CROSS KEYS AND PORT REPUBLIC
By the ignorant and the envious success in war is easily explained
away. The dead military lion, and, for that matter, even the living, is
a fair mark for the heels of a baser animal. The greatest captains have
not escaped the critics. The genius of Napoleon has been belittled on
the ground that each one of his opponents, except Wellington, was only
second-rate. French historians have attributed Wellington’s victories
to the mutual jealousy of the French marshals; and it has been asserted
that Moltke triumphed only because his adversaries blundered. Judged by
this rule few reputations would survive. In war, however, it is as
impossible to avoid error as it is to avoid loss of life; but it is by
no means simple either to detect or to take advantage of mistakes.
Before both Napoleon and Wellington an unsound manœuvre was dangerous
in the extreme. None were so quick to see the slip, none more prompt to
profit by it. Herein, to a very great extent, lay the secret of their
success, and herein lies the true measure of military genius. A general
is not necessarily incapable because he makes a false move; both
Napoleon and Wellington, in the long course of their campaigns, gave
many openings to a resolute foe, and both missed opportunities. Under
ordinary circumstances mistakes may easily escape notice altogether, or
at all events pass unpunished, and the reputation of the leader who
commits them will remain untarnished. But if he is pitted against a
master of war a single false step may lead to irretrievable ruin; and
he will be classed as beneath contempt for a fault which his successful
antagonist may have committed with impunity a hundred times over.
So Jackson’s escape from Winchester was not due simply to the
inefficiency of the Federal generals, or to the ignorance of the
Federal President. Lincoln was wrong in dispatching McDowell to Front
Royal in order to cut off Jackson. When Shields, in execution of this
order, left Fredericksburg, the Confederates were only five miles north
of Winchester, and had they at once retreated McDowell must have missed
them by many miles. McDowell, hotly protesting, declared, and rightly,
that the movement he had been ordered to execute was strategically
false. “It is impossible,” he said, “that Jackson can have been largely
reinforced. He is merely creating a diversion, and the surest way to
bring him from the lower Valley is for me to move rapidly on Richmond.
In any case, it would be wiser to move on Gordonsville.”[1] His
arguments were unavailing. But when Jackson pressed forward to the
Potomac, it became possible to intercept him, and the President did all
he could to assist his generals. He kept them constantly informed of
the movements of the enemy and of each other. He left them a free hand,
and with an opponent less able his instructions would have probably
brought about complete success. Nor were the generals to blame. They
failed to accomplish the task that had been set them, and they made
mistakes. But the task was difficult; and, if at the critical moment
the hazard of their situation proved too much for their resolution, it
was exactly what might have been expected. The initial error of the
Federals was in sending two detached forces, under men of no particular
strength of character, from opposite points of the compass, to converge
upon an enemy who was believed to be superior to either of them.
Jackson at once recognised the blunder, and foreseeing the consequences
that were certain to ensue, resolved to profit by them. His escape,
then, was the reward of his own sagacity.
When once the actual position of the Confederates had been determined,
and the dread that reinforcements were coming down the Valley had
passed away, the vigour of the Federal pursuit left nothing to be
desired.
June 1 Directly it was found that the Confederates had gone south, on
the
afternoon of June 1, Shields was directed on Luray, and that night his
advanced guard was ten miles beyond Front Royal; on the other side of
the Massanuttons, Frémont, with Bayard’s cavalry heading his advance,
moved rapidly on Woodstock.
The Federal generals, however, had to do with a foe who never relaxed
his vigilance. Whilst Ashby and Ewell, on May 31, were engaged with
Frémont at Cedar Creek, Jackson had expected that Shields would advance
on Strasburg. But not a single infantry soldier was observed on the
Front Royal road throughout the day. Such inaction was suspicious, and
the probability to which it pointed had not escaped the penetration of
the Confederate leader. His line of retreat was the familiar route by
New Market and Harrisonburg to Port Republic, and thence to the Gaps of
the Blue Ridge. There he could secure an unassailable position, within
reach of the railway and of Richmond. But, during the movement, danger
threatened from the valley of the South Fork. Should Shields adopt that
line of advance the White House and Columbia bridges would give him
easy access to New Market; and while Frémont was pressing the
Confederates in rear, their flank might be assailed by fresh foes from
the Luray Gap. And even if the retiring column should pass New Market
in safety, Shields, holding the bridges at Conrad’s Store and Port
Republic, might block the passage to the Blue Ridge. Jackson, looking
at the situation from his enemy’s point of view, came to the conclusion
that a movement up the valley of the South Fork was already in
progress, and that the aim of the Federal commander would be to secure
the bridges. His conjectures hit the mark.
Before leaving Front Royal Shields ordered his cavalry to march rapidly
up the valley of the South Fork, and seize the bridge at Conrad’s
Store; the White House and Columbia bridges he intended to secure
himself. But Jackson was not to be so easily overreached.
June 2 On the night of June 2 the Federal cavalry reached Luray, to
find that they had come too late. The White House and Columbia bridges
had both been burned
by a detachment of Confederate horse, and Shields was thus cut off from
New Market. At dawn on the 4th, after a forced night march, his
advanced guard reached Conrad’s Store to find that bridge also gone,[2]
and he was once more foiled. On his arrival at Luray, the sound of
cannon on the other side of the Massanuttons was plainly heard. It
seemed probable that Jackson and Frémont were already in collision; but
Shields, who had written a few hours before to Mr. Stanton that with
supplies and forage he could “stampede the enemy to Richmond,” was
unable to stir a foot to assist his colleague.
Once again Jackson had turned to account the strategic possibilities of
the Massanuttons and the Shenandoah; and, to increase General Shields’
embarrassment, the weather had broken. Heavy and incessant rain-storms
submerged the Virginia roads. He was ahead of his supplies; much
hampered by the mud; and the South Fork of the Shenandoah, cutting him
off from Frémont, rolled a volume of rushing water which it was
impossible to bridge without long delay.
Meanwhile, west of the great mountain, the tide of war, which had swept
with such violence to the Potomac, came surging back. Frémont, by the
rapidity of his pursuit, made full amends for his lack of vigour at
Cedar Creek. A cloud of horsemen filled the space between the hostile
columns. Day after day the quiet farms and sleepy villages on the
Valley turnpike heard the thunder of Ashby’s guns. Every stream that
crossed the road was the scene of a fierce skirmish; and the ripening
corn was trampled under the hoofs of the charging squadrons. On June 2,
the first day of the pursuit, between Strasburg and Woodstock the
Federals, boldly led by Bayard, gained a distinct advantage. A dashing
attack drove in the Confederate rear-guard, swept away the horse
artillery, and sent Ashby’s and Steuart’s regiments, exhausted by
hunger and loss of sleep, flying up the Valley. Many prisoners were
taken, and the pursuit was
only checked by a party of infantry stragglers, whom Ashby had
succeeded in rallying across the road.
Next day, June 3, the skirmishing was continued; and the Confederates,
burning the bridges across the roads, retreated to Mount Jackson.
June 4 On the 4th the bridge over the North Fork was given to the
flames, Ashby, whose horse was shot under him, remaining to the last;
and the deep and turbulent river placed an impassable obstacle between
the armies. Under a deluge of rain the Federals attempted to launch
their pontoons; but the boats were swept away by the rising flood, and
it was not till the next morning that the bridge was made.
June 5 The Confederates had thus gained twenty-four hours’ respite, and
contact was not resumed until the 6th. Jackson, meanwhile, constructing
a ferry at Mount Crawford, had sent his sick and wounded to Staunton,
thus saving them the long _détour_ by Port Republic; and dispatching
his stores and prisoners by the more circuitous route, had passed
through Harrisonburg to Cross Keys, a clump of buildings on Mill Creek,
where, on the night of the 5th, his infantry and artillery, with the
exception of a brigade supporting the cavalry, went into bivouac.
June 6 On the afternoon of the 6th the Federal cavalry followed Ashby.
Some three miles from Harrisonburg is a tract of forest, crowning a
long ridge; and within the timber the Confederate squadrons occupied a
strong position. The enemy, 800 strong, pursued without precaution,
charged up a gentle hill, and were repulsed by a heavy fire. Then Ashby
let loose his mounted men on the broken ranks, and the Federals were
driven back to within half a mile of Harrisonburg, losing 4 officers
and 30 men.
Smarting under this defeat, Frémont threw forward a still stronger
force of cavalry, strengthened by two battalions of infantry. Ashby had
already called up a portion of the brigade which supported him, and met
the attack in a clearing of the forest. The fight was fierce. The
Confederates were roughly handled by the Northern riflemen, and the
ranks began to waver. Riding to the front,
where the opposing lines were already at close range, Ashby called upon
his infantry to charge.
As he gave the order his horse fell heavily to the ground. Leaping to
his feet in an instant, again he shouted, “Charge, men! for God’s sake,
charge!” The regiments rallied, and inspired by his example swept
forward from the wood. But hardly had they left the covert when their
leader fell, shot through the heart. He was speedily avenged. The men
who followed him, despite the heavy fire, dashed at the enemy in front
and flank, and drove them from their ground. The cavalry, meanwhile,
had worked round in rear; the horse artillery found an opportunity for
action; and under cover of the night the Federals fell back on
Harrisonburg.
The losses of the Union troops were heavy; but the Confederate victory
was dearly purchased. The death of Ashby was a terrible blow to the
Army of the Valley. From the outbreak of the war he had been employed
on the Shenandoah, and from Staunton to the Potomac his was the most
familiar figure in the Confederate ranks. His daring rides on his
famous white charger were already the theme of song and story; and if
the tale of his exploits, as told in camp and farm, sometimes bordered
on the marvellous, the bare truth, stripped of all exaggeration, was
sufficient in itself to make a hero. His reckless courage, his fine
horsemanship, his skill in handling his command, and his power of
stimulating devotion, were not the only attributes which incited
admiration. “With such qualities,” it is said, “were united the utmost
generosity and unselfishness, and a delicacy of feeling equal to a
woman’s.” His loss came home with especial force to Jackson. After the
unfortunate episode in the pursuit from Middletown, he had rated his
cavalry leader in no measured terms for the indiscipline of his
command; and for some days their intercourse, usually most cordial, had
been simply official. Sensitive in the extreme to any reflection upon
himself or his troops, Ashby held aloof; and Jackson, always stern when
a breach of duty was concerned, made no overtures for a renewal of
friendly intercourse. Fortunately, before the fatal fight near
Harrisonburg, they had been fully reconciled; and with no shadow of
remorse Jackson was able to offer his tribute to the dead. Entering the
room in Port Republic, whither the body had been brought, he remained
for a time alone with his old comrade; and in sending an order to his
cavalry, added, “Poor Ashby is dead. He fell gloriously—one of the
noblest men and soldiers in the Confederate army.” A more public
testimony was to come. In his official report he wrote: “The close
relation General Ashby bore to my command for most of the previous
twelve months will justify me in saying that as a partisan officer I
never knew his superior. His daring was proverbial, his powers of
endurance almost incredible, his character heroic, and his sagacity
almost intuitive in divining the purposes and movements of the enemy.”
