasm it possessed in abundance; and when both were untrained the
Confederate was a more useful soldier than the Northerner. In the South
nearly every man was a hunter, accustomed from boyhood to the use of
firearms. Game was abundant, and it was free to all. Sport in one form
or another was the chief recreation of the people, and their pastoral
pursuits left them much leisure for its indulgence. Every great
plantation had its pack of hounds, and fox-hunting, an heirloom from
the English colonists, still flourished. His stud was the pride of
every Southern gentleman, and the love of horse-flesh was inherent in
the whole population. No man walked when he could ride, and hundreds of
fine horsemen, mounted on steeds of famous lineage, recruited the
Confederate squadrons.
But, despite their skill with the rifle, their hunter’s craft, and
their dashing horsemanship, the first great battle had been hardly won.
The city-bred Northerners, unused to arms and uninured to hardship, had
fought with extraordinary determination; and the same want of
discipline that had driven them in rout to Washington had
dissolved the victorious Confederates into a tumultuous mob.[16] If
Jackson knew the worth of his volunteers, he was no stranger to their
shortcomings. His thoughts might be crystallised in the words of
Wellington, words which should never be forgotten by those nations
which depend for their defence on the services of their citizen
soldiery.
“They want,” said the great Duke, speaking of the Portuguese in 1809,
“the habits and the spirit of soldiers,—the habits of command on one
side, and of obedience on the other—mutual confidence between officers
and men.”
In order that during the respite now offered he might instil these
habits into his brigade, Jackson neither took furlough himself nor
granted it to others. His regiments were constantly exercised on the
parade-ground. Shoulder to shoulder they advanced and retired, marched
and countermarched, massed in column, formed line to front or flank,
until they learned to move as a machine, until the limbs obeyed before
the order had passed from ear to brain, until obedience became an
instinct and cohesion a necessity of their nature. They learned to
listen for the word of the officer, to look to him before they moved
hand or foot; and, in that subjection of their own individuality to the
will of their superior, they acquired that steadiness in battle, that
energy on the march, that discipline in quarters which made the First
Brigade worthy of the name it had already won. “Every officer and
soldier,” said their commander, “who is able to do duty ought to be
busily engaged in military preparation by hard drilling, in order that,
through the blessing of God, we may be victorious in the battles which
in His all-wise providence may await us.”
Jackson’s tactical ideas, as regards the fire of infantry, expressed at
this time, are worth recording. “I rather think,” he said, “that fire
by file [independent firing] is best on the whole, for it gives the
enemy an idea that the
fire is heavier than if it was by company or battalion (volley firing).
Sometimes, however, one may be best, sometimes the other, according to
circumstances. But my opinion is that there ought not to be much firing
at all. My idea is that the best mode of fighting is to reserve your
fire till the enemy get—or you get them—to close quarters. Then deliver
one deadly, deliberate fire—and charge!”
Although the newspapers did scant justice to the part played by the
brigade in the battle of Bull Run, Bee’s epithet survived, and Jackson
became known as Stonewall throughout the army. To one of his
acquaintances the general revealed the source of his composure under
fire. “Three days after the battle, hearing that Jackson was suffering
from his wound, I rode,” writes Imboden, “to his quarters near
Centreville. Of course the battle was the only topic discussed during
breakfast. ‘General,’ I remarked, ‘how is it that you can keep so cool,
and appear so utterly insensible to danger in such a storm of shell and
bullets as rained about you when your hand was hit?’ He instantly
became grave and reverential in his manner, and answered, in a low tone
of great earnestness: ‘Captain, my religious belief teaches me to feel
as safe in battle as in bed. God has fixed the time for my death. I do
not concern myself about that, but to be always ready, no matter when
it may overtake me.’ He added, after a pause, looking me full in the
face: ‘That is the way all men should live, and then all would be
equally brave.’”[17]
Although the war upon the borders had not yet touched the cities of the
South, the patriotism of Virginia saw with uneasiness the inroads of
the enemy in that portion of the State which lies beyond the
Alleghenies, especially the north-west. The country was overrun with
Federal soldiers, and part of the population of the district had
declared openly for the Union. In that district was Jackson’s
birth-place, the home of his childhood, and his mother’s grave. His
interest and his affections were bound by many ties to the country and
the people, and in
the autumn of 1861 he had not yet come to believe that they were at
heart disloyal to their native State. A vigorous effort, he believed,
might still restore to the Confederacy a splendid recruiting-ground,
and he made no secret of his desire for employment in that region. The
strategical advantages of this corner of Virginia were clearly
apparent, as will be seen hereafter, to his perception. Along its
western border runs the Ohio, a river navigable to its junction with
the Mississippi, and giving an easy line of communication into the
heart of Kentucky. Through its northern counties passed the Baltimore
and Ohio Railroad, the main line of communication between Washington
and the West; and alongside the railway ran the Chesapeake and Ohio
Canal, a second and most important line of supply. Above all,
projecting as it did towards the great lakes of the North, the
north-western angle, or Virginia Panhandle, narrowed the passage
between East and West to an isthmus not more than a hundred miles in
breadth. With this territory in the possession of the Confederates, the
Federal dominions would be practically cut in two; and in North-western
Virginia, traversed by many ranges of well-nigh pathless mountains,
with few towns and still fewer roads, a small army might defy a large
one with impunity.
