THE SECOND MANASSAS _(continued)_
During the night of August 30 the long line of camp-fires on the
heights above Bull Run, and the frequent skirmishes along the picket
line, told General Lee that his enemy had no intention of falling back
behind the stream. And when morning broke the Federal troops were
observed upon every ridge.
August 30 The Confederate leader, eager as he had been to force the
battle to an issue on the previous afternoon, had now abandoned all
idea of attack. The respite which the enemy had gained might have
altogether changed the situation. It was possible that the Federals had
been largely reinforced. Pope and McClellan had been given time, and
the hours of the night might have been utilised to bring up the
remainder of the Army of the Potomac. Lee resolved, therefore, to await
events. The Federal position was strong; their masses were well
concentrated; there was ample space, on the ridges beyond Young’s
Branch, for the deployment of their numerous artillery, and it would be
difficult to outflank them. Moreover, a contingent of fresh troops from
Richmond, the divisions of D. H. Hill, McLaws, and Walker, together
with Hampton’s brigade of cavalry, and part of the reserve artillery,
20,350 men in all, had crossed the Rappahannock.[1] Until this force
should join him he determined
to postpone further manœuvres, and to rest his army. But he was not
without hope that Pope might assume the initiative and move down from
the heights on which his columns were already forming. Aware of the
sanguine and impatient temper of his adversary, confident in the
_moral_ of his troops, and in the strength of his position, he foresaw
that an opportunity might offer for an overwhelming counterstroke.
Meanwhile, the Confederate divisions, still hidden in the woods, lay
quietly on their arms. Few changes were made in the dispositions of the
previous day. Jackson, despite his losses, had made no demand for
reinforcements; and the only direct support afforded him was a battery
of eighteen guns, drawn from the battalion of Colonel S. D. Lee, and
established on the high ground west of the Douglass House, at right
angles to his line of battle. These guns, pointing north-east,
overlooked the wide tract of undulating meadow which lay in front of
the Stonewall and Lawton’s divisions, and they commanded a field of
fire over a mile long. The left of the battery was not far distant from
the guns on Jackson’s right, and the whole of the open space was thus
exposed to the cross-fire of a formidable artillery.
[Illustration: Map of Groveton and Second Manassas]
To the right of the batteries, Stuart’s Hill was strongly occupied by
Longstreet, with Anderson’s division as general reserve; and this wing
of the Confederate army was gradually wheeled up, but always under
cover, until it was almost perpendicular to the line of the unfinished
railroad. The strength of Lee’s army at the battle of Manassas was
hardly more than 50,000 of all arms. Jackson’s command had been reduced
by battle and forced marches to 17,000 men. Longstreet mustered 30,000,
and the cavalry 2,500.
But numbers are of less importance than the confidence of the men in
their ability to conquer,[2] and the spirit of the Confederates had
been raised to the highest pitch. The keen
critics in Longstreet’s ranks, although they had taken no part in the
Manassas raid, or in the battles of August 28 and 29, fully appreciated
the daring strategy which had brought them within two short marches of
Washington. The junction of the two wings, in the very presence of the
enemy, after many days of separation, was a manœuvre after their own
hearts. The passage of Thoroughfare Gap revealed the difficulties which
had attended the operations, and the manner in which the enemy had been
outwitted appealed with peculiar force to their quick intelligence.
Their trust in Lee was higher than ever; and the story of Jackson’s
march, of the capture of Manassas, of the repulse of Pope’s army, if it
increased their contempt for the enemy, inspired them with an
enthusiastic determination to emulate the achievements of their
comrades. The soldiers of the Valley army, who, unaided by a single
bayonet, had withstood the five successive assaults which had been
launched against their position, were supremely indifferent, now
Longstreet was in line, to whatever the enemy might attempt. It was
noticed that notwithstanding the heavy losses they had experienced
Jackson’s troops were never more light-hearted than on the morning of
August 30. Cartridge-boxes had been replenished, rations had been
issued, and for several hours the men had been called on neither to
march nor fight. As they lay in the woods, and the pickets, firing on
the enemy’s patrols, kept up a constant skirmish to the front, the
laugh and jest ran down the ranks, and the unfortunate Pope, who had
only seen “the backs of his enemies,” served as whetstone for their
wit.
