KERNSTOWN
1862. Feb. 27 By the end of February a pontoon bridge had been thrown
across the Potomac at Harper’s Ferry, and Banks had crossed to the
Virginia shore. An army of 38,000 men, including 2,000 cavalry, and
accompanied by 80 pieces of artillery, threatened Winchester.
President Lincoln was anxious that the town should be occupied. Banks
believed that the opportunity was favourable. “The roads to
Winchester,” he wrote, “are turnpikes and in tolerable condition. The
enemy is weak, demoralised, and depressed.”
But McClellan, who held command of all the Federal forces, had no mind
to expose even a detachment to defeat. The main Confederate army at
Centreville could, at any moment, dispatch reinforcements by railway to
the Valley, reversing the strategic movement which had won Bull Run;
while the Army of the Potomac, held fast by the mud, could do nothing
to prevent it. Banks was therefore ordered to occupy the line
Charlestown to Martinsburg, some two-and-twenty miles from Winchester,
to cover the reconstruction of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, and to
accumulate supplies preparatory to a further advance. The troops,
however, did not approve such cautious strategy. “Their appetite for
work,” according to their commander, “was very sharp.” Banks himself
was not less eager. “If left to our own discretion,” he wrote to
McClellan’s chief of staff, “the general desire will be to move early.”
March 9 On March 7 General D. H. Hill, acting under instructions, fell
back from Leesburg, and two days later Johnston,
destroying the railways, abandoned Centreville. The Confederate
General-in-Chief had decided to withdraw to near Orange Court House,
trebling his distance from Washington, and surrendering much territory,
but securing, in return, important strategical advantages. Protected by
the Rapidan, a stream unfordable in spring, he was well placed to meet
a Federal advance, and also, by a rapid march, to anticipate any force
which might be transported by water and landed close to Richmond.
Jackson was now left isolated in the Valley. The nearest Confederate
infantry were at Culpeper Court House, beyond the Blue Ridge, nearly
sixty miles south-east. In his front, within two easy marches, was an
army just seven times his strength, at Romney another detachment of
several thousand men, and a large force in the Alleghanies. He was in
no hurry, however, to abandon Winchester.
Johnston had intended that when the main army fell back towards
Richmond his detachments should follow suit. Jackson found a loophole
in his instructions which gave him full liberty of action.
“I greatly desire,” he wrote to Johnston on March 8, “to hold this
place [Winchester] so far as may be consistent with your views and
plans, and am making arrangements, by constructing works, etc., to make
a stand. Though you desired me some time since to fall back in the
event of yourself and General Hill’s doing so, yet in your letter of
the 5th inst. you say, ‘Delay the enemy as long as you can;’ I have
felt justified in remaining here for the present.
“And now, General, that Hill has fallen back, can you not send him over
here? I greatly need such an officer; one who can be sent off as
occasion may offer against an exposed detachment of the enemy for the
purpose of capturing it. . . . I believe that if you can spare Hill,
and let him move here at once, you will never have occasion to regret
it. The very idea of reinforcements coming to Winchester would, I
think, be a damper to the enemy, in addition to the fine effect that
would be produced on our own troops, already in fine spirits. But if
you cannot spare
Hill, can you not send me some other troops? If we cannot be successful
in defeating the enemy should he advance, a kind Providence may enable
us to inflict a terrible wound and effect a safe retreat in the event
of having to fall back. I will keep myself on the alert with respect to
communications between us, so as to be able to join you at the earliest
possible moment, if such a movement becomes necessary.”[1]
This letter is characteristic. When Jackson asked for reinforcements
the cause of the South seemed well-nigh hopeless. Her Western armies
were retiring, defeated and demoralised. Several of her Atlantic towns
had fallen to the Federal navy, assisted by strong landing parties. The
army on which she depended for the defence of Richmond, yielding to the
irresistible presence of far superior numbers, was retreating into the
interior of Virginia. There was not the faintest sign of help from
beyond the sea. The opportunity for a great counterstroke had been
suffered to escape. Her forces were too small for aught but defensive
action, and it was difficult to conceive that she could hold her own
against McClellan’s magnificently appointed host. “Events,” said Davis
at this time, “have cast on our arms and hopes the gloomiest shadows.”
But from the Valley, the northern outpost of the Confederate armies,
where the danger was most threatening and the means of defence the most
inadequate, came not a whisper of apprehension. The troops that held
the border were but a handful, but Jackson knew enough of war to be
aware that victory does not always side with the big battalions.
Neither Johnston nor Davis had yet recognised, as he did, the weak
joint in the Federal harness. Why should the appearance of Hill’s
brigade at Winchester discourage Banks? Johnston had fallen back to the
Rapidan, and there was now no fear of the Confederates detaching troops
suddenly from Manassas. Why should the bare idea that reinforcements
were coming up embarrass the Federals?
The letter itself does not indeed supply a definite answer. Jackson was
always most guarded in his correspondence; and, if he could possibly
avoid it, he never
made the slightest allusion to the information on which his plans were
based. His staff officers, however, after the campaign was over, were
generally enlightened as to the motive of his actions, and we are thus
enabled to fill the gap.[2] Jackson demanded reinforcements for the one
reason that a blow struck near Winchester would cause alarm in
Washington. The communications of the Federal capital with both the
North and West passed through or close to Harper’s Ferry; and the
passage over the Potomac, which Banks was now covering, was thus the
most sensitive point in the invader’s front. Well aware, as indeed was
every statesman and every general in Virginia, of the state of public
feeling in the North, Jackson saw with more insight than others the
effect that was likely to be produced should the Government, the press,
and the people of the Federal States have reason to apprehend that the
capital of the Union was in danger.
If the idea of playing on the fears of his opponents by means of the
weak detachment under Jackson ever suggested itself to Johnston, he may
be forgiven if he dismissed it as chimerical. For 7,600 men[3] to
threaten with any useful result a capital which was defended by 250,000
seemed hardly within the bounds of practical strategy. Johnston had
nevertheless determined to turn the situation to account. In order to
protect the passages of the Upper Potomac, McClellan had been compelled
to disseminate his army. Between his main body south of Washington and
his right wing under Banks was a gap of fifty miles, and this
separation Johnston was determined should be maintained. The President,
to whom he had referred Jackson’s letter, was unable to spare the
reinforcements therein requested, and the defence of the Valley was
left to the 4,600 men encamped at Winchester. Jackson was permitted to
use his own judgment as to his own position, but something more was
required of him than the mere protection of a tract of territory. “He
was to endeavour to employ the invaders in the Valley without exposing
himself to the
danger of defeat, by keeping so near the enemy as to prevent his making
any considerable detachment to reinforce McClellan, but not so near
that he might be compelled to fight.”[4]
To carry out these instructions Jackson had at his disposal 3,600
infantry, 600 cavalry, and six batteries of 27 guns. Fortunately, they
were all Virginians, with the exception of one battalion, the First,
which was composed of Irish navvies.
This force, which had now received the title of the Army of the Valley,
was organised in three brigades:—
First Brigade (“Stonewall”):
Brigadier-General Garnett 2nd Virginia Regiment
4th Virginia Regiment
5th Virginia Regiment
27th Virginia Regiment
33rd Virginia Regiment
Second Brigade: Colonel Burks 21st Virginia Regiment
42nd Virginia Regiment
48th Virginia Regiment
1st Regular Battalion (Irish)
Third Brigade: Colonel Fulkerson 23rd Virginia Regiment
27th Virginia Regiment
McLaughlin’s Battery
Waters’ Battery
Carpenter’s Battery
Marye’s Battery
Shumaker’s Battery
Ashby’s Regiment of Cavalry
Chew’s Horse-Artillery Battery 8 guns
4 guns
4 guns
4 guns
4 guns
3 guns
The infantry were by this time fairly well armed and equipped, but the
field-pieces were mostly smoothbores of small calibre. Of the quality
of the troops Bull Run had been sufficient test. Side by side with the
sons of the old Virginia houses the hunters and yeomen of the Valley
had proved their worth. Their skill as marksmen had stood them in good
stead. Men who had been used from boyhood to shoot squirrels in the
woodland found the Federal soldier a target difficult to miss.
Skirmishing and patrolling came instinctively to those who had stalked
the deer and the bear in the mountain forests; and the simple hardy
life of an
agricultural community was the best probation for the trials of a
campaign. The lack of discipline and of competent regimental officers
might have placed them at a disadvantage had they been opposed to
regulars; but they were already half-broken to the soldier’s trade
before they joined the ranks. They were no strangers to camp and
bivouac, to peril and adventure; their hands could guard their heads.
Quick sight and steady nerve, unfailing vigilance and instant resolve,
the very qualities which their devotion to field-sports fostered, were
those which had so often prevailed in the war of the Revolution over
the mechanical tactics of well-disciplined battalions; and on ground
with which they were perfectly familiar the men of the Shenandoah were
formidable indeed.
They were essentially rough and ready. Their appearance would hardly
have captivated a martinet. The eye that lingers lovingly on glittering
buttons and spotless belts would have turned away in disdain from
Jackson’s soldiers. There was nothing bright about them but their
rifles. They were as badly dressed, and with as little regard for
uniformity, as the defenders of Torres Vedras or the Army of Italy in
1796. Like Wellington and Napoleon, the Confederate generals cared very
little what their soldiers wore so long as they did their duty. Least
of all can one imagine Stonewall Jackson exercising his mind as to the
cut of a tunic or the polish of a buckle. The only standing order in
the English army of the Peninsula which referred to dress forbade the
wearing of the enemy’s uniform. It was the same in the Army of the
Valley, although at a later period even this order was of necessity
ignored. As their forefathers of the Revolution took post in
Washington’s ranks clad in hunting shirts and leggings, so the
Confederate soldiers preferred the garments spun by their own women to
those supplied them by the State. Grey, of all shades, from light blue
to butter-nut, was the universal colour. The coatee issued in the early
days of the war had already given place to a short-waisted and
single-breasted jacket. The blue _képi_ held out longer. The soft felt
hat which experience soon proved the most serviceable head-dress had
not yet become universal. But the long boots had gone; and strong
brogans, with broad soles and low heels, had been found more
comfortable. Overcoats were soon discarded. “The men came to the
conclusion that the trouble of carrying them on hot days outweighed
their comfort when the cold day arrived. Besides, they found that life
in the open air hardened them to such an extent that changes in
temperature were hardly felt.”[5] Nor did the knapsack long survive.
“It was found to gall the back and shoulders and weary the man before
half the march was accomplished. It did not pay to carry around clean
clothes while waiting for the time to use them.”[6] But the men still
clung to their blankets and waterproof sheets, worn in a roll over the
left shoulder, and the indispensable haversack carried their whole kit.