On the 6th and 7th the Confederate infantry rested on the banks of Mill
Creek, near Cross Keys. The cavalry, on either flank of the
Massanuttons, watched both Frémont’s camps at Harrisonburg and the slow
advance of Shields; and on the southern peak of the mountains a party
of signallers, under a staff officer, looked down upon the roads which
converged on the Confederate position.
June 7 June 7 was passed in unwonted quiet. For the first time for
fifteen days since the storming of Front Royal the boom of the guns was
silent. The glory of the summer brooded undisturbed on hill and forest;
and as the escort which followed Ashby to his grave passed down the
quiet country roads, the Valley lay still and peaceful in the sunshine.
Not a single Federal scout observed the melancholy _cortège._ Frémont’s
pursuit had been roughly checked. He was uncertain in which direction
the main body of the Confederates had retreated; and it was not till
evening that a strong force of infantry, reconnoitring through the
woods, struck Jackson’s outposts near the hamlet of Cross Keys. Only a
few shots were exchanged.
Shields, meanwhile, had concentrated his troops at
Columbia Bridge on the 6th, and presuming that Jackson was standing
fast on the strong position at Rude’s Hill, was preparing to cross the
river. Later in the day a patrol, which had managed to communicate with
Frémont, informed him that Jackson was retreating, and the instructions
he thereupon dispatched to the officer commanding his advanced guard
are worthy of record:
“The enemy passed New Market on the 5th; Blenker’s division on the 6th
in pursuit. The enemy has flung away everything, and their stragglers
fill the mountain. They need only a movement on the flank to
panic-strike them, and break them into fragments. No man has had such a
chance since the war commenced. You are within thirty miles of a
broken, retreating enemy, who still hangs together. 10,000 Germans are
on his rear, who hang on like bull-dogs. You have only to throw
yourself down on Waynesborough before him, and your cavalry will
capture them by the thousands, seize his train and abundant
supplies.”[3]
In anticipation, therefore, of an easy triumph, and, to use his own
words, of “thundering down on Jackson’s rear,” Shields, throwing
precaution to the winds, determined to move as rapidly as possible on
Port Republic. He had written to Frémont urging a combined attack on
“the demoralised rebels,” and he thought that together they “would
finish Jackson.” His only anxiety was that the enemy might escape, and
in his haste he neglected the warning of his Corps commander. McDowell,
on dispatching him in pursuit, had directed his attention to the
importance of keeping his division well closed up. Jackson’s
predilection for dealing with exposed detachments had evidently been
noted. Shields’ force, however, owing to the difficulties of the road,
the mud, the quick-sands, and the swollen streams, was already divided
into several distinct fractions. His advanced brigade was south of
Conrad’s Store; a second was some miles in rear, and two were at Luray,
retained at that point in consequence of a report that 8,000
Confederates were crossing the Blue
Ridge by Thornton’s Gap. To correct this faulty formation before
advancing he thought was not worth while. On the night of June 7 he was
sure of his prey.
The situation at this juncture was as follows: Shields was stretched
out over five-and-twenty miles of road in the valley of the South Fork;
Frémont was at Harrisonburg; Ewell’s division was near Cross Keys, and
the main body of the Valley Army near Port Republic.
During his retreat Jackson had kept his attention fixed on Shields.
That ardent Irishman pictured his old enemy flying in confusion, intent
only on escape. He would have been much astonished had he learned the
truth. From the moment Jackson left Strasburg, during the whole time he
was retreating, with the “bull-dogs” at his heels, he was meditating a
counter-stroke, and his victim had already been selected. When Shields
rushed boldly up the valley of the South Fork it seemed that an
opportunity of avenging Kernstown was about to offer. On June 4, the
day that the enemy reached Luray, Ewell was ordered to provide his men
with two days’ cooked rations and to complete their ammunition “for
active service.” The next day, however, it was found that Shields had
halted. Ewell was ordered to stand fast, and Jackson wrote despondently
to Lee: “At present I do not see that I can do much more than rest my
command and devote its time to drilling.” On the 6th, however, he
learned that Shields’ advanced guard had resumed its march; and, like a
tiger crouching in the jungle, he prepared to spring upon his prey. But
Frémont was close at hand, and Shields and Frémont between them
mustered nearly 25,000 men. They were certainly divided by the
Shenandoah; but they were fast converging on Port Republic; and in a
couple of marches, if not actually within sight of each other’s camps,
they would come within hearing of each other’s guns. Yet,
notwithstanding their numbers, Jackson had determined to deal with them
in detail.
A few miles from the camp at Port Republic was a hill honeycombed with
caverns, known as the Grottoes of the Shenandoah. In the heart of the
limestone Nature has
built herself a palace of many chambers, vast, silent, and magnificent.
But far beyond the beauty of her mysterious halls was the glorious
prospect which lay before the eyes of the Confederate sentries.
Glimmering aisles and dark recesses, where no sunbeam lurks nor summer
wind whispers, compared but ill with those fruitful valleys, watered by
clear brown rivers, and steeped in the glow of a Virginian June. To the
north stood the Massanuttons, with their forests sleeping in the
noon-day; and to the right of the Massanuttons, displaying, in that
transparent atmosphere, every shade of that royal colour from which it
takes its name, the Blue Ridge loomed large against the eastern sky.
Summit after summit, each more delicately pencilled than the last,
receded to the horizon, and beneath their feet, still, dark, and
unbroken as the primeval wilderness, broad leagues of woodland
stretched far away over a lonely land.
No battle-field boasts a fairer setting than Port Republic; but, lover
of Nature as he was, the region was attractive to Jackson for reasons
of a sterner sort. It was eminently adapted for the purpose he had at
heart.
1. The South Fork of the Shenandoah is formed by the junction of two
streams, the North and South Rivers; the village of Port Republic lying
on the peninsula between the two.
2. The bridge crosses the North River just above the junction, carrying
the Harrisonburg road into Port Republic; but the South River, which
cuts off Port Republic from the Luray Valley, is passable only by two
difficult fords.
3. North of the village, on the left bank of the Shenandoah, a line of
high bluffs, covered with scattered timber, completely commands the
tract of open country which lies between the river and the Blue Ridge,
and across this tract ran the road by which Shields was marching.
4. Four miles north-west of Port Republic, near the village of Cross
Keys, the road to Harrisonburg crosses Mill Creek, a strong position
for defence.
By transferring his army across the Shenandoah, and burning the bridge
at Port Republic, Jackson could easily have escaped Frémont, and have
met Shields in the Luray Valley with superior force. But the plain
where the battle must be fought was commanded by the bluffs on the left
bank of the Shenandoah; and should Frémont advance while an engagement
was in progress, even though he could not cross the stream, he might
assail the Confederates in flank with his numerous batteries. In order,
then, to gain time in which to deal with Shields, it was essential that
Frémont should be held back, and this could only be done on the left
bank. Further, if Frémont could be held back until Shields’ force was
annihilated, the former would be isolated. If Jackson could hold the
bridge at Port Republic, and also prevent Frémont reaching the bluffs,
he could recross when he had done with Shields, and fight Frémont
without fear of interruption.
To reverse the order, and to annihilate Frémont before falling upon
Shields, was out of the question. Whether he advanced against Frémont
or whether he stood still to receive his attack, Jackson’s rear and
communications, threatened by Shields, must be protected by a strong
detachment. It would be thus impossible to meet Frémont with superior
or even equal numbers, and an army weaker on the battlefield could not
make certain of decisive victory.
Jackson had determined to check Frémont at Mill Creek. But the
situation was still uncertain. Frémont had halted at Harrisonburg, and
it was possible that he might advance no further. So the Confederates
were divided, ready to meet either adversary; Ewell remaining at Cross
Keys, and the Stonewall division encamping near Port Republic.
June 8 On the morning of June 8, however, it was found that Frémont was
moving. Ewell’s division was already under arms. At 8.30 a.m. his
pickets, about two miles to the front, became engaged, and the
Confederate regiments moved leisurely into position.
The line ran along the crest of a narrow ridge, commanding an open
valley, through which Mill Creek, an insignificant brook, ran parallel
to the front. The further
slopes, open and unobstructed except for scattered trees and a few
fences, rose gently to a lower ridge, about a mile distant. The ground
held by the Confederates was only partially cleared, and from the Port
Republic road in the centre, at a distance of six hundred yards on
either flank, were woods of heavy timber, enclosing the valley, and
jutting out towards the enemy. The ridge beyond the valley was also
thickly wooded; but here, too, there were open spaces on which
batteries might be deployed; and the forest in rear, where Ashby had
been killed, standing on higher ground, completely concealed the
Federal approach. The pickets, however, had given ample warning of the
coming attack; and when, at 10 a.m., the hostile artillery appeared on
the opposite height, it was received with a heavy fire. “Eight and a
half batteries,” says Frémont, “were brought into action within thirty
minutes.” Against this long array of guns the Confederates massed only
five batteries; but these commanded the open ground, and were all in
action from the first.
Ewell had with him no more than three brigades. The Louisiana regiments
had bivouacked near Port Republic, and were not yet up. The whole
strength of the troops which held the ridge was no more than 6,000
infantry, and perhaps 500 cavalry. Frémont had at least 10,000
infantry, twelve batteries, and 2,000 cavalry.
It was then against overwhelming numbers that Ewell was asked to hold
his ground, and the remainder of the army was four miles in rear.