By the troops who had revelled in the spoils of Winchester Banks had
been dubbed “Old Jack’s Commissary General.” By universal acclamation,
after the Manassas foray, Pope was promoted to the same distinction;
and had it been possible to penetrate to the Federal headquarters, the
mirth of those ragged privates would hardly have diminished. Pope was
in an excellent humour, conversing affably with his staff, and viewing
with pride the martial aspect of his massed divisions. Nearly his whole
force
was concentrated on the hills around him, and Porter, who had been
called up from the Manassas road, was already marching northwards
through the woods.
10.15 p.m. Banks still was absent at Bristoe Station, in charge of the
trains and stores which had been removed from Warrenton; but, shortly
after ten o’clock, 65,000 men, with eight-and-twenty batteries, were at
Pope’s disposal. He had determined to give battle, although Franklin
and Sumner, who had already reached Alexandria, had not yet joined him;
and he anticipated an easy triumph. He was labouring, however, under an
extraordinary delusion. The retreat of Hood’s brigades the preceding
night, after their reconnaissance, had induced him to believe that
Jackson had been defeated, and he had reported to Halleck at daybreak;
“We fought a terrific battle here yesterday with the combined forces of
the enemy, which lasted with continuous fury from daylight until dark,
by which time the enemy was driven from the field, which we now occupy.
The enemy is still in our front, but badly used up. We lost not less
than 8,000 men killed and wounded, but from the appearance of the field
the enemy lost at least two to one. The news has just reached me from
the front that the enemy is retreating towards the mountains.”
If, in these days of long-range weapons, Napoleon’s dictum still stands
good, that the general who is ignorant of his enemy’s strength and
dispositions is ignorant of his trade, then of all generals Pope was
surely the most incompetent. At ten o’clock on the morning of August
30, and for many months afterwards, despite his statement that he had
fought “the combined forces of the enemy” on the previous day, he was
still under the impression, so skilfully were the Confederate troops
concealed, that Longstreet had not yet joined Jackson, and that the
latter was gradually falling back on Thoroughfare Gap. His patrols had
reported that the enemy’s cavalry had been withdrawn from the left bank
of Bull Run. A small reconnaissance in force, sent to test Jackson’s
strength, had ascertained that the extreme left was not so far forward
as it had been yesterday; while two of the Federal generals,
reconnoitring beyond the
turnpike, observed only a few skirmishers. On these negative reports
Pope based his decision to seize the ridge which was held by Jackson.
Yet the woods along the unfinished railroad had not been examined, and
the information from other sources was of a different colour and more
positive. Buford’s cavalry had reported on the evening of the 29th that
a large force had passed through Thoroughfare Gap. Porter declared that
the enemy was in great strength on the Manassas road. Reynolds, who had
been in close contact with Longstreet since the previous afternoon,
reported that Stuart’s Hill was strongly occupied. Ricketts, moreover,
who had fought Longstreet for many hours at Thoroughfare Gap, was
actually present on the field. But Pope, who had made up his mind that
the enemy ought to retreat, and that therefore he must retreat, refused
credence to any report whatever which ran counter to these preconceived
ideas.
12 noon Without making the slightest attempt to verify, by personal
observation, the conclusions at which his subordinates had arrived, at
midday, to the dismay of his best officers, his army being now in
position, he issued orders for his troops to be “immediately thrown
forward in pursuit of the enemy, and to press him vigorously.”
Porter and Reynolds formed the left of the Federal army. These
generals, alive to the necessity of examining the woods, deployed a
strong skirmish line before them as they formed for action. Further
evidence of Pope’s hallucination was at once forthcoming. The moment
Reynolds moved forward against Stuart’s Hill he found his front
overlapped by long lines of infantry, and, riding back, he informed
Pope that in so doing he had had to run the gauntlet of skirmishers who
threatened his rear. Porter, too, pushing his reconnaissance across the
meadows west of Groveton, drew the fire of several batteries. But at
this juncture, unfortunately for the Federals, a Union prisoner,
recaptured from Jackson, declared that he had “heard the rebel officers
say that their army was retiring to unite with Longstreet.” So
positively did the indications before him contradict this statement,
that Porter, on sending the man
to Pope, wrote: “In duty bound I send him, but I regard him as either a
fool or designedly released to give a wrong impression. No faith should
be put in what he says.” If Jackson employed this man to delude his
enemy, the ruse was eminently successful. Porter received the reply:
“General Pope believes that soldier, and directs you to attack;”
Reynolds was dismissed with a message that cavalry would be sent to
verify his report; and McDowell was ordered to put in the divisions of
Hatch and Ricketts on Porter’s right.