Tents—except the enemy’s—were rarely seen. The Army of the Valley
generally bivouacked in the woods, the men sleeping in pairs, rolled in
their blankets and rubber sheets. The cooking arrangements were
primitive. A few frying-pans and skillets formed the culinary apparatus
of a company, with a bucket or two in addition, and the frying-pans
were generally carried with their handles stuck in the rifle-barrels!
The tooth-brush was a button-hole ornament, and if, as was sometimes
the case, three days’ rations were served out at a single issue, the
men usually cooked and ate them at once, so as to avoid the labour of
carrying them.
Such was Jackson’s infantry, a sorry contrast indeed to the soldierly
array of the Federals, with their complete appointments and trim blue
uniforms. But fine feathers, though they may have their use, are hardly
essential to efficiency in the field; and whilst it is absolutely true
that no soldiers ever marched with less to encumber them than the
Confederates, it is no empty boast that none ever marched faster or
held out longer.
If the artillery, with a most inferior equipment, was less efficient
than the infantry, the cavalry was an invaluable auxiliary. Ashby was
the _beau-idéal_ of a captain of light-horse. His reckless daring, both
across-country and under fire, made him the idol of the army. Nor was
his reputation confined to the Confederate ranks. “I think even our
men,” says a Federal officer, “had a kind of admiration for him, as he
sat unmoved upon his horse, and let them pepper away at him as if he
enjoyed it.” His one shortcoming was his ignorance of drill and
discipline. But in the spring of 1862 these deficiencies were in a fair
way of being rectified. He had already learned something of tactics. In
command of a few hundred mounted riflemen and a section of
horse-artillery he was unsurpassed; and if his men were apt to get out
of hand in battle, his personal activity ensured their strict attention
on the outposts. He thought little of riding seventy or eighty miles
within the day along his picket line, and it is said that he first
recommended himself to Jackson by visiting the Federal camps disguised
as a horse doctor. Jackson placed much dependence on his mounted
troops. Immediately he arrived in the Valley he established his cavalry
outposts far to the front. While the infantry were reposing in their
camps near Winchester, the south bank of the Potomac, forty miles
northward, was closely and incessantly patrolled. The squadrons never
lacked recruits. With the horse-loving Virginians the cavalry was the
favourite arm, and the strength of the regiments was only limited by
the difficulty of obtaining horses. To the sons of the Valley planters
and farmers Ashby’s ranks offered a most attractive career. The
discipline was easy, and there was no time for drill. But of excitement
and adventure there was enough and to spare. Scarcely a day passed
without shots being exchanged at one point or another of the picket
line. There were the enemy’s outposts to be harassed, prisoners to be
taken, bridges to be burnt, and convoys to be captured. Many were the
opportunities for distinction. Jackson demanded something more from his
cavalry than merely guarding the frontier. It was not sufficient for
him to receive warning that the enemy was advancing. He wanted
information from which he could deduce what he intended doing;
information of the strength of his garrisons, of the dispositions of
his camps, of every movement which took place beyond the river. The
cavalry had other and more dangerous duties than vedette and
escort. To penetrate the enemy’s lines, to approach his camps, and
observe his columns—these were the tasks of Ashby’s riders, and in
these they were unrivalled. Many of them were no more than boys; but
their qualifications for such a life were undeniable. A more gallant or
high-spirited body of young soldiers never welcomed the boot and
saddle. Their horses were their own, scions of good Virginian stock,
with the blood of many a well-known sire—Eclipse, Brighteyes, and
Timoleon—in their veins, and they knew how to care for them. They were
acquainted with every country lane and woodland track. They had friends
in every village, and their names were known to every farmer. The night
was no hindrance to them, even in the region of the mountain and the
forest. The hunter’s paths were as familiar to them as the turnpike
roads. They knew the depth and direction of every ford, and could
predict the effect of the weather on stream and track. More admirable
material for the service of intelligence could not possibly have been
found, and Ashby’s audacity in reconnaissance found ready imitators. A
generous rivalry in deeds of daring spread through the command. Bold
enterprises were succeeded by others yet more bold, and, to use the
words of a gentleman who, although he was a veteran of four years’
service, was but nineteen years of age when Richmond fell, “We thought
no more of riding through the enemy’s bivouacs than of riding round our
fathers’ farms.” So congenial were the duties of the cavalry, so
attractive the life and the associations, that it was no rare thing for
a Virginia gentleman to resign a commission in another arm in order to
join his friends and kinsmen as a private in Ashby’s ranks. And so
before the war had been in progress for many months the fame of the
Virginia cavalry rivalled that of their Revolutionary forbears under
Light-Horse Harry, the friend of Washington and the father of Lee.
But if the raw material of Jackson’s army was all that could be
desired, no less so was the material of the force opposed to him. The
regiments of Banks’ army corps were recruited as a rule in the Western
States; Ohio,
Indiana, and West Virginia furnished the majority. They too were
hunters and farmers, accustomed to firearms, and skilled in woodcraft.
No hardier infantry marched beneath the Stars and Stripes; the
artillery, armed with a proportion of rifled guns, was more efficient
than that of the Confederates; and in cavalry alone were the Federals
overmatched. In numbers the latter were far superior to Ashby’s
squadrons; in everything else they were immeasurably inferior.
Throughout the North horsemanship was practically an unknown art. The
gentlemen of New England had not inherited the love of their Ironside
ancestors for the saddle and the chase. Even in the forests of the West
men travelled by waggon and hunted on foot. “As cavalry,” says one of
Banks’ brigadiers, “Ashby’s men were greatly superior to ours. In reply
to some orders I had given, my cavalry commander replied, ‘I can’t
catch them, sir; they leap fences and walls like deer; neither our men
nor our horses are so trained.’”[7]
It was easy enough to fill the ranks of the Northern squadrons. Men
volunteered freely for what they deemed the more dashing branch of the
service, ignorant that its duties were far harder both to learn and to
execute than those of the other arms, and expecting, says a Federal
officer, that the regiment would be accompanied by an itinerant livery
stable! Both horses and men were recruited without the slightest
reference to their fitness for cavalry work. No man was rejected, no
matter what his size or weight, no matter whether he had ever had
anything to do with horseflesh or not, and consequently the proportion
of sick horses was enormous. Moreover, while the Southern troopers
generally carried a firearm, either rifle or shot-gun, some of the
Northern squadrons had only the sabre, and in a wooded country the
firearm was master of the situation. During the first two years of the
war, therefore, the Federal cavalry, generally speaking, were bad
riders and worse horse-masters, unable to move except upon the roads,
and as inefficient on reconnaissance as in action. For an invading
army, information, ample and accurate, is the first requisite.
Operating in a country which, almost invariably, must be better known
to the defenders, bold scouting alone will secure it from ambush and
surprise. Bold scouting was impossible with such mounted troops as
Banks possessed, and throughout the Valley campaign the Northern
general was simply groping in the dark.
But even had his cavalry been more efficient, it is doubtful whether
Banks would have profited. His appointment was political. He was an
ardent Abolitionist, but he knew nothing whatever of soldiering. He had
begun life as a hand in a cotton factory. By dint of energy and good
brains his rise had been rapid; and although, when the war broke out,
he was still a young man, he had been Governor of Massachusetts and
Speaker of the House of Representatives. What the President expected
when he gave him an army corps it is difficult to divine; what might
have been expected any soldier could have told him. To gratify an
individual, or perhaps to conciliate a political faction, the life of
many a private soldier was sacrificed. Lincoln, it is true, was by no
means solitary in the unwisdom of his selections for command. His rival
in Richmond, it is said, had a fatal penchant for his first wife’s
relations; his political supporters were constantly rewarded by
appointments in the field, and the worst disasters that befell the
Confederacy were due, in great part, to the blunders of officers
promoted for any other reason than efficiency. For Mr. Davis there was
little excuse. He had been educated at West Point. He had served in the
regular army of the United States, and had been Secretary of War at
Washington. Lincoln, on the other hand, knew nothing of war, beyond
what he had learned in a border skirmish, and very little of general
history. He had not yet got rid of the common Anglo-Saxon idea that a
man who has pluck and muscle is already a good soldier, and that the
same qualities which serve in a street-brawl are all that is necessary
to make a general. Nor were historical precedents wanting for the
mistakes of the American statesmen. In both the Peninsula and the
Crimea, lives, treasure, and prestige were as recklessly wasted as in
Virginia; and
staff officers who owed their positions to social influence alone,
generals, useless and ignorant, who succeeded to responsible command by
virtue of seniority and a long purse, were the standing curse of the
English army. At the same time, it may well be questioned whether some
of the regular officers would have done better than Banks. He was no
fool, and if he had not studied the art of war, there have been
barrack-square generals who have showed as much ignorance without
one-quarter his ability. Natural commonsense has often a better chance
of success than a rusty brain, and a mind narrowed by routine. After
serving in twenty campaigns Frederick the Great’s mules were still
mules. On this very theatre of war, in the forests beyond Romney, an
English general had led a detachment of English soldiers to a defeat as
crushing as it was disgraceful, and Braddock was a veteran of many
wars. Here, too, Patterson, an officer of Volunteers who had seen much
service, had allowed Johnston to slip away and join Beauregard on Bull
Run. The Northern people, in good truth, had as yet no reason to place
implicit confidence in the leading of trained soldiers. They had yet to
learn that mere length of service is no test whatever of capacity for
command, and that character fortified by knowledge is the only charm
which attracts success.
Jackson had already some acquaintance with Banks. During the Romney
expedition the latter had been posted at Frederick with 16,000 men, and
a more enterprising commander would at least have endeavoured to thwart
the Confederate movements. Banks, supine in his camps, made neither
threat nor demonstration. Throughout the winter, Ashby’s troopers had
ridden unmolested along the bank of the Potomac. Lander alone had
worried the Confederate outposts, driven in their advanced detachments,
and drawn supplies from the Virginian farms. Banks had been
over-cautious and inactive, and Jackson had not failed to note his
characteristics.
March 9 Up to March 9 the Federal general, keeping his cavalry in rear,
had pushed forward no farther than Charlestown and Bunker Hill. On that
day the news reached McClellan that the Confederates were preparing
to abandon Centreville. He at once determined to push forward his whole
army.
March 12 Banks was instructed to move on Winchester, and on the morning
of the 12th his leading division occupied the town.