Nov. 4 On November 4 Jackson’s wish was partially granted. He was
assigned to the command of the Shenandoah Valley District, embracing
the northern part of the area between the Alleghenies and the Blue
Ridge. The order was received with gratitude, but dashed by the fact
that he had to depart alone. “Had this communication,” he said to Dr.
White, “not come as an order, I should instantly have declined it, and
continued in command of my brave old brigade.”
Whether he or his soldiers felt the parting most it is hard to say.
Certain it is that the men had a warm regard for their leader. There
was no more about him at Centreville to attract the popular fancy than
there had been at Harper’s Ferry. When the troops passed in review the
eye of the spectator turned at once to the trim carriage of Johnston
and of Beauregard, to the glittering uniform of Stuart, to the superb
chargers and the martial bearing of young officers fresh from the
Indian frontier. The silent professor, absent and unsmiling, who
dressed as plainly as he lived, had little in common with those dashing
soldiers. The tent where every night the general and his staff gathered
together for their evening devotions, where the conversation ran not on
the merits of horse and hound, on strategy and tactics, but on the
power of faith and the mysteries of the redemption, seemed out of place
in an army of high-spirited youths. But, while they smiled at his
peculiarities, the Confederate soldiers remembered the fierce
counterstroke on the heights above Bull Run. If the Presbyterian
general was earnest in prayer, they knew that he was prompt in battle
and indefatigable in quarters. He had the respect of all men, and from
his own brigade he had something more. Very early in their service,
away by the rippling Shenandoah, they had heard the stories of his
daring in Mexico. They had experienced his skill and coolness at
Falling Waters; they had seen at Bull Run, while the shells burst in
never-ending succession among the pines, the quiet figure riding slowly
to and fro on the crest above them; they had heard the stern command,
“Wait till they come within fifty yards and then give them the
bayonet,” and they had followed him far in that victorious rush into
the receding ranks of their astonished foe.
Little wonder that these enthusiastic youths, new to the soldier’s
trade, should have been captivated by a nature so strong and fearless.
The Stonewall Brigade had made Jackson a hero, and he had won more from
them than their admiration. His incessant watchfulness for their
comfort and well-being; the patient care with which he instructed them;
his courtesy to the youngest private; the tact and thoughtfulness he
showed in all his relations with them, had won their affection. His
very peculiarities endeared him to them. Old Jack or Stonewall were his
nicknames in the lines of his own command, and stories went round the
camp fire of how he had been seen walking in the woods round
Centreville absorbed in prayer, or lifting
his left hand with that peculiar gesture which the men believed was an
appeal to Heaven, but which, in reality, was made to relieve the pain
of his wounded finger. But while they discussed his oddities, not a man
in the brigade but acknowledged his ability, and when the time came not
a man but regretted his departure.
His farewell to his troops was a striking scene. The forest, already
donning its gorgeous autumnal robes, shut in the grassy clearing where
the troops were drawn up. There stood the grey columns of the five
regiments, with the colours, already tattered, waving in the mild
November air. The general rode up, their own general, and not a sound
was heard. Motionless and silent they stood, a veritable stone wall,
whilst his eye ran along the ranks and scanned the familiar faces. “I
am not here to make a speech,” he said, “but simply to say farewell. I
first met you at Harper’s Ferry, at the commencement of the war, and I
cannot take leave of you without giving expression to my admiration of
your conduct from that day to this, whether on the march, in the
bivouac, or on the bloody plains of Manassas, where you gained the
well-deserved reputation of having decided the fate of battle.