During the whole morning the attention of the Confederates had been
directed to the Groveton wood. Beyond the timber rose the hill
north-east, and on this hill three or four Federal batteries had come
into action at an early hour, firing at intervals across the meadows.
The Confederate guns, save when the enemy’s skirmishers approached too
close, hardly deigned to reply, reserving their ammunition for warmer
work. That such work was to come was hardly doubtful. Troops had been
constantly in motion near the hostile batteries, and the thickets below
were evidently full of men.
12.15 p.m. Shortly after noon the enemy’s skirmishers became
aggressive, swarming over the meadows, and into the wood which had seen
such heavy slaughter in the fight of yesterday. As Jackson’s pickets,
extended over a wide front, gave slowly back, his guns opened in
earnest, and shell and shrapnel flew fast over the open space. The
strong force of skirmishers betrayed the presence of a line of battle
not far in rear, and ignoring the fire of the artillery, the
Confederate batteries concentrated on the covert behind which they knew
the enemy’s masses were forming for attack. But, except the pickets,
not a single man of either the Stonewall or Lawton’s division was
permitted to expose himself. A few companies held the railroad, the
remainder were carefully concealed. The storm was not long in breaking.
Jackson had just ridden along his lines, examining with his own eyes
the stir in the Groveton wood, when, in rear of the skirmishers,
advancing over the highroad, appeared the serried ranks of the line
of battle. 20,000 bayonets, on a front which extended from Groveton to
near Bull Run, swept forward against his front; 40,000, formed in dense
masses on the slopes in rear, stood in readiness to support them; and
numerous batteries, coming into action on every rising ground, covered
the advance with a heavy fire.
Pope, standing on a knoll near the Stone House, saw victory within his
grasp. The Confederate guns had been pointed out to his troops as the
objective of the attack. Unsupported, as he believed, save by the
scattered groups of skirmishers who were already retreating to the
railroad, and assailed in front and flank, these batteries, he
expected, would soon be flying to the rear, and the Federal army, in
possession of the high ground, would then sweep down in heavy columns
towards Thoroughfare Gap. Suddenly his hopes fell. Porter’s masses,
stretching far to right and left, had already passed the Dogan House;
Hatch was entering the Groveton wood; Ricketts was moving forward along
Bull Run, and the way seemed clear before them; when loud and clear
above the roar of the artillery rang out the Confederate bugles, and
along the whole length of the ridge beyond the railroad long lines of
infantry, streaming forward from the woods, ran down to the embankment.
“The effect,” said an officer who witnessed this unexpected apparition,
“was not unlike flushing a covey of quails.”
Instead of the small rear-guard which Pope had thought to crush by
sheer force of overwhelming numbers, the whole of the Stonewall
division, with Lawton on the left, stood across Porter’s path.
Reynolds, south of the turnpike, and confronting Longstreet, was
immediately ordered to fall back and support the attack, and two small
brigades, Warren’s and Alexander’s, were left alone on the Federal
left. Pope had committed his last and his worst blunder. Sigel with two
divisions was in rear of Porter, and for Sigel’s assistance Porter had
already asked. But Pope, still under the delusion that Longstreet was
not yet up, preferred rather to weaken his left than grant the request
of a subordinate.
Under such a leader the courage of the troops, however vehement, was of
no avail, and in Porter’s attack the soldiers displayed a courage to
which the Confederates paid a willing tribute. Morell’s division, with
the two brigades abreast, arrayed in three lines, advanced across the
meadows. Hatch’s division, in still deeper formation, pushed through
the wood on Morell’s right. Nearer Bull Run were two brigades of
Ricketts; and to Morell’s left rear the division of regulars moved
forward under Sykes.