Jackson had withdrawn the previous evening. Twice, on March 7 and again
on the 11th, he had offered battle.[8] His men had remained under arms
all day in the hope that the enemy’s advanced guard might be tempted to
attack. But the activity of Ashby’s cavalry, and the boldness with
which Jackson maintained his position, impressed his adversary with the
conviction that the Confederate force was much greater than it really
was. It was reported in the Federal camps that the enemy’s strength was
from 7,000 to 11,000 men, and that the town was fortified. Jackson’s
force did not amount to half that number, and, according to a Northern
officer, “one could have jumped over his intrenchments as easily as
Remus over the walls of Rome.”
Jackson abandoned Winchester with extreme reluctance. Besides being the
principal town in that section of the Valley, it was strategically
important to the enemy. Good roads led in every direction, and
communication was easy with Romney and Cumberland to the north-west,
and with Washington and Manassas to the south-east. Placed at
Winchester, Banks could support, or be supported by, the troops in West
Virginia or the army south of Washington. A large and fertile district
would thus be severed from the Confederacy, and the line of invasion
across the Upper Potomac completely blocked. Overwhelming as was the
strength of the Union force, exceeding his own by more than eight to
one, great as was the caution of the Federal leader, it was only an
unlucky accident that restrained Jackson from a resolute endeavour to
at least postpone the capture of the town. He had failed to induce the
enemy’s advanced guard to attack him in position. To attack himself, in
broad daylight, with such vast disproportion of numbers, was out of the
question. His resources, however, were not exhausted. After dark on the
12th, when his troops had left the town, he called a council,
consisting of General Garnett and the regimental commanders of the
Stonewall Brigade, and proposed a night attack on the Federal advance.
When the troops had eaten their supper and rested for some hours, they
were to march to the neighbourhood of the enemy, some four miles north
of Winchester, and make the attack before daylight. The Federal troops
were raw and inexperienced. Prestige was on the side of the
Confederates, and their morale was high. The darkness, the suddenness
and energy of the attack, the lack of drill and discipline, would all
tend to throw the enemy into confusion; and “by the vigorous use of the
bayonet, and the blessing of divine Providence,” Jackson believed that
he would win a signal victory. In the meantime, whilst the council was
assembling, he went off, booted and spurred, to make a hasty call on
Dr. Graham, whose family he found oppressed with the gloom that
overspread the whole town. “He was so buoyant and hopeful himself that
their drooping spirits were revived, and after engaging with them in
family worship, he retired, departing with a cheerful ‘Good evening,’
merely saying that he intended to dine with them the next day as
usual.”
When the council met, however, it was found that someone had blundered.
The staff had been at fault. The general had ordered his trains to be
parked immediately south of Winchester, but they had been taken by
those in charge to Kernstown and Newtown, from three to eight miles
distant, and the troops had been marched back to them to get their
rations.
Jackson learned for the first time, when he met his officers, that his
brigades, instead of being on the outskirts of Winchester, were already
five or six miles away. A march of ten miles would thus be needed to
bring them into contact with the enemy. This fact and the disapproval
of the council caused him to abandon his project.
Before following his troops he once more went back to Dr. Graham’s. His
cheerful demeanour during his previous visit, although he had been as
reticent as ever as to his plans, had produced a false impression, and
this he thought it his duty to correct. He explained his plans to his
friend, and as he detailed the facts which had induced him to change
them, he repeatedly expressed his reluctance to give up Winchester
without a blow. “With slow and desperate earnestness he said, ‘Let me
think—can I not yet carry my plan into execution?’ As he uttered these
words he grasped the hilt of his sword, and the fierce light that
blazed in his eyes revealed to his companion a new man. The next moment
he dropped his head and released his sword, with the words, ‘No, I must
not do it; it may cost the lives of too many brave men. I must retreat
and wait for a better time.’” He had learned a lesson. “Late in the
evening,” says the medical director of the Valley army, “we withdrew
from Winchester. I rode with the general as we left the place, and as
we reached a high point overlooking the town we both turned to look at
Winchester, now left to the mercy of the Federal soldiers. I think that
a man may sometimes yield to overwhelming emotion, and I was utterly
overcome by the fact that I was leaving all that I held dear on earth;
but my emotion was arrested by one look at Jackson. His face was fairly
blazing with the fire of wrath that was burning in him, and I felt awed
before him. Presently he cried out, in a tone almost savage, ‘That is
the last council of war I will ever hold!’”
March 18 On leaving Winchester Jackson fell back to Strasburg, eighteen
miles south. There was no immediate pursuit. Banks, in accordance with
his instructions, occupied the town, and awaited further orders. These
came on the 18th,[9] and Shields’ division of 11,000 men with 27 guns
was at once pushed on to Strasburg. Jackson had already withdrawn,
hoping to draw Banks up the Valley, and was now encamped near Mount
Jackson, a strong position twenty-five miles further south, the
indefatigable Ashby still skirmishing with the enemy. The unusual
audacity which prompted the Federal advance was probably due to the
fact that the exact strength of the Confederate force had been
ascertained in Winchester. At all events, all apprehension of attack
had vanished. Jackson’s 4,500 men were considered a _quantité
négligeable,_ a mere corps of observation; and not only was Shields
sent forward without support, but a large portion of Banks’ corps was
ordered to another field. Its _rôle_ as an independent force had
ceased. Its movements were henceforward to be subordinate to those of
the main army, and McClellan designed to bring it into closer
connection with his advance on Richmond. How his design was frustrated,
how he struggled in vain to correct the original dissemination of his
forces, how his right wing was held in a vice by Jackson, and how his
initial errors eventually ruined his campaign, is a strategical lesson
of the highest import.
From the day McClellan took command the Army of the Potomac had done
practically nothing. Throughout the winter troops had poured into
Washington at the rate of 40,000 a month. At the end of December there
were 148,000 men fit for duty. On March 20 the grand aggregate was
240,000.[10] But during the winter no important enterprise had been
undertaken. The colours of the rebels were still flaunting within sight
of the forts of Washington, and the mouth of the Potomac was securely
closed by Confederate batteries. With a mighty army at their service it
is little wonder that the North became restive and reproached their
general. It is doubtless true that the first thing needful was
organisation. To discipline and consolidate the army so as to make
success assured was unquestionably the wiser policy. The impatience of
a sovereign people, ignorant of war, is not to be lightly yielded to.
At the same time, the desire of a nation cannot be altogether
disregarded. A general who obstinately refuses to place himself in
accord with the political situation forfeits the confidence of his
employers and the cordial support of the Administration. The cry
throughout the North was for action. The President took
it upon himself to issue a series of orders. The army was ordered to
advance on February 22, a date chosen because it was Washington’s
birthday, just as the third and most disastrous assault on Plevna was
delivered on the “name-day” of the Czar. McClellan secured delay. His
plans were not yet ripe. The Virginia roads were still impassable. The
season was not yet sufficiently advanced for active operations, and
that his objections were well founded it is impossible to deny. The
prospect of success depended much upon the weather. Virginia, covered
in many places with dense forests, crossed by many rivers, and with
most indifferent communications, is a most difficult theatre of war,
and the amenities of the Virginian spring are not to be lightly faced.
Napoleon’s fifth element, “mud,” is a most disturbing factor in
military calculations. It is related that a Federal officer, sent out
to reconnoitre a road in a certain district of Virginia, reported that
the road was there, but that he guessed “the bottom had fallen out.”
Moreover, McClellan had reason to believe that the Confederate army at
Manassas was more than double its actual strength. His intelligence
department, controlled, not by a trained staff officer, but by a
well-known detective, estimated Johnston’s force at 115,000 men. In
reality, including the detachment on the Shenandoah, it at no time
exceeded 50,000. But for all this there was no reason whatever for
absolute inactivity. The capture of the batteries which barred the
entrance to the Potomac, the defeat of the Confederate detachments
along the river, the occupation of Winchester or of Leesburg, were all
feasible operations. By such means the impatience of the Northern
people might have been assuaged. A few successes, even on a small
scale, would have raised the _moral_ of the troops and have trained
them to offensive movements. The general would have retained the
confidence of the Administration, and have secured the respect of his
opponents. Jackson had set him the example. His winter expeditions had
borne fruit. The Federal generals opposed to him gave him full credit
for activity. “Much dissatisfaction was expressed by the troops,” says
one of Banks’ brigadiers, “that Jackson was permitted to
get away from Winchester without a fight, and but little heed was paid
to my assurances that this chieftain would be apt, before the war
closed, to give us an entertainment up to the utmost of our
aspirations.”[11]
It was not only of McClellan’s inactivity that the Government
complained. At the end of February he submitted a plan of operations to
the President, and with that plan Mr. Lincoln totally disagreed.
McClellan, basing his project on the supposition that Johnston had
100,000 men behind formidable intrenchments at Manassas, blocking the
road to Richmond, proposed to transfer 150,000 men to the Virginia
coast by sea; and landing either at Urbanna on the Rappahannock, or at
Fortress Monroe on the Yorktown peninsula, to intervene between the
Confederate army and Richmond, and possibly to capture the Southern
capital before Johnston could get back to save it.
The plan at first sight seemed promising. But in Lincoln’s eyes it had
this great defect: during the time McClellan was moving round by water
and disembarking his troops—and this, so few were the transports, would
take at least a month—Johnston might make a dash at Washington. The
city had been fortified. A cordon of detached forts surrounded it on a
circumference of thirty miles. The Potomac formed an additional
protection. But a cordon of isolated earthworks does not appeal as an
effective barrier to the civilian mind, and above Point of Rocks the
great river was easy of passage. Even if Washington were absolutely
safe from a _coup de main,_ Lincoln had still good reason for
apprehension. The Union capital was merely the seat of government. It
had no commercial interests. With a population of but 20,000, it was of
no more practical importance than Windsor or Versailles. Compared with
New York, Pittsburg, or Philadelphia, it was little more than a
village. But, in the regard of the Northern people, Washington was the
centre of the Union, the keystone of the national existence. The
Capitol, the White House, the Treasury, were symbols as sacred to the
States as the colours
to a regiment.[12] If the nation was set upon the fall of Richmond, it
was at least as solicitous for the security of its own chief city, and
an administration that permitted that security to be endangered would
have been compelled to bow to the popular clamour. The extraordinary
taxation demanded by the war already pressed heavily on the people.