“Throughout the broad extent of country through which you have marched,
by your respect for the rights and property of citizens, you have shown
that you are soldiers not only to defend, but able and willing both to
defend and protect. You have already won a brilliant reputation
throughout the army of the whole Confederacy; and I trust, in the
future, by your deeds in the field, and by the assistance of the same
kind Providence who has hitherto favoured our cause, you will win more
victories and add lustre to the reputation you now enjoy. You have
already gained a proud position in the future history of this our
second War of Independence. I shall look with great anxiety to your
future movements, and I trust whenever I shall hear of the First
Brigade on the field of battle, it will be of still nobler deeds
achieved, and higher reputation won!” Then there was a pause; general
and soldiers looked upon each other, and the heart of the leader
went out to those who had followed him with such devotion. He had
spoken his words of formal praise, but both he and they knew the bonds
between them were too strong to be thus coldly severed. For once he
gave way to impulse; his eye kindled, and rising in his stirrups and
throwing the reins upon his horse’s neck, he spoke in tones which
betrayed the proud memories that thronged upon him:—
“In the Army of the Shenandoah you were the First Brigade! In the Army
of the Potomac you were the First Brigade! In the Second Corps of the
army you are the First Brigade! You are the First Brigade in the
affections of your general, and I hope by your future deeds and bearing
you will be handed down to posterity as the First Brigade in this our
second War of Independence. Farewell!”
For a moment there was silence; then the pent-up feeling found
expression, and cheer upon cheer burst forth from the ranks of the
Valley regiments. Waving his hand in token of farewell, Jackson
galloped from the field.
NOTE I
THE TROOPS EMPLOYED ON THE HENRY HILL
FEDERAL
_First Division:_ TYLER
Brigade Keyes Brigade Sherman Brigade Shenck = 4,500
_Second Division:_ HUNTER
Brigade Porter Brigade Burnside = 6,000
_Third Division:_ HEINTZLEMAN
Brigade Franklin Brigade Wilcox Brigade Howard = 7,500
Total 18,000, and 30 guns.
CONFEDERATE
_Army of the Shenandoah_ [JOHNSTON]
Brigade Jackson Brigade Bee Brigade Bartow Brigade Kirby Smith =
8,700
_Army of the Potomac_ [BEAUREGARD]
Brigade Bonham Brigade Cocke Brigade Early 7th Louisiana Regiment 8th
Louisiana Regiment Hampton’s Legion Cavalry = 9,300
Total 18,000, and 21 guns.
NOTE II
THE COST OF AN INADEQUATE ARMY
Lord Wolseley has been somewhat severely criticised for asserting
that in the Civil War, “from first to last, the co-operation of
even one army corps (35,000 men) of regular troops would have given
complete victory to whichever side it fought on.” Whatever may be
argued as to the latter period of the conflict, it is impossible
for anyone who understands the power of organisation, of
discipline, of training, and of a proper system of command, to
dispute the accuracy of this statement as regards the year 1861,
that is, for the first eight months.
It is far too often assumed that the number of able-bodied men is
the true criterion of national strength. In the Confederate States,
for instance, there were probably 750,000 citizens who were liable
for service in the militia, and yet had the United States possessed
a single regular army corps, with a trained staff, an efficient
commissariat, and a fully-organised system of transport, it is
difficult to see how these 750,000 Southerners could have done more
than wage a guerilla warfare. The army corps would have absorbed
into itself the best of the Northern militia and volunteers; the
staff and commissariat would have given them mobility, and 60,000
or 70,000 men, moving on Richmond directly Sumter fell, with the
speed and certainty which organisation gives, would have marched
from victory to victory. Their 750,000 enemies would never have had
time to arm, to assemble, to organise, to create an army, to train
a staff, or to arrange for their supplies. Each gathering of
volunteers would have been swept away before it had attained
consistency, and Virginia, at least, must have been conquered in
the first few months.