[Illustration: Map of the approximate positions in the attack on
Jackson, August 30th, 1862.]
Morell’s attack was directed against Jackson’s right. In the centre of
the Federal line a mounted officer, whose gallant bearing lived long in
the memories of the Stonewall division, rode out in front of the
column, and, drawing his sabre, led the advance over the rolling
grass-land. The Confederate batteries, with a terrible cross-fire,
swept the Northern ranks from end to end. The volley of the infantry,
lying behind their parapet, struck them full in face. But the horse and
his rider lived through it all. The men followed close, charging
swiftly up the slope, and then the leader, putting his horse straight
at the embankment, stood for a moment on the top. The daring feat was
seen by the whole Confederate line, and a yell went up from the men
along the railroad, “Don’t kill him! don’t kill him!” But while the cry
went up horse and rider fell in one limp mass across the earthwork, and
the gallant Northerner was dragged under shelter by his generous foes.
With such men as this to show the way what soldiers would be backward?
As the Russians followed Skobeleff’s grey up the bloody slopes of
Plevna, so the Federals followed the bright chestnut of this unknown
hero, and not till the colours waved within thirty paces of the parapet
did the charge falter. But, despite the supports that came thronging
up, Jackson’s soldiers, covered by the earthwork, opposed a resistance
which no mere frontal attack could break. Three times, as the lines in
rear merged with the first, the Federal officers brought their men
forward to the assault, and three times were they hurled back, leaving
hundreds of their number dead and wounded on the
blood-soaked turf. One regiment of the Stonewall division, posted in a
copse beyond the railroad, was driven in; but others, when cartridges
failed them, had recourse, like the Guards at Inkermann, to the stones
which lay along the railway-bed; and with these strange weapons, backed
up by the bayonet, more than one desperate effort was repulsed. In
arresting Garnett after Kernstown, because when his ammunition was
exhausted he had abandoned his position, Jackson had lost a good
general, but he had taught his soldiers a useful lesson. So long as the
cold steel was left to them, and their flanks were safe, they knew that
their indomitable leader expected them to hold their ground, and right
gallantly they responded. For over thirty minutes the battle raged
along the front at the closest range. Opposite a deep cutting the
colours of a Federal regiment, for nearly half an hour, rose and fell,
as bearer after bearer was shot down, within ten yards of the muzzles
of the Confederate rifles, and after the fight a hundred dead
Northerners were found where the flag had been so gallantly upheld.
Hill, meanwhile, was heavily engaged with Hatch. Every brigade, with
the exception of Gregg’s, had been thrown into the fighting-line; and
so hardly were they pressed, that Jackson, turning to his signallers,
demanded reinforcements from his colleague. Longstreet, in response to
the call, ordered two more batteries to join Colonel Stephen Lee; and
Morell’s division, penned in that deadly cockpit between Stuart’s Hill
and the Groveton wood, shattered by musketry in front and by artillery
at short range in flank, fell back across the meadows. Hatch soon
followed suit, and Jackson’s artillery, which during the fight at close
quarters had turned its fire on the supports, launched a storm of shell
on the defeated Federals. Some batteries were ordered to change
position so as to rake their lines; and the Stonewall Division,
reinforced by a brigade of Hill’s, was sent forward to the
counter-attack. At every step the losses of the Federals increased, and
the shattered divisions, passing through two regiments of regulars,
which had been sent forward to support them, sought shelter in the
woods. Then Porter and Hatch, under cover of their artillery, withdrew
their
infantry. Ricketts had fallen back before his troops arrived within
decisive range. Under the impression that he was about to pursue a
retreating enemy, he had found on advancing, instead of a thin screen
of skirmishers, a line of battle, strongly established, and backed by
batteries to which he was unable to reply. Against such odds attack
would only have increased the slaughter.
[Illustration: Map of positions on August 30th, 1862.]
It was after four o’clock. Three hours of daylight yet remained, time
enough still to secure a victory. But the Federal army was in no
condition to renew the attack. Worn with long marches, deprived of
their supplies, and oppressed by the consciousness that they were
ill-led, both officers and men had lost all confidence. Every single
division on the field had been engaged, and every single division had
been beaten back. For four days, according to General Pope, they had
been following a flying foe. “We were sent forward,” reported a
regimental commander with quiet sarcasm, “to pursue the enemy, who was
said to be retreating; we found the enemy, but did not see them
retreat.”