Stocks were falling rapidly, and the financial situation was almost
critical. It is probable, too, that a blow at Washington would have
done more than destroy all confidence in the Government. England and
France were chafing under the effects of the blockade. The marts of
Europe were hungry for cotton. There was much sympathy beyond seas with
the seceded States; and, should Washington fall, the South, in all
likelihood, would be recognised as an independent nation. Even if the
Great Powers were to refuse her active aid in the shape of fleets and
armies, she would at least have access to the money markets of the
world; and it was possible that neither England nor France would endure
the closing of her ports. With the breaking of the blockade, money,
munitions, and perhaps recruits, would be poured into the Confederacy,
and the difficulty of reconquest would be trebled. The dread of foreign
interference was, therefore, very real; and Lincoln, foreseeing the
panic that would shake the nation should a Confederate army cross the
Potomac at Harper’s Ferry or Point of Rocks, was quite justified in
insisting on the security of Washington being placed beyond a doubt. He
knew, as also did Jackson, that even a mere demonstration against so
vital a point might have the most deplorable effect. Whatever line of
invasion, he asked, might be adopted, let it be one that would cover
Washington.
Lincoln’s remonstrances, however, had no great weight with McClellan.
The general paid little heed to the political situation. His chief
argument in favour of the expedition by sea had been the strength of
the fortifications at Manassas. Johnston’s retreat on March 9 removed
this obstacle from
his path; but although he immediately marched his whole army in
pursuit, he still remained constant to his favourite idea. The road to
Richmond from Washington involved a march of one hundred miles, over a
difficult country, with a single railway as the line of supply. The
route from the coast, although little shorter, was certainly easier.
Fortress Monroe had remained in Federal hands. Landing under the
shelter of its guns, he would push forward, aided by the navy, to West
Point, the terminus of the York River Railroad, within thirty miles of
Richmond, transporting his supplies by water. Washington, with the
garrison he would leave behind, would in his opinion be quite secure.
The Confederates would be compelled to concentrate for the defence of
their capital, and a resolute endeavour on their part to cross the
Potomac was forbidden by every rule of strategy. Had not Johnston, in
his retreat, burnt the railway bridges? Could there be a surer
indication that he had no intention of returning?
Such was McClellan’s reasoning, and, putting politics aside, it was
perfectly sound. Lincoln reluctantly yielded, and on March 17 the Army
of the Potomac, withdrawing by successive divisions from Centreville to
Alexandria, began its embarkation for the Peninsula, the region, in
McClellan’s words, “of sandy roads and short land transportation.”[13]
The vessels assembled at Alexandria could only carry 10,000 men, thus
involving at least fifteen voyages to and fro. Yet the
Commander-in-Chief was full of confidence. To the little force in the
Shenandoah Valley, flying southward before Shields, he gave no thought.
It would have been nothing short of miraculous had he even suspected
that 4,500 men, under a professor of the higher mathematics, might
bring to naught the operations of his gigantic host. Jackson was not
even to be followed. Of Banks’ three divisions, Shields’, Sedgwick’s,
and Williams’, that of Shields alone was considered sufficient to
protect Harper’s Ferry, the Baltimore and Ohio Railway, and the
Chesapeake Canal.[14] Banks, with the remainder of his army, was to
move at once to Manassas, and cover the approaches
to Washington east of the Blue Ridge. Sedgwick had already been
detached to join McClellan; and on March 20 Williams’ division began
its march towards Manassas, while Shields fell back on Winchester.
[Illustration: The situation on the night of March 21st, 1862.]
March 21 On the evening of the 21st Ashby reported to Jackson that the
enemy was retreating, and information came to hand that a long train of
waggons, containing the baggage of 12,000 men, had left Winchester for
Castleman’s Ferry on the Shenandoah. Further reports indicated that
Banks’ whole force was moving eastward, and Jackson, in accordance with
his instructions to hold the enemy in the Valley, at once pushed
northward.[15]
March 22 On the 22nd, Ashby, with 280 troopers and 3 horse-artillery
guns, struck Shields’ pickets about a mile south of Winchester. A
skirmish ensued, and the presence of infantry, a battery, and some
cavalry, was ascertained. Shields, who was wounded during the
engagement by a shell, handled his troops ably. His whole division was
in the near neighbourhood, but carefully concealed, and Ashby reported
to Jackson that only four regiments of infantry, besides the guns and
cavalry, remained at Winchester. Information obtained from the
townspeople within the Federal lines confirmed the accuracy of his
estimate. The enemy’s main body, he was told, had already marched, and
the troops which had opposed him were under orders to move to Harper’s
Ferry the next morning.
March 23 On receipt of this intelligence Jackson hurried forward from
his camp near Woodstock, and that night reached Strasburg. At dawn on
the 23rd four companies were despatched to reinforce Ashby; and under
cover of this advanced guard the whole force followed in the direction
of Kernstown, a tiny village, near which the Federal outposts were
established. At one o’clock the three brigades, wearied by a march of
fourteen miles succeeding one of twenty-two on the previous day,
arrived
upon the field of action. The ranks, however, were sadly weakened, for
many of the men had succumbed to their unusual exertions. Ashby still
confronted the enemy; but the Federals had developed a brigade of
infantry, supported by two batteries and several squadrons, and the
Confederate cavalry were slowly giving ground. On reaching the field
Jackson ordered the troops to bivouac. “Though it was very desirable,”
he wrote, “to prevent the enemy from leaving the Valley, yet I deemed
it best not to attack until morning.” An inspection of the ground,
however, convinced him that delay was impracticable. “Ascertaining,” he
continued, “that the Federals had a position from which our forces
could be seen, I concluded that it would be dangerous to postpone the
attack until next day, as reinforcements might be brought up during the
night.”[16] Ashby was directed to detach half his cavalry[17] under
Major Funsten in order to cover the left flank; and Jackson,
ascertaining that his men were in good spirits at the prospect of
meeting the enemy, made his preparations for fighting his first battle.
The position occupied by the Federals was by no means ill-adapted for
defence. The country round Winchester, and indeed throughout the Valley
of the Shenandoah, resembles in many of its features an English
landscape. Low ridges, covered with open woods of oak and pine,
overlook green pastures and scattered copses; and the absence of
hedgerows and cottages gives a park-like aspect to the broad acres of
rich blue grass. But the deep lanes and hollow roads of England find
here no counterpart. The tracks are rough and rude, and even the pikes,
as the main thoroughfares are generally called, are flush with the
fields on either hand. The traffic has not yet worn them to a lower
level, and Virginia road-making despises such refinements as cuttings
or embankments. The highways, even the Valley pike itself, the great
road which is inseparably linked with the fame of Stonewall Jackson
and his brigade, are mere ribbons of metal laid on swell and swale.
Fences of the rudest description, zigzags of wooden rails, or walls of
loose stone, are the only boundaries, and the land is parcelled out in
more generous fashion than in an older and more crowded country. More
desirable ground for military operations it would be difficult to find.
There are few obstacles to the movement of cavalry and artillery, while
the woods and undulations, giving ample cover, afford admirable
opportunities for skilful manœuvre. In the spring, however, the
condition of the soil would be a drawback. At the date of the battle
part of the country round Kernstown was under plough, and the whole was
saturated with moisture. Horses sank fetlock-deep in the heavy meadows,
and the rough roads, hardly seen for mud, made marching difficult.
The Federal front extended on both sides of the Valley turnpike. To the
east was a broad expanse of rolling grassland, stretching away to the
horizon; to the west a low knoll, crowned by a few trees, which goes by
the name of Pritchard’s Hill. Further north was a ridge, covered with
brown woods, behind which lies Winchester. This ridge, nowhere more
than 100 feet in height, runs somewhat obliquely to the road in a
south-westerly direction, and passing within a mile and a half of
Pritchard’s Hill, sinks into the plain three miles south-west of
Kernstown. Some distance beyond this ridge, and separated from it by
the narrow valley of the Opequon, rise the towering bluffs of the North
Mountain, the western boundary of the Valley, sombre with forest from
base to brow.
On leaving Winchester, Williams’ division had struck due east, passing
through the village of Berryville, and making for Snicker’s Gap in the
Blue Ridge. The Berryville road had thus become of importance to the
garrison of Winchester, for it was from that direction, if they should
become necessary, that reinforcements would arrive. General Kimball,
commanding in Shields’ absence the division which confronted Ashby, had
therefore posted the larger portion of his troops eastward of the pike.
A strong force of infantry, with waving colours, was plainly visible to
the Confederates, and it was seen that the extreme left was protected
by several guns. On the right of the road was a line of skirmishers,
deployed along the base of Pritchard’s Hill, and on the knoll itself
stood two batteries. The wooded ridge to westward was as yet
unoccupied, except by scouting parties.
Jackson at once determined to turn the enemy’s right. An attack upon
the Federal left would have to be pushed across the open fields and
decided by fair fighting, gun and rifle against gun and rifle, and on
that flank the enemy was prepared for battle. Could he seize the wooded
ridge on his left, the initiative would be his. His opponent would be
compelled to conform to his movements. The advantages of a carefully
selected position would be lost. Instead of receiving attack where he
stood, the Federal general would have to change front to meet it, to
execute movements which he had possibly not foreseen, to fight on
ground with which he was unfamiliar; and, instead of carrying out a
plan which had been previously thought out, to conceive a new one on
the spur of the moment, and to issue immediate orders for a difficult
operation. Hesitation and confusion might ensue; and in place of a
strongly established line, confidently awaiting the advance, isolated
regiments, in all the haste and excitement of rapid movement, or
hurriedly posted in unfavourable positions, would probably oppose the
Confederate onset. Such are the advantages which accrue to the force
which delivers an attack where it is not expected; and, to all
appearance, Jackson’s plan of battle promised to bring them into play
to the very fullest extent. The whole force of the enemy, as reported
by Ashby, was before him, plainly visible. To seize the wooded ridge,
while the cavalry held the Federals fast in front; to pass beyond
Pritchard’s Hill, and to cut the line of retreat on Winchester, seemed
no difficult task. The only danger was the possibility of a
counterstroke while the Confederates were executing their turning
movement. But the enemy, so far as Jackson’s information went, was
rapidly withdrawing from the Valley. The force confronting him was no
more than a rear-guard; and it was improbable in
the extreme that a mere rear-guard would involve itself in a desperate
engagement. The moment its line of retreat was threatened it would
probably fall back. To provide, however, against all emergencies,
Colonel Burks’ brigade of three battalions was left for the present in
rear of Kernstown, and here, too, remained four of the field batteries.
With the remainder of his force, two brigades of infantry and a
battery, Jackson moved off to his left. Two companies of the 5th
Virginia were recruited from Winchester. Early in the day the general
had asked the regiment for a guide familiar with the locality; and,
with the soldier showing the way, the 27th Virginia, with two of
Carpenter’s guns as advanced guard, struck westward by a waggon track
across the meadows, while Ashby pressed the Federals in front of
Kernstown.