And matters would have been no different if the army corps had been
directed against the Union. In the Northern States there were over
2,000,000 men who were liable for service; and yet the Union
States, notwithstanding their superior resources, were just as
vulnerable as the Confederacy. Numbers, even if they amount to
millions, are useless, and worse than useless, without training and
organisation; the more men that are collected on the battle-field,
the more crushing and far-reaching their defeat. Nor can the theory
be sustained that a small army, invading a rich and populous
country, would be “stung to death” by the numbers of its foes, even
if they dared not oppose it in the open field. Of what avail were
the stupendous efforts of the French Republic in 1870 and 1871?
Enormous armies were raised and equipped; the ranks were filled
with brave men; the generals were not unskilful; and yet time after
time they were defeated by the far inferior forces of their
seasoned enemies. Even in America itself, on two occasions, at
Sharpsburg in 1862, and at Gettysburg in 1863, it was admitted by
the North that the Southerners were “within a stone’s throw of
independence.” And yet hundreds of thousands of able-bodied
men had not yet joined the Federal armies. Nor can Spain be quoted as
an instance of an unconquerable nation. Throughout the war with
Napoleon the English armies, not only that under Wellington, but those
at Cadiz, Tarifa, and Gibraltar, afforded solid rallying-points for the
defeated Spaniards, and by a succession of victories inspired the whole
Peninsula with hope and courage.
The patriot with a rifle may be equal, or even superior, man for
man, to the professional soldier; but even patriots must be fed,
and to win victories they must be able to manœuvre, and to manœuvre
they must have leaders. If it could remain stationary, protected by
earthworks, and supplied by railways, with which the enemy did not
interfere, a host of hastily raised levies, if armed and equipped,
might hold its own against even a regular army. But against troops
which can manœuvre earthworks are useless, as the history of
Sherman’s brilliant operations in 1864 conclusively shows. To win
battles and to protect their country armies must be capable of
counter-manœuvre, and it is when troops are set in motion that the
real difficulty of supplying them begins.
If it is nothing else, the War of Secession, with its awful
expenditure of blood and treasure, is a most startling
object-lesson in National Insurance.
[1] Sherman’s _Memoirs,_ vol. i, p. 181.
[2] O.R., vol. ii, p. 324. McDowell’s Report.
[3] O.R., vol. ii, p. 324. McDowell’s Report.
[4] The rifles (muzzle-loaders) used throughout the war by both
Federals and Confederates compare as follows with more modern
weapons:—
_Sighted to_ _Effective range_
American
Needle-gun (1866 and 1870)
Chassepôt (1870)
Martini-Henry
Magazine 1,000 yards
660 yards
1,320 yards
2,100 yards
3,200 yards 250 yards
250 yards
350 yards
400 yards
600 yards
By effective range is meant the distance where, under ordinary
conditions, the enemy’s losses are sufficient to stop his advance. The
effective range of Brown Bess was about 60 yards. The American rifled
artillery was effective, in clear weather, at 2,000 yards, the
12-pounder smooth-bore at 1,600, the 6-pounder at 1,200.
[5] O.R., vol. ii, p. 505.
[6] Hunter and Heintzleman had 13,200 officers and men; Tyler, 12,000.
Bee and Barrow had 3200 officers and men; Hampton, 630; Jackson,
3,000.
[7] _Battles and Leaders,_ vol. i, p. 236.
[8] General Kirby Smith being severely wounded, the command of this
brigade devolved upon Colonel Elzey.
[9] Report of Captain Woodbury, U.S. Engineers, O.R., vol. ii, p. 334.
[10] General J. B. Fry, _Battles and Leaders,_ vol. i, p. 191.
[11] _McClellan’s Own Story,_ pp. 66, 67.
[12] Both Johnston and Beauregard, in their official reports, did full
justice to Jackson and his brigade.
[13] O.R., vol. ii, p. 482.
[14] For the strength of divisions and brigades, see the Note at the
end of the chapter.
[15] “Had an attack,” said General Johnston, “been made in force, with
double line of battle, such as any major-general in the United States
service would now make, we could not have held [the position] for half
an hour, for they would have enveloped us on both flanks.”—_Campaigns
of the Army of the Potomac,_ W. Swinton, p. 58.
[16] Colonel Williams, of the 5th Virginia, writes that the Stonewall
Brigade was a notable exception to the general disintegration, and
that it was in good condition for immediate service on the morning
after the battle.
[17] _Battles and Leaders,_ vol. i, pp. 122, 123.