Jackson himself was still absent from the field. The arrangements for
carrying out his ambitious plans had met with an unexpected hitch. In
the Luray Valley, from Conrad’s Store northwards, the space between the
Blue Ridge and the Shenandoah was covered for the most part with dense
forest, and through this forest ran the road. Moving beneath the
spreading foliage of oak and hickory, Shields’ advanced brigade was
concealed from the observation of the Confederate cavalry; and the
signallers on the mountain, endangered by Frémont’s movement, had been
withdrawn.
North of Port Republic, between the foot-hills of the
Blue Ridge and the Shenandoah, lies a level tract of arable and meadow,
nearly a mile wide, and extending for nearly three miles in a northerly
direction. On the plain were the Confederate pickets, furnished by
three companies of Ashby’s regiment, with their patrols on the roads
towards Conrad’s Store; and there seemed little chance that Shields
would be able to reach the fords over the South River, much less the
Port Republic bridge, without long notice being given of his approach.
The cavalry, however, as had been already proved, were not entirely to
be depended on. Jackson, whose headquarters were within the village,
had already mounted his horse to ride forward to Cross Keys, when there
was a distant fire, a sudden commotion in the streets, and a breathless
messenger from the outposts reported that not only had the squadrons on
picket been surprised and scattered, but that the enemy was already
fording the South River.
Between the two rivers, south-west of Port Republic, were the
Confederate trains, parked in the open fields. Here was Carrington’s
battery, with a small escort; and now the cavalry had fled there were
no other troops, save a single company of the 2nd Virginia, on this
side the Shenandoah. The squadron which headed the Federal advanced
guard was accompanied by two guns. One piece was sent towards the
bridge; the other, unlimbering on the further bank, opened fire on the
church, and the horsemen trotted cautiously forward into the village
street. Jackson, warned of his danger, had already made for the bridge,
and crossing at a gallop escaped capture by the barest margin of time.
His chief of artillery, Colonel Crutchfield, was made prisoner, with
Dr. McGuire and Captain Willis,[4] and his whole staff was dispersed,
save Captain Pendleton, a sterling soldier, though hardly more than a
boy in years. And the danger was not over. With the trains was the
whole of the reserve ammunition, and it seemed that a crushing disaster
was near at hand. The sudden appearance of the enemy caused the
greatest consternation amongst the teamsters; several of the waggons
went off
by the Staunton road; and, had the Federal cavalry come on, the whole
would have been stampeded. But Carrington’s battery was called to the
front by Captain Moore, commanding the company of infantry in the
village. The picket, promptly put into position, opened with a
well-aimed volley, and a few rounds checked the enemy’s advance; the
guns came rapidly and effectively into action, and at this critical
moment Jackson intervened with his usual vigour.[5] From the left bank
of the North River he saw a gun bearing on the bridge, the village
swarming with blue uniforms, and more artillery unlimbering across the
river. He had already sent orders for his infantry to fall in, and a
six-pounder was hurrying to the front. “I was surprised,” said the
officer to whose battery this piece belonged, “to see a gun posted on
the opposite bank. Although I had met a cavalry man who told me that
the enemy were advancing up the river, still I did not think it
possible they could have brought any guns into the place in so short a
time. It thereupon occurred to me that the piece at the bridge might be
one of Carrington’s, whose men had new uniforms something like those we
saw at the bridge. Upon suggesting this to the general, he reflected a
moment, and then riding a few paces to the left and front, he called
out, in a tone loud enough to be heard by the enemy, ‘Bring that gun up
here!’ but getting no reply, he raised himself in his stirrups, and in
a most authoritative and seemingly angry tone he shouted, ‘Bring that
gun up here, I say!’ At this they began to move the trail of the gun so
as to bring it to bear on us, which, when the general perceived, he
turned quickly to the officer in charge of my gun, and said in his
sharp, quick way, ‘Let ’em have it!’ The words had scarcely left his
lips when Lieutenant Brown, who had his piece charged and aimed, sent a
shot right among them, so disconcerting them that theirs in reply went
far above us.”[6]
The Confederate battalions, some of which had been formed up for
inspection, or for the Sunday service, when the alarm was given, had
now come up, and the 87th Virginia was ordered to capture the gun, and
to clear the village. Without a moment’s hesitation the regiment
charged with a yell across the bridge, and so sudden was the rush that
the Federal artillerymen were surprised. The gun was double-shotted
with canister, and the head of the column should have been swept away.
But the aim was high and the Confederates escaped. Then, as the limber
came forward, the horses, terrified by the heavy fire and the yells of
the charging infantry, became unmanageable; and the gunners, abandoning
the field-piece, fled through the streets of Port Republic. The 87th
rushed forward with a yell. The hostile cavalry, following the gunners,
sought safety by the fords; and as the rout dashed through the shallow
water, the Confederate batteries, coming into action on the high bluffs
west of the Shenandoah, swept the plain below with shot and shell.
The hostile artillery beyond the stream was quickly overpowered; horses
were shot down wholesale; a second gun was abandoned on the road; a
third, which had only two horses and a driver left, was thrown into a
swamp; and a fourth was found on the field without either team or men.
The Federal infantry was not more fortunate. Carroll’s brigade of four
regiments was close in rear of the artillery when the Confederate
batteries opened fire. Catching the contagion from the flying cavalry,
it retreated northward in confusion. A second brigade (Tyler’s) came up
in support; but the bluffs beyond the river were now occupied by
Jackson’s infantry; a stream of fire swept the plain; and as Shields’
advanced guard, followed by the Confederate cavalry, fell back to the
woods whence it had emerged, five miles away on the other flank was
heard the roar of the cannonade which opened the battle of Cross Keys.
From the hurried flight of the Federals it was evident that Shields’
main body was not yet up; so, placing two brigades in position to guard
the bridge, Jackson sent
the remainder to Ewell, and then rode to the scene of action.
Frémont, under cover of his guns, had made his preparations for attack;
but the timidity which he had already displayed when face to face with
Jackson had once more taken possession of his faculties. Vigorous in
pursuit of a flying enemy, when that enemy turned at bay his courage
vanished. The Confederate position was undoubtedly strong, but it was
not impregnable. The woods on either flank gave access under cover to
the central ridge. The superior weight of his artillery was sufficient
to cover an advance across the open; and although he was without maps
or guide, the country was not so intersected as to render manœuvring
impracticable.
In his official report Frémont lays great stress on the difficulties of
the ground; but reading between the lines it is easy to see that it was
the military situation which overburdened him. The vicious strategy of
converging columns, where intercommunication is tedious and uncertain,
once more exerted its paralysing influence. It was some days since he
had heard anything of Shields. That general’s dispatch, urging a
combined attack, had not yet reached him: whether he had passed Luray
or whether he had been already beaten, Frémont was altogether ignorant;
and, in his opinion, it was quite possible that the whole of the
Confederate army was before him.
A more resolute commander would probably have decided that the shortest
way out of the dilemma was a vigorous attack. If Shields was within
hearing of the guns—and it was by no means improbable that he was—such
a course was the surest means of securing his co-operation; and even if
no help came, and the Confederates maintained their position, they
might be so crippled as to be unable to pursue. Defeat would not have
been an irreparable misfortune. Washington was secure. Banks, Saxton,
and McDowell held the approaches; and if Frémont himself were beaten
back, the strategic situation could be in no way affected. In fact a
defeat, if it had followed an attack so hotly pressed as to paralyse
Jackson
for the time being, would have been hardly less valuable than a
victory.
“Fortune,” it has been well said, “loves a daring suitor, and he who
throws down the gauntlet may always count upon his adversary to help
him.” Frémont, however, was more afraid of losing the battle than
anxious to win it. “Taking counsel of his fears,” he would run no
risks. But neither could he abstain from action altogether. An enemy
was in front of him who for seven days had fled before him, and his own
army anticipated an easy triumph.
So, like many another general who has shrunk from the nettle danger, he
sought refuge in half-measures, the most damning course of all. Of
twenty-four regiments present on the field of battle, five only, of
Blenker’s Germans, were sent forward to the attack. Their onslaught was
directed against the Confederate right; and here, within the woods,
Trimble had posted his brigade in a most advantageous position. A
flat-topped ridge, covered with great oaks, looked down upon a wide
meadow, crossed by a stout fence; and beyond the hollow lay the woods
through which the Federals, already in contact with the Confederate
outposts, were rapidly advancing. The pickets soon gave way, and
crossing the meadow found cover within the thickets, where Trimble’s
three regiments lay concealed. In hot pursuit came the Federal
skirmishers, with the solid lines of their brigade in close support.
Steadily moving forward, they climbed the fence and breasted the gentle
slope beyond. A few scattered shots, fired by the retreating pickets,
were the only indications of the enemy’s presence; the groves beyond
were dark and silent. The skirmishers had reached the crest of the
declivity, and the long wave of bayonets, following close upon their
tracks, was within sixty paces of the covert, when the thickets stirred
suddenly with sound and movement. The Southern riflemen rose swiftly to
their feet. A sheet of fire ran along their line, followed by a crash
that resounded through the woods; and the German regiments, after a
vigorous effort to hold their ground, fell back in disorder across the
clearing. Here, on the further edge, they rallied on their reserves,
and the Confederates,
who had followed up no further than was sufficient to give impetus to
the retreat, were once more withdrawn.
A quarter of an hour passed, and as the enemy showed no inclination to
attempt a second advance across the meadow, where the dead and wounded
were lying thick, Trimble, sending word to Ewell of his intention,
determined to complete his victory. More skilful than his enemies, he
sent a regiment against their left, to which a convenient ravine gave
easy access, while the troops among the oaks were held back till the
flank attack was fully developed. The unexpected movement completely
surprised the Federal brigadier. Again his troops were driven in, and
the Confederates, now reinforced by six regiments which Ewell had sent
up, forced them with heavy losses through the woods, compelled two
batteries, after a fierce fight, to limber up, routed a brigade which
had been sent by Frémont to support the attack, and pressing slowly but
continuously forward, threw the whole of the enemy’s left wing,
consisting of Blenker’s eleven regiments, back to the shelter of his
line of guns. Trimble had drawn the “bulldog’s” teeth.