3.45 p.m. The main body followed in two parallel columns, and the line
of march soon brought them within range of the commanding batteries on
Pritchard’s Hill.[18] At a range of little more than a mile the enemy’s
gunners poured a heavy fire on the serried ranks, and Carpenter,
unlimbering near the Opequon Church, sought to distract their aim.
The Confederate infantry, about 2,000 all told, although moving in
mass, and delayed by fences and marshy ground, passed unscathed under
the storm of shell, and in twenty minutes the advanced guard had seized
the wooded ridge.
Finding a rocky clearing on the crest, about a mile distant from
Pritchard’s Hill, Jackson sent back for the artillery. Three batteries,
escorted by two of Burke’s battalions, the 21st Virginia and the
Irishmen, pushed across the level as rapidly as the wearied teams could
move. Two guns were dismounted by the Federal fire; but, coming into
action on the ridge, the remainder engaged the hostile batteries with
effect. Meanwhile, breaking their way through the ragged undergrowth of
the bare March woods, the infantry, in two lines, was pressing forward
along the
ridge. On the right was the 27th Virginia, supported by the 21st; on
the left, Fulkerson’s two battalions, with the Stonewall Brigade in
second line. The 5th Virginia remained at the foot of the ridge near
Macauley’s cottage, in order to connect with Ashby. Jackson’s tactics
appeared to be succeeding perfectly. A body of cavalry and infantry,
posted behind Pritchard’s Hill, was seen to be withdrawing, and the
fire of the Federal guns was visibly weakening.
4.30 p.m. Suddenly, in the woods northward of the Confederate
batteries, was heard a roar of musketry, and the 27th Virginia came
reeling back before the onslaught of superior numbers. But the 21st was
hurried to their assistance; the broken ranks rallied from their
surprise; and a long line of Federal skirmishers, thronging through the
thickets, was twice repulsed by the Southern marksmen.[19]
Fulkerson, further to the left, was more fortunate than the 27th.
Before he began his advance along the ridge he had deployed his two
battalions under cover, and when the musketry broke out on his right
front, they were moving forward over an open field. Half-way across the
field ran a stone wall or fence, and beyond the wall were seen the
tossing colours and bright bayonets of a line of battle, just emerging
from the woods. Then came a race for the wall, and the Confederates
won. A heavy fire, at the closest range, blazed out in the face of the
charging Federals, and in a few moments the stubble was strewn with
dead and wounded. A Pennsylvania regiment, leaving a colour on the
field, gave way in panic, and the whole of the enemy’s force retreated
to the shelter of the woods. An attempt to turn Jackson’s left was then
easily frustrated; and although the Federals maintained a heavy fire,
Fulkerson’s men held stubbornly to the wall.
In the centre of the field the Northern riflemen were sheltered by a
bank; their numbers continually increased,
and here the struggle was more severe. The 4th and 33rd Virginia
occupied this portion of the line, and they were without support, for
the 2nd Virginia and the Irish battalion, the last available reserves
upon the ridge, had been already sent forward to reinforce the right.
The right, too, was hardly pressed. The Confederate infantry had
everywhere to do with superior numbers, and the artillery, in that
wooded ground, could lend but small support. The batteries protected
the right flank, but they could take no share in the struggle to the
front; and yet, as the dusk came on, after two long hours of battle,
the white colours of the Virginia regiments, fixed fast amongst the
rocks, still waved defiant. The long grey line, “a ragged spray of
humanity,” plied the ramrod with still fiercer energy, and pale women
on the hills round Winchester listened in terror to the crashing echoes
of the leafless woods. But the end could not be long delayed.
Ammunition was giving out. Every company which had reached the ridge
had joined the fighting line. The ranks were thinning. Many of the
bravest officers were down, and the Northern regiments, standing
staunchly to their work, had been strongly reinforced.
Ashby for once had been mistaken. It was no rearguard that barred the
road to Winchester, but Shields’ entire division, numbering at least
9,000 men. A prisoner captured the day before had admitted that the
Confederates were under the impression that Winchester had been
evacuated, and that Jackson had immediately moved forward. Shields, an
able officer, who had commanded a brigade in Mexico, saw his
opportunity. He knew something of his opponent, and anticipating that
he would be eager to attack, had ordered the greater part of his
division to remain concealed. Kimball’s brigade and five batteries were
sent quietly, under cover of the night, to Pritchard’s Hill. Sullivan’s
brigade was posted in support, hidden from view behind a wood. The
cavalry and Tyler’s brigade were held in reserve, north of the town, at
a distance where they were not likely to be observed by the
inhabitants. As soon as the Confederates came in sight, and Kimball
deployed across the pike, Tyler was brought
through the town and placed in rear of Sullivan, at a point where the
road dips down between two parallel ridges. Shields himself, wounded in
the skirmish of the preceding day, was not present at the action,
although responsible for these dispositions, and the command had
devolved on Kimball. That officer, when Jackson’s design became
apparent, ordered Tyler to occupy the wooded ridge; and it was his five
regiments, over 3,000 strong, which had struck so strongly at the
Confederate advance. But although superior in numbers by a third, they
were unable to make headway. Kimball, however, rose to the situation
before it was too late. Recognising that Ashby’s weak attack was
nothing more than a demonstration, he hurried nearly the whole of his
own brigade, followed by three battalions of Sullivan’s, to Tyler’s
aid, leaving a couple of battalions and the artillery to hold the pike.
“The struggle,” says Shields, “had been for a short time doubtful,”[20]
but this reinforcement of 3,000 bayonets turned the scale. Jackson had
ordered the 5th and 42nd Virginia to the ridge, and a messenger was
sent back to hurry forward the 48th. But it was too late. Before the
5th could reach the heights the centre of the Confederate line was
broken. Garnett, the commander of the Stonewall Brigade, without
referring to the general, who was in another part of the field, had
given the order to fall back. Fulkerson, whose right was now uncovered,
was obliged to conform to the rearward movement, and moving across from
Pritchard’s Hill, two Federal regiments, despite the fire of the
Southern guns, made a vigorous attack on Jackson’s right. The whole
Confederate line, long since dissolved into a crowd of skirmishers, and
with the various regiments much mixed up, fell back, still fighting,
through the woods. Across the clearing, through the clouds of smoke,
came the Northern masses in pursuit. On the extreme right a hot fire of
canister, at a range of two hundred and fifty yards, drove back the
troops that had come from Pritchard’s Hill; but on the wooded ridge
above the artillery was unable to hold its own. The enemy’s riflemen
swarmed in the thickets,
and the batteries fell back. As they limbered up one of the
six-pounders was overturned. Under a hot fire, delivered at not more
than fifty paces distant, the sergeant in charge cut loose the three
remaining horses, but the gun was abandoned to the enemy.
Jackson, before the Federal reinforcements had made their presence
felt, was watching the progress of the action on the left. Suddenly, to
his astonishment and wrath, he saw the lines of his old brigade falter
and fall back. Galloping to the spot he imperatively ordered Garnett to
hold his ground, and then turned to restore the fight. Seizing a
drummer by the shoulder, he dragged him to a rise of ground, in full
view of the troops, and bade him in curt, quick tones, to “Beat the
rally!” The drum rolled at his order, and with his hand on the
frightened boy’s shoulder, amidst a storm of balls, he tried to check
the flight of his defeated troops. His efforts were useless. His
fighting-line was shattered into fragments; and although, according to
a Federal officer, “many of the brave Virginians lingered in rear of
their retreating comrades, loading as they slowly retired, and rallying
in squads in every ravine and behind every hill—or hiding singly among
the trees,”[21] it was impossible to stay the rout. The enemy was
pressing forward in heavy force, and their shouts of triumph rang from
end to end of the field of battle. No doubt remained as to their
overwhelming numbers, and few generals but would have been glad enough
to escape without tempting fortune further.
It seemed almost too late to think of even organising a rear-guard. But
Jackson, so far from preparing for retreat, had not yet ceased to think
of victory. The 5th and 42nd Virginia were coming up, a compact force
of 600 bayonets, and a vigorous and sudden counterstroke might yet
change the issue of the day. The reinforcements, however, had not yet
come in sight, and galloping back to meet them he found that instead of
marching resolutely against the enemy, the two regiments had taken post
to the rear, on the crest of a wooded swell, in order to cover the
retreat. On his way to the front the colonel of the 5th Virginia had
received an order from Garnett instructing him to occupy a position
behind which the fighting-line might recover its formation. Jackson was
fain to acquiesce; but the fighting-line was by this time scattered
beyond all hope of rallying; the opportunity for the counterstroke had
passed away, and the battle was irretrievably lost.
Arrangements were quickly made to enable the broken troops to get away
without further molestation. A battery was ordered to take post at the
foot of the hill, and Funsten’s cavalry was called up from westward of
the ridge. The 42nd Virginia came into line on the right of the 5th,
and covered by a stone wall and thick timber, these two small
regiments, encouraged by the presence of their commander, held stoutly
to their ground. The attack was pressed with reckless gallantry. In
front of the 5th Virginia the colours of the 5th Ohio changed hands no
less than six times, and one of them was pierced by no less than
eight-and-forty bullets. The 84th Pennsylvania was twice repulsed and
twice rallied, but on the fall of its colonel retreated in confusion.
The left of the 14th Indiana broke; but the 13th Indiana now came up,
and “inch by inch,” according to their commanding officer, the
Confederates were pushed back. The 5th Virginia was compelled to give
way before a flanking fire; but the colonel retired the colours to a
short distance, and ordered the regiment to re-form on them. Again the
heavy volleys blazed out in the gathering twilight, and the sheaves of
death grew thicker every moment on the bare hillside. But still the
Federals pressed on, and swinging round both flanks, forced the
Confederate rear-guard from the field, while their cavalry, moving up
the valley of the Opequon, captured several ambulances and cut off some
two or three hundred fugitives.
As the night began to fall the 5th Virginia, retiring steadily towards
the pike, filed into a narrow lane, fenced by a stone wall, nearly a
mile distant from their last position, and there took post for a final
stand. Their left was commanded by the ridge, and on the heights in the
rear, coming up from the Opequon valley, appeared a large mass of
Northern cavalry. It was a situation sufficiently
uncomfortable. If the ground was too difficult for the horsemen to
charge over in the gathering darkness, a volley from their carbines
could scarcely have failed to clear the wall. “A single ramrod,” it was
said in the Confederate ranks, “would have spitted the whole
battalion.” But not a shot was fired. The pursuit of the Federal
infantry had been stayed in the pathless woods, the cavalry was held in
check by Funsten’s squadrons, and the 5th was permitted to retire
unmolested.
[Illustration: Map of the Battle of Kernstown, Sunday, March 23rd,
1862.]