Nor, had there been a larger reserve in hand, would a further advance
have been permitted. The Stonewall division, although Porter’s
regiments were breaking up before its onset, had been ordered to fall
back before it became exposed to the full sweep of the Federal guns.
But the woods to the south, where Longstreet’s divisions had been lying
for so many hours, were already alive with bayonets. The grey
skirmishers, extending far beyond Pope’s left, were moving rapidly down
the slopes of Stuart’s Hill, and the fire of the artillery, massed on
the ridge in rear, was increasing every moment in intensity. The
Federals, just now advancing in pursuit, were suddenly thrown on the
defensive; and the hand of a great captain snatched control of the
battle from the grasp of Pope.
As Porter reeled back from Jackson’s front, Lee had seen his
opportunity. The whole army was ordered to advance to the attack.
Longstreet, prepared since dawn for the counterstroke, had moved before
the message
reached him, and the exulting yells of his soldiers were now resounding
through the forest. Jackson was desired to cover Longstreet’s left; and
sending Starke and Lawton across the meadows, strewn with the bloody
_débris_ of Porter’s onslaught, he instructed Hill to advance _en
échelon_ with his left “refused.” Anticipating the order, the commander
of the Light Division was already sweeping through the Groveton wood.
The Federal gunners, striving valiantly to cover the retreat of their
shattered infantry, met the advance of the Southerners with a rapid
fire. Pope and McDowell exerted themselves to throw a strong force on
to the heights above Bull Run; and the two brigades upon the left,
Warren’s and Alexander’s, already overlapped, made a gallant effort to
gain time for the occupation of the new position.
But the counterstroke of Lee was not to be withstood by a few regiments
of infantry. The field of Bull Run had seen many examples of the attack
as executed by indifferent tacticians. At the first battle isolated
brigades had advanced at wide intervals of time. At the second battle
the Federals had assaulted by successive divisions. Out of 50,000
infantry, no more than 20,000 had been simultaneously engaged, and when
a partial success had been achieved there were no supports at hand to
complete the victory. When the Confederates came forward it was in
other fashion; and those who had the wit to understand were now to
learn the difference between mediocrity and genius, between the
half-measures of the one and the resolution of the other. Lee’s order
for the advance embraced his whole army. Every regiment, every battery,
and every squadron was employed. No reserves save the artillery were
retained upon the ridge, but wave after wave of bayonets followed
closely on the fighting-line. To drive the attack forward by a quick
succession of reinforcements, to push it home by weight of numbers, to
pile blow on blow, to keep the defender occupied along his whole front,
and to provide for retreat, should retreat be necessary, not by
throwing in fresh troops, but by leaving the enemy so crippled that he
would be powerless
to pursue—such were the tactics of the Confederate leader.
The field was still covered with Porter’s and Hatch’s disordered masses
when Lee’s strong array advanced, and the sight was magnificent. As far
as the eye could reach the long grey lines of infantry, with the
crimson of the colours gleaming like blood in the evening sun, swept
with ordered ranks across the Groveton valley. Batteries galloped
furiously to the front; far away to the right fluttered the guidons of
Stuart’s squadrons, and over all the massed artillery maintained a
tremendous fire. The men drew fresh vigour from this powerful
combination. The enthusiasm of the troops was as intense as their
excitement. With great difficulty, it is related, were the gunners
restrained from joining in the charge, and the officers of the staff
could scarcely resist the impulse to throw themselves with their
victorious comrades upon the retreating foe.
The advance was made in the following order:
Wilcox’ division, north of the turnpike, connected with Jackson’s
right. Then came Evans, facing the two brigades which formed the
Federal left, and extending across the turnpike. Behind Evans came
Anderson on the left and Kemper on the right. Then, in prolongation of
Kemper’s line, but at some interval, marched the division of D. R.