The Confederates had reached the outskirts of the wood. They were a
mile in advance of the batteries in the centre; and the Federal
position, commanding a tract of open ground, was strong in itself and
strongly held. A general counterstroke was outside the scope of
Jackson’s designs. He had still Shields to deal with. The Federal left
wing had been heavily repulsed, but only a portion of Frémont’s force
had been engaged; to press the attack further would undoubtedly have
cost many lives, and even a partial reverse would have interfered with
his comprehensive plan.
In other quarters of the battle-field the fighting had been
unimportant. The Confederate guns, although heavily outnumbered, held
their ground gallantly for more than five hours; and when they
eventually retired it was from want of ammunition rather than from loss
of _moral._ The waggons which carried their reserve had taken a wrong
road, and at the critical moment there were no
means of replenishing the supply. But so timid were Frémont’s tactics
that the blunder passed unpunished. While the battle on the left was
raging fiercely he had contented himself elsewhere with tapping feebly
at the enemy’s lines. In the centre of the field his skirmishers moved
against Ewell’s batteries, but were routed by a bayonet charge; on the
right, Milroy and Schenck, the two generals who had withstood Jackson
so stubbornly at McDowell, advanced on their own initiative through the
woods. They had driven in the Confederate skirmishers, and had induced
Ewell to strengthen this portion of his line from his reserve, when
they were recalled by Frémont, alarmed by Trimble’s vigorous attack, to
defend the main position.
The Southerners followed slowly. The day was late, and Ewell, although
his troops were eager to crown their victory, was too cool a soldier to
yield to their impatience; and, as at Cedar Creek, where also he had
driven back the “Dutch” division, so at Cross Keys he rendered the most
loyal support to his commander. Yet he was a dashing fighter, chafing
under the restraint of command, and preferring the excitement of the
foremost line. “On two occasions in the Valley,” says General Taylor,
“during the temporary absence of Jackson, he summoned me to his side,
and immediately rushed forward amongst the skirmishers, where sharp
work was going on. Having refreshed himself, he returned with the hope
that “Old Jack would not catch him at it.”[7]
How thoroughly Jackson trusted his subordinate may be inferred from the
fact that, although present on the field, he left Ewell to fight his
own battle. The only instructions he gave showed that he had fathomed
the temper of Frémont’s troops. “Let the Federals,” he said, “get very
close before your infantry fire; they won’t stand long.” It was to
Ewell’s dispositions, his wise use of his reserves, and to Trimble’s
ready initiative, that Frémont’s defeat was due. Beyond sending up a
couple of brigades from Port Republic, Jackson gave no orders. His
ambition was of too lofty a
kind to appropriate the honours which another might fairly claim; and,
when once battle had been joined, interference with the plan on which
it was being fought did not commend itself to him as sound generalship.
He was not one of those suspicious commanders who believe that no
subordinate can act intelligently. If he demanded the strictest
compliance with his instructions, he was always content to leave their
execution to the judgment of his generals; and with supreme confidence
in his own capacity, he was still sensible that his juniors in rank
might be just as able. His supervision was constant, but his
interference rare; and it was not till some palpable mistake had been
committed that he assumed direct control of his divisions or brigades.
Nor was any peculiar skill needed to beat back the attack of Frémont.
Nothing proves the Federal leader’s want of confidence more clearly
than the tale of losses. The Confederate casualties amounted to 288, of
which nearly half occurred in Trimble’s counterstroke. The Federal
reports show 684 killed, wounded, and missing, and of these Trimble’s
riflemen accounted for nearly 500, one regiment, the 8th New York,
being almost annihilated; but such losses, although at one point
severe, were altogether insignificant when compared with the total
strength; and it was not the troops who were defeated but the
general.[8]
Ewell’s division bivouacked within sight of the enemy’s watch-fires,
and within hearing of his outposts; and throughout the night the work
of removing the wounded, friend and foe alike, went on in the sombre
woods. There was work, too, at Port Republic. Jackson, while his men
slept, was all activity. His plans were succeeding admirably. From
Frémont, cowering on the defensive before inferior numbers, there was
little to be feared. It was unlikely that after his repulse he would be
found more enterprising on the morrow; a small force would be
sufficient to arrest his march until Shields had been crushed; and
then, swinging back across the Shenandoah,
the soldiers of the Valley would find ample compensation, in the rout
of their most powerful foe, for the enforced rapidity of their retreat
from Winchester. But to fight two battles in one day, to disappear
completely from Frémont’s ken, and to recross the rivers before he had
time to seize the bridge, were manœuvres of the utmost delicacy, and
needed most careful preparation.
It was Jackson’s custom, whenever a subordinate was to be entrusted
with an independent mission, to explain the part that he was to play in
a personal interview. By such means he made certain, first, that his
instructions were thoroughly understood; and, second, that there was no
chance of their purport coming to the knowledge of the enemy. Ewell was
first summoned to headquarters, and then Patton, whose brigade,
together with that of Trimble, was to have the task of checking Frémont
the next day. “I found him at 2 a.m.,” says Patton, “actively engaged
in making his dispositions for battle. He immediately proceeded to give
me particular instructions as to the management of the men in covering
the rear, saying: ‘I wish you to throw out all your men, if necessary,
as skirmishers, and to make a great show, so as to cause the enemy to
think the whole army are behind you. Hold your position as well as you
can, then fall back when obliged; take a new position, hold it in the
same way, and I will be back to join you in the morning.’”
Colonel Patton reminded him that his brigade was a small one, and that
the country between Cross Keys and the Shenandoah offered few
advantages for protracting such manœuvres. He desired, therefore, to
know for how long he would be expected to hold the enemy in check.
Jackson replied, “By the blessing of Providence, I hope to be back by
ten o’clock.”[9]
These interviews were not the only business which occupied the
commanding general. He arranged for the feeding of his troops before
their march next day,[10] for the
dispositions of his trains and ammunition waggons; and at the rising of
the moon, which occurred about midnight, he was seen on the banks of
the South River, superintending the construction of a bridge to carry
his infantry dryshod across the stream.
An hour before daybreak he was roused from his short slumbers. Major
Imboden, who was in charge of a mule battery,[11] looking for one of
the staff, entered by mistake the general’s room.
“I opened the door softly, and discovered Jackson lying on his face
across the bed, fully dressed, with sword, sash, and boots all on. The
low-burnt tallow-candle on the table shed a dim light, yet enough by
which to recognise him. I endeavoured to withdraw without waking him.
He turned over, sat upon the bed, and called out, ‘Who is that?’
“He checked my apology with, ‘That is all right. It’s time to be up. I
am glad to see you. Were the men all up as you came through camp?’
“‘Yes, General, and cooking.’
“‘That’s right; we move at daybreak. Sit down. I want to talk to you.’
“I had learned never to ask him questions about his plans, for he would
never answer such to anyone. I therefore waited for him to speak first.
He referred very feelingly to Ashby’s death, and spoke of it as an
irreparable loss. When he paused I said, ‘General, you made a glorious
winding-up of your four weeks with yesterday.’ He replied, ‘Yes, God
blessed our army again yesterday, and I hope with His protection and
blessing we shall do still better to-day.’”[12] Then followed
instructions as to the use of the mule battery in the forests through
which lay Shields’ line of advance.
Before 5 a.m. the next morning the Stonewall Brigade
had assembled in Port Republic, and was immediately ordered to advance.
On the plain beyond, still dark in the shadow of the mountains, where
the cavalry formed the outposts, the fire of the pickets, which had
been incessant throughout the night, was increasing in intensity. The
Federals were making ready for battle.
Winder had with him four regiments, about 1,200 strong, and two
batteries. In rear came Taylor with his Louisianians; and Jackson,
leaving Major Dabney to superintend the passage of the river, rode with
the leading brigade. The enemy’s pickets were encountered about a mile
and a half down the river, beyond a strip of woods, on either side of
the Luray road. They were quickly driven in, and the Federal position
became revealed. From the foot-hills of the Blue Ridge, clothed to
their crests with under-growth and timber, the plain, over a mile in
breadth, extended to the Shenandoah. The ground was terraced; the upper
level, immediately beneath the mountain, was densely wooded, and fifty
or sixty feet above the open fields round the Lewis House. Here was the
hostile front. The Federal force was composed of two brigades of
infantry and sixteen guns, not more than 4,000 all told, for Shields,
with the remainder of the division, was still far in rear. The right
rested on the river; the left on a ravine of the upper level, through
which a shallow stream flowed down from the heights above. On the
northern shoulder of this ravine was established a battery of seven
guns, sweeping every yard of the ground beneath, and a country road,
which led directly to the Shenandoah, running between stiff banks and
strongly fenced, was lined with riflemen. Part of the artillery was on
the plain, near the Lewis House, with a section near the river; on the
hillside, beyond the seven guns, two regiments were concealed within
the forest, and in rear of the battery was a third. The position was
strong, and the men who held it were of different calibre from
Blenker’s Germans, and the leaders of stauncher stuff than Frémont. Six
of the seven battalions had fought at Kernstown. Tyler, who on that day
had seen the Confederates retreat before him, was in
command; and neither general nor soldiers had reason to dread the name
of Stonewall Jackson. In the sturdy battalions of Ohio and West
Virginia the Stonewall Brigade were face to face with foemen worthy of
their steel; and when Jackson, anxious to get back to Frémont, ordered
Winder to attack, he set him a formidable task.
It was first necessary to dislodge the hostile guns. Winder’s two
batteries were insufficient for the work, and two of his four regiments
were ordered into the woods on the terrace, in order to outflank the
battery beyond the stream. This detachment, moving with difficulty
through the thickets, found a stronger force of infantry within the
forest; the guns opened with grape at a range of one hundred yards, and
the Confederates, threatened on either flank, fell back in some
confusion.
The remainder of Winder’s line had meanwhile met with a decided check.
The enemy along the hollow road was strongly posted. Both guns and
skirmishers were hidden by the embankment; and as the mists of the
morning cleared away, and the sun, rising in splendour above the
mountains, flooded the valley with light, a long line of hostile
infantry, with colours flying and gleaming arms, was seen advancing
steadily into battle. The Federal Commander, observing his opportunity,
had, with rare good judgment, determined on a counterstroke. The
Louisiana brigade was moving up in support of Winder, but it was still
distant. The two regiments which supported the Confederate batteries
were suffering from the heavy artillery fire, and the skirmishers were
already falling back. “Below,” says General Taylor, “Ewell was hurrying
his men over the bridge; but it looked as if we should be doubled up on
him ere he could cross and develop much strength. Jackson was on the
road, a little in advance of his line, where the fire was hottest, with
the reins on his horse’s neck. Summoning a young officer from his
staff, be pointed up the mountain. The head of my approaching column
was turned short up the slope, and within the forest came speedily
to a path which came upon the gorge opposite the battery.[13]
But, as Taylor’s regiments disappeared within the forest, Winder’s
brigade was left for the moment isolated, bearing up with difficulty
against overwhelming numbers. Ewell’s division had found great
difficulty in crossing the South River. The bridge, a construction of
planks laid on the running gear of waggons, had proved unserviceable.