The Confederates, with the exception of Ashby, who halted at
Bartonsville, a farm upon the pike, a mile and a half from the field of
battle, fell back to Newtown, three miles further south, where the
trains had been parked. The men were utterly worn out. Three hours of
fierce fighting against far superior numbers had brought them to the
limit of their endurance. “In the fence corners, under the trees, and
around the waggons they threw themselves down, many too weary to eat,
and forgot, in profound slumber, the trials, the dangers, and the
disappointments of the day.”[22]
Jackson, when the last sounds of battle had died away, followed his
troops. Halting by a camp-fire, he stood and warmed himself for a time,
and then, remounting, rode back to Bartonsville. Only one staff
officer, his chief commissary, Major Hawks, accompanied him. The rest
had dropped away, overcome by exhaustion. “Turning from the road into
an orchard, he fastened up his horse, and asked his companion if he
could make a fire, adding, ‘We shall have to burn fence-rails
to-night.’ The major soon had a roaring fire, and was making a bed of
rails, when the general wished to know what he was doing. ‘Finding a
place to sleep,’ was the reply. ‘You seem determined to make yourself
and those around you comfortable,’ said Jackson. And knowing the
general had fasted all day, he soon obtained some bread and meat from
the nearest squad of soldiers, and after they had satisfied their
hunger, they slept soundly on the rail-bed in a fence-corner.”
Such was the battle of Kernstown, in which over
1,200 men were killed and wounded, the half of them Confederates. Two
or three hundred prisoners fell into the hands of the Federals. Nearly
one-fourth of Jackson’s infantry was _hors de combat,_ and he had lost
two guns. His troops were undoubtedly depressed. They had anticipated
an easy victory; the overwhelming strength of the Federals had
surprised them, and their losses had been severe. But no regret
disturbed the slumbers of their leader. He had been defeated, it was
true; but he looked further than the immediate result of the
engagement. “I feel justified in saying,” he wrote in his short report,
“that, though the battle-field is in the possession of the enemy, yet
the most essential fruits of the victory are ours.” As he stood before
the camp-fire near Newtown, wrapped in his long cloak, his hands behind
his back, and stirring the embers with his foot, one of Ashby’s
youngest troopers ventured to interrupt his reverie. “The Yankees don’t
seem willing to quit Winchester, General!” “Winchester is a very
pleasant place to stay in, sir!” was the quick reply. Nothing daunted,
the boy went on: “It was reported that they were retreating, but I
guess they’re retreating after us.” With his eyes still fixed on the
blazing logs: “I think I may say I am satisfied, sir!” was Jackson’s
answer; and with no further notice of the silent circle round the fire,
he stood gazing absently into the glowing flames. After a few minutes
the tall figure turned away, and without another word strode off into
the darkness.
That Jackson divined the full effect of his attack would be to assert
too much. That he realised that the battle, though a tactical defeat,
was strategically a victory is very evident. He knew something of
Banks, he knew more of McClellan, and the bearing of the Valley on the
defence of Washington had long been uppermost in his thoughts. He had
learned from Napoleon to throw himself into the spirit of his enemy,
and it is not improbable that when he stood before the fire near
Newtown he had already foreseen, in some degree at least, the events
that would follow the news of his attack at Kernstown.
The outcome of the battle was indeed far-reaching. “Though the battle
had been won,” wrote Shields, “still I could not have believed that
Jackson would have hazarded a decisive engagement, so far from the main
body, without expecting reinforcements; so, to be prepared for such a
contingency, I set to work during the night to bring together all the
troops within my reach. I sent an express after Williams’ division,
requesting the rear brigade, about twenty miles distant, to march all
night and join me in the morning. I swept the posts in rear of almost
all their guards, hurrying them forward by forced marches, to be with
me at daylight.”[23]
General Banks, hearing of the engagement on his way to Washington,
halted at Harper’s Ferry, and he also ordered Williams’ division to
return at once to Winchester.
One brigade only,[24] which the order did not reach, continued the
march to Manassas. This counter-movement met with McClellan’s approval.
He now recognised that Jackson’s force, commanded as it was, was
something more than a mere corps of observation, and that it was
essential that it should be crushed. “Your course was right,” he
telegraphed on receiving Banks’ report. “As soon as you are strong
enough push Jackson hard and drive him well beyond Strasburg. . . . The
very moment the thorough defeat of Jackson will permit it, resume the
movement on Manassas, always leaving the whole of Shields’ command at
or near Strasburg and Winchester until the Manassas Gap Railway is
fully repaired. Communicate fully and act vigorously.”[25]
8,000 men (Williams’ division) were thus temporarily withdrawn from the
force that was to cover Washington from the south. But this was only
the first step. Jackson’s action had forcibly attracted the attention
of the Federal Government to the Upper Potomac. The President was
already contemplating the transfer of Blenker’s division from McClellan
to Fremont; the news of Kernstown decided the
question, and at the end of March these 9,000 men were ordered to West
Virginia, halting at Strasburg, in case Banks should then need them, on
their way.[26] But even this measure did not altogether allay Mr.
Lincoln’s apprehensions. McClellan had assured him, on April 1, that
73,000 men would be left for the defence of the capital and its
approaches. But in the original arrangement, with which the President
had been satisfied, Williams was to have been brought to Manassas, and
Shields alone left in the Shenandoah Valley. Under the new distribution
the President found that the force at Manassas would be decreased by
two brigades; and, at the same time, that while part of the troops
McClellan had promised were not forthcoming, a large portion of those
actually available were good for nothing. The officer left in command
at Washington reported that “nearly all his force was imperfectly
disciplined; that several of the regiments were in a very disorganised
condition; that efficient artillery regiments had been removed from the
forts, and that he had to relieve them with very new infantry
regiments, entirely unacquainted with the duties of that arm.”[27]
Lincoln submitted the question to six generals of the regular army,
then present in Washington; and these officers replied that, in their
opinion, “the requirement of the President that this city shall be left
entirely secure has not been fully complied with.”[28]
On receiving this report, Lincoln ordered the First Army Corps, 37,000
strong, under General McDowell, to remain at Manassas in place of
embarking for the Peninsula; and thus McClellan, on the eve of his
advance on Richmond, found his original force of 150,000 reduced by
46,000 officers and men. Moreover, not content with detaching McDowell
for a time, Lincoln, the next day, assigned that general to an
independent command, covering the approaches to Washington; Banks,
also, was withdrawn from
McClellan’s control, and directed to defend the Valley. The original
dissemination of the Federal forces was thus gravely accentuated, and
the Confederates had now to deal with four distinct armies,
McClellan’s, McDowell’s, Banks’, and Fremont’s, dependent for
co-operation on the orders of two civilians, President Lincoln and his
Secretary of War. And this was not all. McDowell had been assigned a
most important part in McClellan’s plan of invasion. The road from
Fortress Monroe was barred by the fortifications of Yorktown. These
works could be turned, however, by sending a force up the York River.
But the passage of the stream was debarred to the Federal transports by
a strong fort at Gloucester Point, on the left bank, and the capture of
this work was to be the task of the First Army Corps. No wonder that
McClellan, believing that Johnston commanded 100,000 men, declared that
in his deliberate judgment the success of the Federal cause was
imperilled by the order which detached McDowell from his command.
However inadequately the capital might be defended, it was worse than
folly to interfere with the general’s plans when he was on the eve of
executing them. The best way of defending Washington was for McClellan
to march rapidly on Richmond, and seize his adversary by the throat. By
depriving him of McDowell, Lincoln and his advisers made such a
movement difficult, and the grand army of invasion found itself in a
most embarrassing situation. Such was the effect of a blow struck at
the right place and the right time, though struck by no more than 3,000
bayonets.
The battle of Kernstown was undoubtedly well fought. It is true that
Jackson believed that he had no more than four regiments of infantry, a
few batteries, and some cavalry before him. But it was a skilful
manœuvre, which threw three brigades and three batteries, more than
two-thirds of his whole strength, on his opponent’s flank. An ordinary
general would probably have employed only a small portion of his force
in the turning movement. Not so the student of Napoleon. “In the
general’s haversack,” says one of Jackson’s staff, “were always three
books: the Bible,
Napoleon’s Maxims of War, and Webster’s Dictionary—for his spelling was
uncertain—and these books he constantly consulted.” Whether the
chronicles of the Jewish kings threw any light on the tactical problem
involved at Kernstown may be left to the commentators; but there can be
no question as to the Maxims. To hurl overwhelming numbers at the point
where the enemy least expects attack is the whole burden of Napoleon’s
teaching, and there can be no doubt but that the wooded ridge,
unoccupied save by a few scouts, was the weakest point of the defence.
The manœuvre certainly surprised the Federals, and it very nearly beat
them. Tyler’s brigade was unsupported for nearly an hour and a half.
Had his battalions been less staunch, the tardy reinforcements would
have been too late to save the day. Coming up as they did, not in a
mass so strong as to bear all before it by its own inherent weight, but
in successive battalions, at wide intervals of time, they would
themselves have become involved in a desperate engagement under adverse
circumstances. Nor is Kimball to be blamed that he did not throw
greater weight on Jackson’s turning column at an earlier hour. Like
Shields and Banks, he was unable to believe that Jackson was
unsupported. He expected that the flank attack would be followed up by
one in superior numbers from the front. He could hardly credit that an
inferior force would deliberately move off to a flank, leaving its line
of retreat to be guarded by a few squadrons, weakly supported by
infantry; and the audacity of the assailant had the usual effect of
deceiving the defender.