At the deepest part there was a step of two feet between two axletrees
of different height; and the boards of the higher stage, except one,
had broken from their fastenings. As the men passed over, several were
thrown from their treacherous platform into the rushing stream, until
at length they refused to trust themselves except to the centre plank.
The column of fours was thus reduced to single file; men, guns, and
waggons were huddled in confusion on the river banks; and the officers
present neglected to secure the footway, and refused, despite the order
of Major Dabney, to force their men through the breast-high ford.
So, while his subordinates were trifling with the time, which, if
Frémont was to be defeated as well as Shields, was of such extreme
importance, Jackson saw his old brigade assailed by superior numbers in
front and flank. The Federals, matching the rifles of the Confederate
marksmen with weapons no less deadly, crossed over the road and bore
down upon the guns. The 7th Louisiana, the rear regiment of Taylor’s
column, was hastily called up, and dashed forward in a vain attempt to
stem the tide.
A most determined and stubborn conflict now took place, and, as at
Kernstown, at the closest range. The Ohio troops repelled every effort
to drive them back. Winder’s line was thin. Every man was engaged in
the
firing line. The flanks were scourged by bursting shells. The deadly
fire from the road held back the front. Men and officers were falling
fast. The stream of wounded was creeping to the rear; and after thirty
minutes of fierce fighting, the wavering line of the Confederates,
breaking in disorder, fell back upon the guns. The artillery, firing a
final salvo at a range of two hundred yards, was ordered to limber up.
One gun alone, standing solitary between the opposing lines, essayed to
cover the retreat; but the enemy was within a hundred yards, men and
horses were shot down; despite a shower of grape, which rent great gaps
in the crowded ranks, the long blue wave swept on, and leaving the
captured piece in rear, advanced in triumph across the fields.
In vain two of Ewell’s battalions, hurrying forward to the sound of
battle, were thrown against the flank of the attack. For an instant the
Federal left recoiled, and then, springing forward with still fiercer
energy, dashed back their new antagonists as they had done the rest. In
vain Jackson, galloping to the front, spurred his horse into the
tumult, and called upon his men to rally. Winder’s line, for the time
being at least, had lost all strength and order; and although another
regiment had now come up, the enemy’s fire was still so heavy that it
was impossible to reform the defeated troops, and two fresh Federal
regiments were now advancing to strengthen the attack. Tyler had
ordered his left wing to reinforce the centre and it seemed that the
Confederates would be defeated piecemeal. But at this moment the lines
of the assailant came to a sudden halt; and along the slopes of the
Blue Ridge a heavy crash of musketry, the rapid discharges of the guns,
and the charging yell of the Southern infantry, told of a renewed
attack upon the battery on the mountain side.
The Louisianians had come up in the very nick of time. Pursuing his
march by the forest path, Taylor had heard the sounds of battle pass
beyond his flank, and the cheers of the Federals proved that Winder was
hard pressed. Rapidly deploying on his advanced guard, which, led by
Colonel Kelley, of the 8th Louisiana, was already in line, he led his
companies across the ravine. Down the broken slopes, covered with great
boulders and scattered trees, the men slipped and stumbled, and then,
splashing through the stream, swarmed up the face of the bank on which
the Federal artillery was in action. Breaking through the undergrowth
they threw themselves on the guns. The attention of the enemy had been
fixed upon the fight that raged over the plain below, and the thick
timber and heavy smoke concealed the approach of Taylor’s regiments.
The surprise, however, was a failure. The trails were swung round in
the new direction, the canister crashed through the laurels, the
supporting infantry rushed forward, and the Southerners were driven
back. Again, as reinforcements crowded over the ravine, they returned
to the charge, and with bayonet and rammer the fight surged to and fro
within the battery. For the second time the Federals cleared their
front; but some of the Louisiana companies, clambering up the mountain
to the right, appeared upon their flank, and once more the stormers,
rallying in the hollow, rushed forward with the bayonet. The battery
was carried, one gun alone escaping, and the Federal commander saw the
key of his position abandoned to the enemy. Not a moment was to be
lost. The bank was nearly a mile in rear of his right and centre, and
commanded his line of retreat at effective range. Sending his reserves
to retake the battery, he directed his attacking line, already pressing
heavily on Winder, to fall back at once. But it was even then too late.
The rest of Ewell’s division had reached the field. One of his brigades
had been ordered to sustain the Lousianians; and across the plain a
long column of infantry and artillery was hurrying northwards from Port
Republic.
The Stonewall Brigade, relieved of the pressure in front, had already
rallied; and when Tyler’s reserves, with their backs to the river,
advanced to retake the battery, Jackson’s artillery was once more
moving forward. The guns captured by Taylor were turned against the
Federals—Ewell, it is said, indulging to the full his passion for hot
work, serving as a gunner—and within a short space of time
Tyler was in full retreat, and the Confederate cavalry were thundering
on his traces.
It was half-past ten. For nearly five hours the Federals had held their
ground, and two of Jackson’s best brigades had been severely handled.
Even if Trimble and Patton had been successful in holding Frémont back,
the Valley soldiers were in no condition for a rapid march and a
vigorous attack, and their commander had long since recognised that he
must rest content with a single victory.
[Illustration: Map of the Battles of Cross Keys and Port Republic, June
8th and 9th, 1862.]
Before nine o’clock, about the time of Winder’s repulse, finding the
resistance of the enemy more formidable than be had anticipated, he had
recalled his brigades from the opposite bank of the Shenandoah, and had
ordered them to burn the bridge. Trimble and Patton abandoned the
battle-field of the previous day, and fell back to Port Republic.
Hardly a shot was fired during their retreat, and when they took up
their march only a single Federal battery had been seen. Frémont’s
advance was cautious in the extreme. He was actually aware that Shields
had two brigades beyond the river, for a scout had reached him, and
from the ground about Mill Creek the sound of Tyler’s battle could be
plainly heard. But he could get no direct information of what was
passing. The crest of the Massanuttons, although the sun shone bright
on the cliffs below, was shrouded in haze, completely forbidding all
observation; and it was not till near noon, after a march of seven
miles, which began at dawn and was practically unopposed, that Frémont
reached the Shenandoah. There, in the charred and smoking timbers of
the bridge, the groups of Federal prisoners on the plain, the
Confederates gathering the wounded, and the faint rattle of musketry
far down the Luray Valley, he saw the result of his timidity.
Massing his batteries on the western bluffs, and turning his guns in
impotent wrath upon the plain, he drove the ambulances and their escort
from the field. But the Confederate dead and wounded had already been
removed, and the only effect of his spiteful salvoes was that his
suffering comrades lay under a drenching rain until he retired to
Harrisonburg. By that time many, whom their enemies
would have rescued, had perished miserably, and “not a few of the dead,
with some perchance of the mangled living, were partially devoured by
swine before their burial.”[14]
The pursuit of Tyler was pressed for nine miles down the river. The
Ohio regiments, dispersed at first by the Confederate artillery,
gathered gradually together, and held the cavalry in check. Near
Conrad’s Store, where Shields, marching in desperate haste to the sound
of the cannonade, had put his two remaining brigades in position across
the road, the chase was stayed. The Federal commander admits that he
was only just in time. Jackson’s horsemen, he says, were enveloping the
column; a crowd of fugitives was rushing to the rear, and his own
cavalry had dispersed. The Confederate army, of which some of the
brigades and nearly the whole artillery had been halted far in rear,
was now withdrawn; but, compelled to move by circuitous paths in order
to avoid the fire of Frémont’s batteries, it was after midnight before
the whole had assembled in Brown’s Gap. More than one of the regiments
had marched over twenty miles and had been heavily engaged.
Port Republic was the battle most costly to the Army of the Valley
during the whole campaign. Out of 5,900 Confederates engaged 804 were
disabled.[15] The Federal losses were heavier. The killed, wounded, and
missing (including 450 captured) amounted to 1,001, or one-fourth of
Tyler’s strength.
The success which the Confederates had achieved was undoubtedly
important. The Valley army, posted in Brown’s Gap, was now in direct
communication with Richmond. Not only had its pursuers been roughly
checked, but
the sudden and unexpected counterstroke, delivered by an enemy whom
they believed to be in full flight, had surprised Lincoln and Stanton
as effectively as Shields and Frémont. On June 6, the day Jackson
halted near Port Republic, McCall’s division of McDowell’s Army Corps,
which had been left at Fredericksburg, had been sent to the Peninsula
by water; and two days later McDowell himself, with the remainder of
his force, was directed to join McClellan as speedily as possible
overland. Frémont, on the same date, was instructed to halt at
Harrisonburg, and Shields to march to Fredericksburg. But before
Stanton’s dispatches reached their destination both Frémont and Shields
had been defeated, and the plans of the Northern Cabinet were once more
upset.
Instead of moving at once on Fredericksburg, and in spite of McDowell’s
remonstrances, Shields was detained at Luray, and Ricketts, who had
succeeded Ord, at Front Royal; while Frémont, deeming himself too much
exposed at Harrisonburg, fell back to Mount Jackson. It was not till
June 20 that Ricketts and Shields were permitted to leave the Valley,
ten days after the order had been issued for McDowell to move on
Richmond. For that space of time, then, his departure was delayed; and
there was worse to come. The great strategist at Richmond had not yet
done with Lincoln. There was still more profit to be derived from the
situation; and from the subsidiary operations in the Valley we may now
turn to the main armies.
By Jackson’s brilliant manœuvres McDowell had been lured westward at
the very moment he was about to join McClellan. The gap between the two
Federal armies had been widened from five to fifteen marches, while
Jackson at Brown’s Gap was no more than nine marches distant from
Richmond. McClellan, moreover, had been paralysed by the vigour of
Jackson’s blows.