Kernstown, moreover, will rank as an example of what determined men can
do against superior numbers. The Confederates on the ridge, throughout
the greater part of the fight, hardly exceeded 2,000 muskets. They were
assailed by 3,000, and proved a match for them. The 3,000 were then
reinforced by at least 3,000 more, whilst Jackson could bring up only
600 muskets to support an already broken line. Nevertheless, these
6,000 Northerners were so roughly handled that there was practically no
pursuit. When the Confederates fell back every one of the
Federal regiments had been engaged, and there were no fresh troops
wherewith to follow them. Jackson was perfectly justified in reporting
that “Night and an indisposition of the enemy to press further
terminated the battle.”[29]
But the action was attended by features more remarkable than the
stubborn resistance of the Virginia regiments. It is seldom that a
battle so insignificant as Kernstown has been followed by such
extraordinary results. Fortune indeed favoured the Confederates. At the
time of the battle a large portion of McClellan’s army was at sea, and
the attack was delivered at the very moment when it was most dreaded by
the Northern Government. Nor was it to the disadvantage of the
Southerners that the real head of the Federal army was the President,
and that his strategical conceptions were necessarily subservient to
the attitude of the Northern people. These were circumstances purely
fortuitous, and it might seem, therefore, that Jackson merely blundered
into success. But he must be given full credit for recognizing that a
blow at Banks might be fraught with most important consequences. It was
with other ideas than defeating a rear-guard or detaining Banks that he
seized the Kernstown ridge. He was not yet aware of McClellan’s plan of
invasion by sea; but he knew well that any movement that would threaten
Washington must prove embarrassing to the Federal Government; that they
could not afford to leave the Upper Potomac ill secured; and that the
knowledge that an active and enterprising enemy, who had shown himself
determined to take instant advantage of every opportunity, was within
the Valley, would probably cause them to withdraw troops from McClellan
in order to guard the river. A fortnight after the battle, asking for
reinforcements, he wrote, “If Banks is defeated it may greatly retard
McClellan’s movements.”[30]
Stubborn as had been the fighting of his brigades, Jackson himself was
not entirely satisfied with his officers. When Sullivan and Kimball
came to Tyler’s aid, and a new line of battle threatened to overwhelm
the Stonewall
regiments, Garnett, on his own responsibility, had given the order to
retire. Many of the men, their ammunition exhausted, had fallen to the
rear. The exertions of the march had begun to tell. The enemy’s attacks
had been fiercely pressed, and before the pressure of his fresh
brigades the Confederate power of resistance was strained to
breaking-point. Garnett had behaved with conspicuous gallantry. The
officers of his brigade declared that he was perfectly justified in
ordering a retreat. Jackson thought otherwise, and almost immediately
after the battle he relieved him of his command, placed him under
arrest, and framed charges for his trial by court-martial. He would not
accept the excuse that ammunition had given out. At the time the
Stonewall Brigade gave back the 5th and 42nd Virginia were at hand. The
men had still their bayonets, and he did not consider the means of
victory exhausted until the cold steel had been employed. “He
insisted,” says Dabney, “that a more resolute struggle might have won
the field.”[31]
Now, in the first place, it must be conceded that Garnett had not the
slightest right to abandon his position without a direct order.[32] In
the second, if we turn to the table of losses furnished by the brigade
commander, we find that in Garnett’s four regiments, numbering 1,100
officers and men, there fell 153. In addition, 148 were reported
missing, but, according to the official reports, the majority of these
were captured by the Federal cavalry and were unwounded. At most, then,
when he gave the order to retreat, Garnett had lost 200, or rather less
than 20 per cent.
Such loss was heavy, but by no means excessive. A few months later
hardly a brigade in either army would have given way because every
fifth man had fallen. A year later and the Stonewall regiments would
have considered an action in which they lost 200 men as nothing
more than a skirmish.[33] The truth would seem to be that the Valley
soldiers were not yet blooded. In peace the individual is everything;
material prosperity, self-indulgence, and the preservation of existence
are the general aim. In war the individual is nothing, and men learn
the lesson of self-sacrifice. But it is only gradually, however high
the enthusiasm which inspires the troops, that the ideas of peace
become effaced, and they must be seasoned soldiers who will endure,
without flinching, the losses of Waterloo or Gettysburg. Discipline,
which means the effacement of the individual, does more than break the
soldier to unhesitating obedience; it trains him to die for duty’s
sake, and even the Stonewall Brigade, in the spring of 1862, was not
yet thoroughly disciplined. “The lack of competent and energetic
officers,” writes Jackson’s chief of the staff, “was at this time the
bane of the service. In many there was neither an intelligent
comprehension of their duties nor zeal in their performance. Appointed
by the votes of their neighbours and friends, they would neither
exercise that rigidity in governing, nor that detailed care in
providing for the wants of their men, which are necessary to keep
soldiers efficient. The duties of the drill and the sentry-post were
often negligently performed; and the most profuse waste of ammunition
and other military stores was permitted. It was seldom that these
officers were guilty of cowardice upon the field of battle, but they
were often in the wrong place, fighting as common soldiers when they
should have been directing others. Above all was their inefficiency
marked in their inability to keep their men in the ranks. Absenteeism
grew under them to a monstrous evil, and every poltroon and laggard
found a way of escape. Hence the frequent phenomenon that regiments,
which on the books of the commissary appeared as consumers of 500 or
1,000 rations, were reported as
carrying into action 250 or 300 bayonets.”[34] It is unlikely that this
picture is over-coloured, and it is certainly no reproach to the
Virginia soldiers that their discipline was indifferent. There had not
yet been time to transform a multitude of raw recruits into the
semblance of a regular army. Competent instructors and trained leaders
were few in the extreme, and the work had to be left in inexperienced
hands. One Stonewall Jackson was insufficient to leaven a division of
5,000 men.
In the second place, Jackson probably remembered that the Stonewall
Brigade at Bull Run, dashing out with the bayonet on the advancing
Federals, had driven them back on their reserves. It seems hardly
probable, had Garnett at Kernstown held his ground a little longer,
that the three regiments still intact could have turned the tide of
battle. But it is not impossible. The Federals had been roughly
handled. Their losses had been heavier than those of the Confederates.
A resolute counterstroke has before now changed the face of battle, and
among unseasoned soldiers panic spreads with extraordinary effect. So
far as can be gathered from the reports, there is no reason to suspect
that the vigour of the Federal battalions was as yet relaxed. But no
one who was not actually present can presume to judge of the temper of
the troops. In every well-contested battle there comes a moment when
the combatants on both sides become exhausted, and the general who at
that moment finds it in his heart to make one more effort will
generally succeed. Such was the experience of Grant, Virginia’s
stoutest enemy.[35] That moment, perhaps, had come at Kernstown; and
Jackson, than whom not Skobeleff himself had clearer vision or cooler
brain in the tumult of battle, may have observed it. It cannot be too
often repeated that numbers go for little on the battle-field. It is
possible that Jackson had in his mind, when he declared that the
victory might yet have been won, the decisive counterstroke at Marengo,
where 20,000 Austrians, pressing forward in pursuit of a defeated
enemy, were utterly overthrown by a
fresh division of 6,000 men supported by four squadrons.[36]
Tactical unity and _moral_ are factors of far more importance in battle
than mere numerical strength. Troops that have been hotly engaged, even
with success, and whose nerves are wrought up to a high state of
tension, are peculiarly susceptible to surprise. If they have lost
their order, and the men find themselves under strange officers, with
unfamiliar faces beside them, the counterstroke falls with even greater
force. It is at such moments that cavalry still finds its opportunity.
It is at such moments that a resolute charge, pushed home with drums
beating and a loud cheer, may have extraordinary results. On August 6,
1870, on the heights of Wörth, a German _corps d’armée,_ emerging,
after three hours’ fierce fighting, from the great wood on McMahon’s
flank, bore down upon the last stronghold of the French. The troops
were in the utmost confusion. Divisions, brigades, regiments, and
companies were mingled in one motley mass. But the enemy was
retreating; a heavy force of artillery was close at hand, and the
infantry must have numbered at least 10,000 rifles. Suddenly three
battalions of Turcos, numbering no more than 1,500 bayonets, charged
with wild cries, and without firing, down the grassy slope. The Germans
halted, fired a few harmless volleys, and then, turning as one man,
bolted to the shelter of the wood, twelve hundred yards in rear.
According to an officer of the 14th Indiana, the Federals at Kernstown
were in much the same condition as the Germans at Wörth. “The
Confederates fell back in great disorder, and we advanced in disorder
just as great. Over logs, through woods, over hills and fields, the
brigades, regiments, and companies advanced, in one promiscuous, mixed,
and uncontrollable mass. Officers shouted themselves hoarse in trying
to bring order out of confusion, but
all their efforts were unavailing along the front line, or rather what
ought to have been the front line.”[37]
Garnett’s conduct was not the only incident connected with Kernstown
that troubled Jackson. March 23 was a Sunday. “You appear much
concerned,” he writes to his wife, “at my attacking on Sunday. I am
greatly concerned too; but I felt it my duty to do it, in consideration
of the ruinous effects that might result from postponing the battle
until the morning. So far as I can see, my course was a wise one; the
best that I could do under the circumstances, though very distasteful
to my feelings; and I hope and pray to our Heavenly Father that I may
never again be circumstanced as on that day. I believed that, so far as
our troops were concerned, necessity and mercy both called for the
battle. I do hope that the war will soon be over, and that I shall
never again be called upon to take the field. Arms is a profession
that, if its principles are adhered to, requires an officer to do what
he fears may be wrong, and yet, according to military experience, must
be done if success is to be attained. And the fact of its being
necessary to success, and being accompanied with success, and that a
departure from it is accompanied with disaster, suggests that it must
be right. Had I fought the battle on Monday instead of Sunday, I fear
our cause would have suffered, whereas, as things turned out, I
consider our cause gained much from the engagement.”
We may wonder if his wife detected the unsoundness of the argument. To
do wrong—for wrong it was according to her creed—in order that good may
ensue is what it comes to. The literal interpretation of the Scriptural
rule seems to have led her husband into difficulties; but the incident
may serve to show with what earnestness, in every action of his life,
he strove to shape his conduct with what he believed to be his duty.
It has already been observed that Jackson’s reticence was remarkable.
No general could have been more careful that no inkling of his design
should reach the enemy. He had not the slightest hesitation in
withholding his plans from
even his second in command; special correspondents were rigorously
excluded from his camps; and even with his most confidential friends
his reserve was absolutely impenetrable. During his stay at Winchester,
it was his custom directly he rose to repair to headquarters and open
his correspondence. When he returned to breakfast at Dr. Graham’s there
was much anxiety evinced to hear the news from the front. What the
enemy was doing across the Potomac, scarce thirty miles away, was
naturally of intense interest to the people of the border town. But not
the smallest detail of intelligence, however unimportant, escaped his
lips. To his wife he was as uncommunicative as to the rest. Neither
hint nor suggestion made the least impression, and direct
interrogations were put by with a quiet smile. Nor was he too shy to
suggest to his superiors that silence was golden. In a report to
Johnston, written four days after Kernstown, he administered what can
scarcely be considered other than a snub, delicately expressed but
unmistakable:—
“It is understood in the Federal army that you have instructed me to
keep the forces now in this district and not permit them to cross the
Blue Ridge, and that this must be done at every hazard, and that for
the purpose of effecting this I made my attack. I have never so much as
intimated such a thing to anyone.”[38]
It cannot be said that Jackson’s judgment in attacking Shields was at
once appreciated in the South. The defeat, at first, was ranked with
the disasters in the West. But as soon as the effects upon the enemy
were appreciated the tide of popular feeling turned. The gallantry of
the Valley regiments was fully recognised, and the thanks of Congress
were tendered to Jackson and his troops.