On May 16, as already related, he had reached White House on the
Pamunkey, twenty miles from the Confederate capital. Ten miles south,
and directly across his path, flowed the Chickahominy, a formidable
obstacle to the march of a large army.
On the 24th, having already been informed that he was to be reinforced
by McDowell, he was told that the movement of the latter for
Fredericksburg was postponed until the Valley had been cleared. This
change of plan placed him in a most awkward predicament. A portion of
his army, in order to lend a hand to McDowell, had already crossed the
Chickahominy, a river with but few points of passage, and over which,
by reason of the swamps, the construction of military bridges was a
difficult and tedious operation. On May 30, two army corps were south
of the Chickahominy, covering, in a partially intrenched position, the
building of the bridges, while three army corps were still on the
further bank.
McClellan’s difficulties had not escaped the observation of his
watchful adversaries, and on the morning of May 31 the Federal lines
were heavily attacked by Johnston. The left of the position on the
south side of the Chickahominy was protected by the White Oak Swamp, a
broad and almost impassable morass; but the right, thrown back to the
river, was unprotected by intrenchments, and thinly manned. The defence
of the first line had been assigned to one corps only; the second was
five miles in rear. The assailants should have won an easy triumph. But
if McClellan had shown but little skill in the distribution of his
troops on the defensive, the Confederate arrangements for attack were
even more at fault. The country between Richmond and the Chickahominy
is level and well wooded. It was intersected by several roads, three of
which led directly to the enemy’s position. But the roads were bad, and
a tremendous rain-storm, which broke on the night of the 30th,
transformed the fields into tracts of greasy mud, and rendered the
passage of artillery difficult. The natural obstacles, however, were
not the chief.
The force detailed for the attack amounted to 40,000 men, or
twenty-three brigades. The Federal works were but five miles from
Richmond, and the Confederates were ordered to advance at dawn. But it
was the first time that an offensive movement on so large a scale had
been
attempted; the woods and swamps made supervision difficult, and the
staff proved unequal to the task of ensuring co-operation. The orders
for attack were badly framed. The subordinate generals did not clearly
comprehend what was expected from them. There were misunderstandings as
to the roads to be followed, and as to who was to command the wings.
The columns crossed, and half the day was wasted in getting into
position. It was not till 1 p.m. that the first gun was fired, and not
till 4 p.m. that the commanding general, stationed with the left wing,
was made acquainted with the progress of his right and centre. When it
was at last delivered, the attack was piecemeal; and although
successful in driving the enemy from his intrenchments, it failed to
drive him from the field. The Federals fell back to a second line of
earthworks, and were strongly reinforced from beyond the river. During
the battle Johnston himself was severely wounded, and the command
devolved on General G. W. Smith. Orders were issued that the attack
should be renewed next morning; but for reasons which have never been
satisfactorily explained, only five of the twenty-three brigades were
actively engaged, and the battle of Seven Pines ended with the
unmolested retreat of the Confederates. Smith fell sick, and General
Lee was ordered by the President to take command of the army in the
field.
McClellan, thanks to the bad work of the Confederate staff at the
battle of Seven Pines, had now succeeded in securing the passages
across the Chickahominy. But for the present he had given up all idea
of an immediate advance. Two of his army corps had suffered severely,
both in men and in _moral_; the roads were practically impassable for
artillery; the bridges over the Chickahominy had been much injured by
the floods; and it was imperative to re-establish the communications.
Such is his own explanation of his inactivity; but his official
correspondence with the Secretary of War leaves no doubt that his hope
of being reinforced by McDowell was a still more potent reason. During
the first three weeks in June he received repeated assurances from Mr.
Stanton that large bodies of troops were on their way to join him,
and it was for these that he was waiting. This expectant attitude, due
to McDowell’s non-arrival, entailed on him a serious disadvantage. If
he transferred his whole army to the right bank of the Chickahominy,
his line of supply, the railway to West Point, would be exposed; and,
secondly, when McDowell approached from Fredericksburg, it would be
possible for Leo to drive that general back before the Army of the
Potomac could give him direct support, or in any case to cut off all
communication with him. McClellan was consequently compelled to retain
his right wing north of the river; and indeed in so doing he was only
obeying his instructions. On May 18 Stanton had telegraphed: “You are
instructed to co-operate so as to establish this communication [with
McDowell], by extending your right wing north of Richmond.”
The Federal army, then, whilst awaiting the promised reinforcements,
was divided into two parts by a stream which another storm might render
impassable. It will thus be seen that Jackson’s operations not only
deprived McClellan of the immediate aid of 40,000 men and 100 guns, but
placed him in a most embarrassing situation. “The faulty location of
the Union army,” says General Porter, commanding the Fifth Federal Army
Corps, “was from the first realised by General McClellan, and became
daily an increasing cause of care and anxiety; not the least disturbing
element of which was the impossibility of quickly reinforcing his right
wing or promptly withdrawing it to the south bank.”[16]
Seeing that the Confederates were no more than 60,000 strong, while the
invading army mustered 100,000, it would seem that the knot should have
been cut by an immediate attack on the Richmond lines. But McClellan,
who had been United States Commissioner in the Crimea, knew something
of the strength of earthworks; and moreover, although the comparatively
feeble numbers developed by the Confederates at Seven Pines should have
enlightened him, he still believed that his enemy’s army was far larger
than his own. So, notwithstanding his danger, he
preferred to postpone his advance till Jackson’s defeat should set
McDowell free.
Fatal was the mistake which retained McDowell’s divisions in the
Valley, and sent Shields in pursuit of Jackson. While the Federal army,
waiting for reinforcements, lay astride the noisome swamps of the
Chickahominy, Lee was preparing a counterstroke on the largest scale.
The first thing to do was to reduce the disparity of numbers; and to
effect this troops were to be brought up from the south, Jackson was to
come to Richmond, and McDowell was to be kept away. This last was of
more importance than the rest, and, at the same time, more difficult of
attainment. Jackson was certainly nearer to Richmond than was McDowell;
but to defeat McClellan would take some time, and it was essential that
Jackson should have a long start, and not arrive upon the battlefield
with McDowell on his heels. It was necessary, therefore, that the
greater part of the latter’s force should be detained on the
Shenandoah; and on June 8, while Cross Keys was being fought, Lee wrote
to Jackson: “Should there be nothing requiring your attention in the
Valley, so as to prevent you leaving it in a few days, and you can make
arrangements to deceive the enemy and impress him with the idea of your
presence, please let me know, that you may unite at the decisive moment
with the army near Richmond. Make your arrangements accordingly; but
should an opportunity occur of striking the enemy a successful blow, do
not let it escape you.”
June 11 At the same time a detachment of 7,000 infantry was ordered to
the Valley. “Your recent successes,” wrote Lee on the 11th, when the
news of Cross Keys and Port Republic had been received, “have been the
cause of the liveliest joy in this army as well as in the country. The
admiration excited by your skill and boldness has been constantly
mingled with solicitude for your situation. The practicability of
reinforcing you has been the subject of gravest consideration. It has
been
determined to do so at the expense of weakening this army.
Brigadier-General Lawton with six regiments from Georgia is on his way
to you, and Brigadier-General Whiting with eight veteran regiments
leaves here to-day. The object is to enable you to crush the forces
opposed to you. Leave your enfeebled troops to watch the country and
guard the passes covered by your cavalry and artillery, and with your
main body, including Ewell’s division and Lawton’s and Whiting’s
commands, move rapidly to Ashland by rail or otherwise, as you may find
most advantageous, and sweep down between the Chickahominy and the
Pamunkey, cutting up the enemy’s communications, etc., while this army
attacks McClellan in front. He will then, I think, be forced to come
out of his intrenchments, where he is strongly posted on the
Chickahominy, and apparently preparing to move by gradual approaches on
Richmond.”[17]
Before the reinforcements reached the Valley both Frémont and Shields
were out of reach. To have followed them down the Valley would have
been injudicious. Another victory would have doubtless held McDowell
fast, but it would have drawn Jackson too far from Richmond. The
Confederate generals, therefore, in order to impose upon their enemies,
and to maintain the belief that Washington was threatened, had recourse
to stratagem. The departure of Whiting and Lawton for the Valley was
ostentatiously announced. Federal prisoners, about to be dismissed upon
parole, were allowed to see the trains full of soldiers proceeding
westward, to count the regiments. And learn their destination. Thus Lee
played his part in the game of deception, and meanwhile Jackson had
taken active measures to the same end.
Frémont had retired from Port Republic on the morning of the 10th. On
the 11th the Confederate cavalry, now under Colonel Munford, a worthy
successor of the indefatigable Ashby, crossed the Shenandoah, and
followed the retreating enemy. So active was the pursuit that Frémont
evacuated Harrisonburg, abandoning two hundred wounded
in the hospitals, besides medical and other stores.
June 14 “Significant demonstrations of the enemy,” to use his own
words, drove him next day from the strong position at Mount Jackson;
and on June 14 he fell back to Strasburg, Banks, who had advanced to
Middletown, being in close support.
On the 12th the Army of the Valley had once more moved westward, and,
crossing South River, had encamped in the woods near Mount Meridian.
Here for five days, by the sparkling waters of the Shenandoah, the
wearied soldiers rested, while their indefatigable leader employed ruse
after ruse to delude the enemy. The cavalry, though far from support,
was ordered to manœuvre boldly to prevent all information reaching the
Federals, and to follow Frémont so long as he retreated.[18] The
bearers of flags of truce were impressed with the idea that the
Southerners were advancing in great strength. The outpost line was made
as close as possible; no civilians were allowed to pass; and the
troopers, so that they should have nothing to tell it they were
captured, were kept in ignorance of the position of their own infantry.
The general’s real intentions were concealed from everyone except
Colonel Munford. The officers of the staff fared worse than the
remainder of the army. Not only were they debarred from their
commander’s confidence, but they became the unconscious instruments
whereby false intelligence was spread. “The engineers were directed to
prepare a series of maps of the Valley; and all who acquired a
knowledge of this carefully divulged order told their friends in
confidence that Jackson was going at once in pursuit of Frémont. As
those friends told their friends without loss of time, it was soon the
well-settled conviction of everybody that nothing was further from
Jackson’s intention than an evacuation of the Valley.”
June 17 On June 17 arrived a last letter from Lee:—
“From your account of the position of the enemy I think it would be
difficult for you to engage him in time to unite with this army in the
battle for Richmond. Frémont
and Shields are apparently retrograding, their troops shaken and
disorganised, and some time will be required to set them again in the
field. If this is so, the sooner you unite with this army the better.
McClellan is being strengthened. . . . There is much sickness in his
ranks, but his reinforcements by far exceed his losses. The present,
therefore, seems to be favourable for a junction of your army and this.
If you agree with me, the sooner you can make arrangements to do so the
better. In moving your troops you could let it be understood that it
was to pursue the enemy in your front. Dispose those to hold the
Valley, so as to deceive the enemy, keeping your cavalry well in their
front, and at the proper time suddenly descending upon the Pamunkey. To
be efficacious the movement must be secret. Let me know the force you
can bring, and be careful to guard from friends and foes your purpose
and your intention of personally leaving the Valley. The country is
full of spies, and our plans are immediately carried to the enemy.”[19]
The greater part of these instructions Jackson had already carried out
on his own initiative. There remained but to give final directions to
Colonel Munford, who was to hold the Valley, and to set the army in
motion. Munford was instructed to do his best to spread false reports
of an advance to the Potomac. Ewell’s division was ordered to
Charlottesville. The rest of the Valley troops were to follow Ewell;
and Whiting and Lawton, who, in order to bewilder Frémont, had been
marched from Staunton to Mount Meridian, and then back to Staunton,
were to take train to Gordonsville. It was above all things important
that the march should be secret. Not only was it essential that Lincoln
should not be alarmed into reinforcing McClellan, but it was of even
more importance that McClellan should not be alarmed into correcting
the faulty distribution of his army. So long as he remained with half
his force on one bank of the Chickahominy and half on the other, Lee
had a fair chance of concentrating superior numbers against one of the
fractions. But if McClellan, warned of Jackson’s
approach, were to mass his whole force on one bank or the other, there
would be little hope of success for the Confederates.
The ultimate object of the movement was therefore revealed to no one,
and the most rigorous precautions were adopted to conceal it. Jackson’s
letters from Richmond, in accordance with his own instructions, bore no
more explicit address than “Somewhere.” A long line of cavalry,
occupying every road, covered the front, and prevented anyone, soldier
or civilian, preceding them toward Richmond. Far out to either flank
rode patrols of horsemen, and a strong rear-guard swept before it
campfollowers and stragglers. At night, every road which approached the
bivouacs was strongly picketed, and the troops were prevented from
communicating with the country people. The men were forbidden to ask
the names of the villages through which they passed; and it was ordered
that to all questions they should make the one answer: “I don’t know.”
“This was just as much license as the men wanted,” says an eye-witness,
“and they forthwith knew nothing of the past, present, or future.” An
amusing incident, it is said, grew out of this order. One of General
Hood’s[20] Texans left the ranks on the march, and was climbing a fence
to go to a cherry-tree near at hand, when Jackson rode by and saw him.
“Where are you going?” asked the general.
“I don’t know,” replied the soldier.
“To what command do you belong?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, what State are you from?”
“I don’t know.”
“What is the meaning of all this?” asked Jackson of another.
“Well,” was the reply, “Old Stonewall and General Hood gave orders
yesterday that we were not to know anything until after the next
fight.”
Jackson laughed and rode on.[21]
The men themselves, intelligent as they were, were
unable to penetrate their general’s design. When they reached
Charlottesville it was reported in the ranks that the next march would
be northwards, to check a movement of Banks across the Blue Ridge. At
Gordonsville it was supposed that they would move on Washington.
“I recollect,” says one of the Valley soldiers, “that the pastor of the
Presbyterian church there, with whom Jackson spent the night, told me,
as a profound secret, not to be breathed to mortal man, that we would
move at daybreak on Culpeper Court House to intercept a column of the
enemy coming across the mountains. He said there could be no mistake
about this, for he had it from General Jackson himself. We did move at
daybreak, but instead of moving on Culpeper Court House we marched in
the opposite direction. At Hanover Junction we expected to head towards
Fredericksburg to meet McDowell, and the whole movement was so secretly
conducted that the troops were uncertain of their destination until the
evening of June 26, when they heard A. P. Hill’s guns at
Mechanicsville, and made the woods vibrate with their shouts of
anticipated victory.”[22]
At Gordonsville a rumour, which proved to be false, arrested the march
of the army for a whole day. On the 21st the leading division arrived
at Frederickshall, fifty miles from Richmond, and there halted for the
Sunday. They had already marched fifty miles, and the main body,
although the railway had been of much service, was still distant. There
was not sufficient rolling stock available to transport all the
infantry simultaneously, and, in any case, the cavalry, artillery, and
waggons must have proceeded by road. The trains, therefore, moving
backwards and forwards along the line, and taking up the rear brigades
in succession, forwarded them in a couple of hours a whole day’s march.
Beyond Frederickshall the line had been destroyed by the enemy’s
cavalry.
June 28 At 1 a.m. on Monday morning, Jackson, accompanied by a single
orderly, rode to confer with Lee, near Richmond. He was provided with a
pass, which Major Dabney had
been instructed to procure from General Whiting, the next in command,
authorising him to impress horses; and he had resorted to other
expedients to blind his friends. The lady of the house which he had
made his headquarters at Frederickshall had sent to ask if the general
would breakfast with her next morning. He replied that he would be glad
to do so if he were there at breakfast time; and upon her inquiry as to
the time that would be most convenient, he said: “Have it at your usual
time, and send for me when it is ready.” When Mrs. Harris sent for him,
Jim, his coloured servant, replied to the message: “Sh! you don’t
’spec’ to find the general here at this hour, do you? He left here
‘bout midnight, and I ’spec’ by this time he’s whippin’ Banks in the
Valley.”
During the journey his determination to preserve his incognito was the
cause of some embarrassment. A few miles from his quarters he was
halted by a sentry. It was in vain that he represented that he was an
officer on duty, carrying dispatches. The sentry, one of the Stonewall
Brigade, was inexorable, and quoted Jackson’s own orders. The utmost
that he would concede was that the commander of the picket should be
called. When this officer came he recognised his general. Jackson bound
them both to secrecy, and praising the soldier for his obedience,
continued his ride. Some hours later his horse broke down. Proceeding
to a plantation near the road, he told his orderly to request that a
couple of horses might be supplied for an officer on important duty. It
was still dark, and the indignant proprietor, so unceremoniously
disturbed by two unknown soldiers, who declined to give their names,
refused all aid. After some parley Jackson and his orderly, finding
argument wasted, proceeded to the stables, selected the two best
horses, shifted the saddles, and left their own chargers as a temporary
exchange.
At three o’clock in the afternoon, after passing rapidly through
Richmond, he reached the headquarters of the Commander-in-Chief. It is
unfortunate that no record of the meeting that took place has been
preserved. There
were present, besides Lee and Jackson, the three officers whose
divisions were to be employed in the attack upon the Federals,
Longstreet, A. P. Hill, and D. H. Hill. The names of the two former are
associated with almost every Confederate victory won upon the soil of
Virginia. They were trusted by their great leader, and they were
idolised by their men. Like others, they made mistakes; the one was
sometimes slow, the other careless; neither gave the slightest sign
that they were capable of independent command, and both were at times
impatient of control. But, taking them all in all, they were gallant
soldiers, brave to a fault, vigorous in attack, and undaunted by
adverse fortune. Longstreet, sturdy and sedate, his “old war-horse” as
Lee affectionately called him, bore on his broad shoulders the weight
of twenty years’ service in the old army. Hill’s slight figure and
delicate features, instinct with life and energy, were a marked
contrast to the heavier frame and rugged lineaments of his older
colleague.
Already they were distinguished. In the hottest of the fight they had
won the respect that soldiers so readily accord to valour; yet it is
not on these stubborn fighters, not on their companion, less popular,
but hardly less capable, that the eye of imagination rests. Were some
great painter, gifted with the sense of historic fitness, to place on
his canvas the council in the Virginia homestead, two figures only
would occupy the foreground: the one weary with travel, white with the
dust of many leagues, and bearing on his frayed habiliments the traces
of rough bivouacs and mountain roads; the other, tall, straight, and
stately; still, for all his fifty years, remarkable for his personal
beauty, and endowed with all the simple dignity of a noble character
and commanding intellect. In that humble chamber, where the only
refreshment the Commander-in-Chief could offer was a glass of milk, Lee
and Jackson met for the first time since the war had begun. Lee’s hours
of triumph had yet to come. The South was aware that he was sage in
council; he had yet to prove his mettle in the field. But there was at
least one Virginia soldier who knew his worth. With the prescient
sympathy
of a kindred spirit Jackson had divined his daring and his genius, and
although he held always to his own opinions, he had no will but that of
his great commander. With how absolute a trust his devotion was repaid
one of the brightest pages in the history of Virginia tells us; a year
crowded with victories bears witness to the strength begotten of their
mutual confidence. So long as Lee and Jackson led her armies hope shone
on the standards of the South. Great was the constancy of her people;
wonderful the fortitude of her soldiers; but on the shoulders of her
twin heroes rested the burden of the tremendous struggle.
To his four major-generals Lee explained his plan of attack, and then,
retiring to his office, left them to arrange the details. It will be
sufficient for the present to state that Jackson’s troops were to
encamp on the night of the 25th east of Ashland, fifteen miles north of
Richmond, between the village and the Virginia Central Railway. The day
following the interview, the 24th, he returned to his command,
rejoining the column at Beaver Dam Station.
June 24 His advanced guard were now within forty miles of Richmond,
and, so far from McDowell being on his heels, that general was still
north of Fredericksburg. No reinforcements could reach McClellan for
several days; the Confederates were concentrated round Richmond in full
strength; and Lee’s strategy had been entirely successful. Moreover,
with such skill had Jackson’s march been made that the Federal generals
were absolutely ignorant of his whereabouts. McClellan indeed seems to
have had some vague suspicion of his approach; but Lincoln, McDowell,
Banks, Frémont, together with the whole of the Northern people and the
Northern press, believed that he was still west of Gordonsville.