No battle was ever yet fought in exact accordance with the demands of
theory, and Kernstown, great in its results, gives openings to the
critics. Jackson, it is said, attacked with tired troops, on
insufficient information, and contrary to orders. As to the first, it
may be said that his decision
to give the enemy no time to bring up fresh troops was absolutely
justified by events. On hearing of his approach to Kernstown, Banks
immediately countermarched a brigade of Williams’ division from
Castleman’s Ferry. A second brigade was recalled from Snicker’s Gap on
the morning of the 24th, and reached Winchester the same evening, after
a march of six-and-twenty miles. Had attack been deferred, Shields
would have been strongly reinforced.
As to the second, Jackson had used every means in his power to get
accurate intelligence.[39] Ashby had done his best. Although the
Federals had 780 cavalry present, and every approach to Winchester was
strongly picketed, his scouts had pushed within the Federal lines, and
had communicated with the citizens of Winchester. Their reports were
confirmed, according to Jackson’s despatch, “from a source which had
been remarkable for its reliability,” and for the last two days a
retrograde movement towards Snicker’s Gap had been reported. The
ground, it is true, favoured an ambush. But the strategic situation
demanded instant action. McClellan’s advanced guard was within fifty
miles of Johnston’s position on the Rapidan, and a few days’ march
might bring the main armies into collision. If Jackson was to bring
Banks back to the Valley, and himself join Johnston before the expected
battle, he had no time to spare. Moreover, the information to hand was
quite sufficient to justify him in trusting something to fortune. Even
a defeat, if the attack were resolutely pushed, might have the best
effect.
The third reproach, that Jackson disobeyed orders, can hardly be
sustained. He was in command of a detached force operating at a
distance from the main army, and Johnston, with a wise discretion, had
given him not orders,
but instructions; that is, the general-in-chief had merely indicated
the purpose for which Jackson’s force had been detached, and left to
his judgment the manner in which that purpose was to be achieved.
Johnston had certainly suggested that he should not expose himself to
the danger of defeat. But when it became clear that he could not retain
the enemy in the Valley unless he closed with him, to have refrained
from attack would have been to disobey the spirit of his instructions.
Again, when Jackson attacked he had good reason to believe that he ran
no risk of defeat whatever. The force before him was reported as
inferior to his own, and he might well have argued: “To confine myself
to observation will be to confess my weakness, and Banks is not likely
to arrest his march to Manassas because of the presence of an enemy who
dare not attack an insignificant rearguard.” Demonstrations, such as
Johnston had advised, may undoubtedly serve a temporary purpose, but if
protracted the enemy sees through them. On the 22nd, for instance, it
was reported to Banks that the Confederates were advancing. The rear
brigade of Williams’ division was therefore countermarched from
Snicker’s Gap to Berryville; but the other two were suffered to
proceed. Had Jackson remained quiescent in front of Shields, tacitly
admitting his inferiority, the rear brigade would in all probability
have soon been ordered to resume its march; and Lincoln, with no fear
for Washington, would have allowed Blenker and McDowell to join
McClellan.
Johnston, at least, held that his subordinate was justified. In
publishing the thanks of the Confederate Congress tendered to Jackson
and his division, he expressed, at the same time, “his own sense of
their admirable conduct, by which they fully earned the high reward
bestowed.”
During the evening of the 23rd the medical director of the Valley army
was ordered to collect vehicles, and send the wounded to the rear
before the troops continued their retreat. Some time after midnight Dr.
McGuire, finding that there were still a large number awaiting removal,
reported the circumstances to the general, adding that he did not know
where to get the means of transport, and that unless some expedient
were discovered the men must be abandoned. Jackson ordered him to
impress carriages in the neighbourhood. “But,” said the surgeon, “that
requires time; can you stay till it has been done?” “Make yourself
easy, sir,” was the reply. “This army stays here until the last man is
removed. Before I leave them to the enemy I will lose many men more.”
Fortunately, before daylight the work was finished.
NOTE
The exact losses at Kernstown were as follows:—
CONFEDERATES
_By brigade_ _Killed_ _Wounded_ _Missing_ _Total_
Stonewall Brigade
Burks’ Brigade
Fulkerson’s Brigade
Cavalry
Artillery 40 24 15 1 151 114 76 17 17 152 39 71
1 343 177 162 18 18 _By regiments _
2nd Va.
4th Va.
5th Va.
27th Va.
33rd Va.
21st Va.
42nd Va.
1st Va.
23rd Va.
27th Va. _Strength_
320 N.C.O. and men
203 N.C.O. and men
450 N.C.O. and men
170 N.C.O. and men
275 N.C.O. and men
270 officers and men
293 officers and men
187 officers and men
177 officers and men
397 N.C.O. and men
6
5
9
2
18
7
11
6
3
12
33
23
48
20
27
44
50
20
14
62
51
48
4
35
14
9
9
21
32
39
90
76
61
57
59
60
70
47
49
113
Total casualties=718 80 k.
375 w.
263 m. including 5 officers
including 22 officers
including 10 officers 13% k. and w. 20% k., w. and m.
FEDERALS
Total casualties=590 118 k.
450 w.
22 m. including 6 officers
including 27 officers
6%
According to the reports of his regimental commanders, Jackson took
into battle (including 48th Virginia) 3,087 N.C.O. and men of
infantry, 290 cavalry, and 27 guns. 2,742 infantry, 290 cavalry,
and 18 guns were engaged, and his total strength, including
officers, was probably about 3,500. Shields, in his first report of
the battle, put down the strength of his own division as between
7,000 and 8,000 men. Four days later he declared that it did not
exceed 7,000, namely 6,000 infantry, 750 cavalry, and 24 guns. It
is probable that only those actually engaged are included in this
estimate, for on March 17 he reported the strength of the troops
which were present at Kernstown six days later as 8374 infantry,
608 artillerymen, and 780 cavalry; total, 9,752.[40]
[1] O.R., vol. v, p. 1094.
[2] Letter from Major Hotchkiss to the author.
[3] Jackson, 4,600; Hill, 3,000.
[4] Johnston’s _Narrative._
[5] _Soldier Life in the Army of Northern Virginia,_ chap. ii.
[6] _Ibid._
[7] _Brook Farm to Cedar Mountain,_ General G. H. Gordon, p. 136.
[8] Major Harman, of Jackson’s staff, writing to his brother on March
6, says: “The general told me last night that the Yankees had 17,000
men at the two points, Charlestown and Bunker Hill.” On March 8 he
writes: “3,000 effective men is about the number of General Jackson’s
force. The sick, those on furlough, and the deserters from the
militia, reduce him to about that number.”—MS.
[9] O.R., vol. xii, part i, p. 164.
[10] O.R., vol. xi, part iii, p. 26.
[11] General G. H. Gordon.
[12] For an interesting exposition of the views of the soldiers at
Washington, see evidence of General Hitchcock, U.S.A., acting as
Military Adviser to the President, O.R., vol. xii, part i, p. 221.
[13] O.R., vol. xi, part 333, p. 7.
[14] _Ibid.,_ p. 11.
[15] A large portion of the Army of the Potomac, awaiting embarkation,
still remained at Centreville. The cavalry had pushed forward towards
the Rapidan, and the Confederates, unable to get information, did not
suspect that McClellan was moving to the Peninsula until March 25.
[16] O.R., vol. xii, part i, p. 381. The staff appears to have been at
fault. It was certainly of the first importance, whether battle was
intended or not, to select a halting-place concealed from the enemy’s
observation.
[17] 140 sabres.
[18] No hidden line of approach was available. Movement to the south
was limited by the course of the Opequon. Fulkerson’s brigade, with
Carpenter’s two guns, marched nearest to the enemy; the Stonewall
Brigade was on Fulkerson’s left.
[19] The Confederate advance was made in the following order:—
__________
23rd Va. __________
37th Va. __________ 4th Va.
__________ 33rd Va. __________ 27th Va. __________ 2nd Va.
__________ 21st Va. __________ Irish Battn.
[20] O.R., vol. xii, part i, p. 341.
[21] Colonel E. H. C. Cavins, 14th Indiana. _Battles and Leaders,_
vol. ii, p. 307.
[22] _Jackson’s Valley Campaign,_ Colonel William Allan, C.S.A., p.
54.
[23] O.R., vol. xii, part i, p. 341.
[24] Abercrombie’s, 4,500 men and a battery. The brigade marched to
Warrenton, where it remained until it was transferred to McDowell’s
command.
[25] O.R., vol. xii, part iii, p. 16.
[26] Blenker’s division was at Hunter’s Chapel, south of Washington,
when it received the order.
[27] Report of General Wadsworth; O.R., vol. xii, part iii, p. 225.
[28] Letter of Mr. Stanton; O.R., vol. xix, part ii, p. 726.
[29] O.R., vol. xii, part i, p. 382.
[30] _Ibid,_ part iii, p. 844.
[31] Dabney, vol. ii, p. 46.
[32] He was aware, moreover, that supports were coming up, for the
order to the 5th Virginia was sent through him. Report of Colonel W.
H. Harman, 5th Virginia, O.R., vol. xii, part i, pp. 391, 392.
[33] On March 5, 1811, in the battle fought on the arid ridges of
Barossa, the numbers were almost identical with those engaged at
Kernstown. Out of 4,000 British soldiers there fell in an hour over
1,200, and of 9,000 French more than 2,000 were killed or wounded; and
yet, although the victors were twenty-four hours under arms without
food, the issue was never doubtful.
[34] Dabney, vol. ii, pp. 18, 19.
[35] Grant’s _Memoirs._
[36] The morning after the battle one of the Confederate officers
expressed the opinion that even if the counterstroke had been
successful, the Federal reserves would have arrested it. Jackson
answered, “No, if I had routed the men on the ridge, they would all
have gone off together.”
[37] Colonel E. H. C. Cavins, _Battles and Leaders,_ vol. ii, p. 307.
[38] O.R., vol. xii, part iii, p. 840.
[39] The truth is that in war, accurate intelligence, especially when
two armies are in close contact, is exceedingly difficult to obtain.
At Jena, even after the battle ended, Napoleon believed that the
Prussians had put 80,000 men in line instead of 45,000. The night
before Eylau, misled by the reports of Murat’s cavalry, he was
convinced that the Russians were retreating; and before Ligny he
underestimated Blucher’s strength by 40,000. The curious
misconceptions under which the Germans commenced the battles of
Spicheren, Mars-la-Tour, and Gravelotte will also occur to the
military reader.
[40] O.R., vol. xii, part iii, p. 4.