Neither scout, spy, nor patrol was able to penetrate the cordon of
Munford’s outposts. Beyond his pickets, strongly posted at New Market
and Conrad’s Store, all was dim and dark. Had Jackson halted, awaiting
reinforcements? Was he already in motion, marching swiftly and secretly
against some
isolated garrison? Was he planning another dash on Washington, this
time with a larger army at his back? Would his advance be east or west
of the Blue Ridge, across the sources of the Rappahannock, or through
the Alleghanies? Had he 15,000 men or 50,000?
Such were the questions which obtruded themselves on the Federal
generals, and not one could give a satisfactory reply. That a blow was
preparing, and that it would fall where it was least expected, all men
knew. “We have a determined and enterprising enemy to contend with,”
wrote one of Lincoln’s generals. “Jackson,” said another, “marches
thirty miles a day.” The successive surprises of the Valley campaign
had left their mark; and the correspondence preserved in the Official
Records is in itself the highest tribute to Jackson’s skill. He had
gained something more than the respect of his enemies. He had brought
them to fear his name, and from the Potomac to the Rappahannock
uncertainty and apprehension reigned supreme. Not a patrol was sent out
which did not expect to meet the Confederate columns, pressing swiftly
northward; not a general along the whole line, from Romney to
Fredericksburg, who did not tremble for his own security.
There was sore trouble on the Shenandoah. The disasters of McDowell and
Front Royal had taught the Federal officers that when the Valley army
was reported to be sixty miles distant, it was probably deploying in
the nearest forest; and with the rout of Winchester still fresh in
their memories they knew that pursuit would be as vigorous as attack
would be sudden. The air was full of rumours, each more alarming than
its predecessor, and all of them contradictory. The reports of the
cavalry, of spies, of prisoners, of deserters, of escaped negroes, told
each a different story.
Jackson, it was at first reported, had been reinforced to the number of
35,000 men.[23] A few days later his army had swelled to 60,000 with 70
guns, and he was rebuilding the bridge at Port Republic in order to
follow Frémont.
On June 13 he was believed to be moving through Charlottesville against
one or other of McDowell’s divisions. “He was either going against
Shields at Luray, or King at Catlett’s, or Doubleday at Fredericksburg,
or going to Richmond.” On the 16th it was absolutely certain that he
was within striking distance of Front Royal. On the 18th he had gone to
Richmond, but Ewell was still in the Valley with 40,000 men. On the
19th Banks had no doubt but that another immediate movement down the
Valley was intended “with 80,000 or more.” On the 20th Jackson was said
to be moving on Warrenton, east of the Blue Ridge. On the 22nd
“reliable persons” at Harper’s Ferry had learned that he was about to
attack Banks at Middletown; and on the same day Ewell, who was actually
near Frederickshall, was discovered to be moving on Moorefield! On the
25th Frémont had been informed that large reinforcements had reached
Jackson from Tennessee; and Banks was on the watch for a movement from
the west. Frémont heard that Ewell designed to attack Winchester in
rear, and the threat from so dangerous a quarter made Lincoln anxious.
“We have no definite information,” wrote Stanton to McClellan, “as to
the numbers or position of Jackson’s force. Within the last two days
the evidence is strong that for some purpose the enemy is circulating
rumours of Jackson’s advance in various directions, with a view to
conceal the real point of attack. Neither McDowell nor Banks nor
Frémont appear to have any accurate knowledge of the subject.”
This was on June 25, the day the Valley army halted at Ashland; but the
climax was reached on the 28th. For forty-eight hours Jackson had been
fighting McClellan, yet Banks, although “quite confident that he was
not within thirty miles, believed that he was preparing for an attack
on Middletown.” To reach Middletown Jackson would have had to march one
hundred and fifty miles!
Under the influence of these rumours the movements of the Federal
troops were erratic in the extreme.
Frémont, who had originally been ordered to remain at Harrisonburg, had
fallen back on Banks at Middletown,
although ordered to Front Royal, was most reluctant to move so far
south. Shields was first ordered to stand fast at Luray, where he would
be reinforced by Ricketts, and was then ordered to fall back on Front
Royal. Reinforcements were ordered to Romney, to Harper’s Ferry, and to
Winchester; and McDowell, who kept his head throughout, struggled in
vain to reunite his scattered divisions. Divining the true drift of the
Confederate strategy, he realised that to protect Washington, and to
rescue McClellan, the surest method was for his own army corps to march
as rapidly as possible to the Chickahominy. But his pleadings were
disregarded. Lincoln and Stanton had not yet discovered that the best
defence is generally a vigorous attack. They had learned nothing from
the Valley campaign, and they were infected with the fears of Banks and
Frémont. Jackson was well on his way to Richmond before Shields and
Ricketts were permitted to cross the Blue Ridge; and it was not till
the 25th that McDowell’s corps was once more concentrated at
Fredericksburg. The Confederates had gained a start of five marches,
and the Northern Government was still ignorant that they had left the
Valley.
McClellan was equally in the dark. Faint rumours had preceded the march
of Jackson’s army, but he had given them scant credit. On the morning
of the 26th, however, he was rudely enlightened. It was but too clear
that Jackson, strongly reinforced from Richmond, was bearing down upon
his most vulnerable point—his right wing, which, in anticipation of
McDowell’s advance, remained exposed on the north bank of the
Chickahominy.
Nor was this the sum of his troubles. On this same day, when his
outposts were falling back before superior numbers, and the Valley
regiments were closing round their flank, he received a telegram from
Stanton, informing him that the forces commanded by McDowell, Banks,
and Frémont were to form one army under Major-General Pope; and that
this army was “to attack and overcome the rebel forces under Jackson
and Ewell, and threaten the
enemy in the direction of Charlottesville!” All hope of succour passed
away, and the “Young Napoleon” was left to extricate himself as best he
could, from his many difficulties; difficulties which were due in part
to his own political blindness, in part to the ignorance of Lincoln,
but, in a far larger degree, to the consummate strategy of Lee and
Jackson.
NOTE
_The Marches in the Valley Campaign, March 22 to June 25, 1862_
_Miles_ March 22 Mount Jackson–Strasburg 28 March
23 Strasburg–Kernstown–Newtown 18 Battle of
Kernstown March 24–26 Newtown–Mt. Jackson 35 April
17–19 Mt. Jackson–Elk Run Valley 50 April 30– May
8 Elk Run Valley–Mechum’s River Station 60 May
7–8 Staunton–Shenandoah Mt. 32 Battle of M’Dowell
May 9–11 Bull Pasture Mount–Franklin 30 Skirmishes
May 12–15 Franklin–Lebanon Springs 40 May 17 Lebanon
Springs–Bridgewater 18 May 19–20 Bridgewater–New
Market 24 May 1 New Market–Luray 12 May
22 Luray–Milford 12 May 23 Milford–Front
Royal–Cedarville 22 Action at Front Royal May
24 Cedarville–Abraham’s Creek 22 Action at
Middletown and Newtown May 25 Abraham’s
Creek–Stevenson’s 7 Battle of Winchester May
28 Stevenson’s–Charlestown 15 Skirmish May
29 Charlestown–Halltown 5 Skirmish May
30 Halltown–Winchester 25 May
31 Winchester–Strasburg 18 June
1 Strasburg–Woodstock 12 Skirmish June
2 Woodstock–Mount Jackson 12 June 3 Mount
Jackson–New Market 7 June 4–5 New Market–Port
Republic 30 June 8 Battle of Cross Keys June
9 Cross Keys–Brown’s Gap 16 Battle of Port Republic
June 12 Brown’s Gap–Mount Meridian 10 June
17–25 Mount Meridian–Ashland Station (one rest day) 120
—— 676 miles in 48 marching days Average 14 miles per
diem
[1] O.R., vol. xii, part iii, pp. 220, 229 (letter of S. P. Chase).
[2] Of the existence of the bridge at Port Republic, held by a party
of Confederate cavalry, the Federals do not appear to have been aware.
[3] O.R., vol. xii, part iii, p. 352.
[4] All three of these officers escaped from their captors.
[5] According to General Shields’ account his cavalry had reported to
him that the bridge at Port Republic had been burned, and he had
therefore ordered his advanced guard to take up a defensive position
and prevent the Confederates crossing the Shenandoah River. It was the
head of the detachment which had dispersed the Confederate squadrons.
[6] Related by Colonel Poague, C.S.A.
[7] _Destruction and Reconstruction,_ p. 39.
[8] The Confederates at Kernstown lost 20 per cent.; the Federals at
Port Republic 18 per cent. At Manassas the Stonewall Brigade lost 16
per cent., at Cross Keys Ewell only lost 8 per cent. and Frémont 5 per
cent.
[9] _Southern Historical Society Papers,_ vol. ix, p. 372.
[10] Rations appear to have been short, for General Ewell reports that
when he marched against Shields the next day many of his men had been
without food for four-and-twenty hours.
[11] The mule battery does not appear to have done much more than
afford the Confederate soldiers an opportunity of airing their wit.
With the air of men anxiously seeking for information they would ask
the gunners whether the mule or the gun was intended to go off first?
and whether the gun was to fire the mule or the mule the gun?
[12] _Battles and Leaders,_ vol. ii, p. 293.
[13] _Destruction and Reconstruction,_ p. 90. Jackson’s order to the
staff officer (Major Hotchkiss) was brief: “Sweeping with his hand to
the eastward, and then towards the Lewis House, where the Federal guns
were raking the advance, he said: ‘Take General Taylor around and take
that battery.’”
[14] Dabney, vol. ii.
[15] The troops actually engaged were as follows:—
4 Regiments of Winder’s Brigade
The Louisiana Brigade, 5 regiments
Scott’s Brigade, 3 regiments
31st Virginia and 40th Virginia
Artillery (5 batteries)
Cavalry 1,200
2,500
900
600
300
400
———
5,900
[16] _Battles and Leaders,_ vol. ii, p. 324.
[17] O.R., vol. xii, part iii, p. 910.
[18] “The only true rule for cavalry is to follow as long as the enemy
retreats.”—Jackson to Munford, June 13.
[19] O.R., vol. xii, part iii, p. 913.
[20] Whiting’s division.
[21] Cooke, p. 205.
[22] Communicated by the Reverend J. W. Jones, D.D.
[23] The telegrams and letters containing the reports quoted on pages
399–400 are to be found in O.R., vol. xi, part iii, and vol. xii, part
iii.