Jones, flanked by Stuart’s cavalry, and on the further wing, extending
towards Bull Run, were Starke, Lawton, and A. P. Hill. 50,000 men,
including the cavalry, were thus deployed over a front of four miles;
each division was formed in at least two lines; and in the centre,
where Anderson and Kemper supported Evans, were no less than eight
brigades one in rear of the other.
The Federal advanced line, behind which the troops which had been
engaged in the last attack were slowly rallying, extended from the
Groveton wood to a low hill, south of the turnpike and east of the
village. This hill was quickly carried by Hood’s brigade of Evans’s
division. The two regiments which defended it, rapidly outflanked, and
assailed by overwhelming numbers, were routed with the loss of nearly
half their muster. Jackson’s attack
through the Groveton wood was equally successful, but on the ridge in
rear were posted the regulars under Sykes; and, further east, on Buck
Hill, had assembled the remnants of four divisions.
Outflanked by the capture of the hill upon their left, and fiercely
assailed in front, Sykes’s well-disciplined regiments, formed in lines
of columns and covered by a rear-guard of skirmishers, retired steadily
under the tremendous fire, preserving their formation, and falling back
slowly across Young’s Branch. Then Jackson, reforming his troops along
the Sudley road, and swinging round to the left, moved swiftly against
Buck Hill. Here, in addition to the infantry, were posted three Union
batteries, and the artillery made a desperate endeavour to stay the
counterstroke.
But nothing could withstand the vehement charge of the Valley soldiers.
“They came on,” says the correspondent of a Northern journal, “like
demons emerging from the earth.” The crests of the ridges blazed with
musketry, and Hill’s infantry, advancing in the very teeth of the
canister, captured six guns at the bayonet’s point. Once more Jackson
reformed his lines; and, as twilight came down upon the battle-field,
from position after position, in the direction of the Stone Bridge, the
division of Stevens, Ricketts, Kearney, and Hooker, were gradually
pushed back.
On the Henry Hill, the key of the Federal position, a fierce conflict
was meanwhile raging. From the high ground to the south Longstreet had
driven back several brigades which, in support of the artillery, Sigel
and McDowell had massed upon Bald Hill. But this position had not been
occupied without a protracted struggle. Longstreet’s first line,
advancing with over-impetuosity, had outstripped the second; and before
it could be supported was compelled to give ground under the enemy’s
fire, one of the brigades losing 62 officers and 560 men. Anderson and
Kemper were then brought up; the flank of the defenders was turned; a
counterstroke was beaten back, ridge after ridge was mastered, the edge
of every wood was stormed; and as the sun set
behind the mountains Bald Hill was carried. During this fierce action
the division of D. R. Jones, leaving the Chinn House to the left, had
advanced against the Henry Hill.
6 p.m. On the very ground which Jackson had held in his first battle
the best troops of the Federal army were rapidly assembling. Here were
Sykes’ regulars and Reynolds’ Pennsylvanians; where the woods permitted
batteries had been established; and Porter’s Fifth Army Corps, who at
Gaines’ Mill and Malvern Hill had proved such stubborn fighters,
opposed a strong front once more to their persistent foes.
Despite the rapid fire of the artillery the Southerners swept forward
with unabated vigour. But as the attack was pressed the resistance of
the Federals grew more stubborn, and before long the Confederate
formation lost its strength. The lines in rear had been called up. The
assistance of the strong centre had been required to rout the defenders
of Bald Hill; and although Anderson and Wilcox pressed forward on his
left, Jones had not sufficient strength to storm the enemy’s last
position. Moreover, the Confederate artillery had been unable to follow
the infantry over the broken ground; the cavalry, confronted by
Buford’s squadrons and embarrassed by the woods, could lend no active
aid, and the Federals, defeated as they were, had not yet lost all
heart. Whatever their guns could do, in so close a country, to relieve
the infantry had been accomplished; and the infantry, though
continually outflanked, held together with unflinching courage.
Stragglers there were, and stragglers in such large numbers that
Bayard’s cavalry brigade had been ordered to the rear to drive them
back; but the majority of the men, hardened by months of discipline and
constant battle, remained staunch to the colours. The conviction that
the battle was lost was no longer a signal for “the thinking bayonets”
to make certain of their individual safety; and the regulars, for the
second time on the same field, provided a strong nucleus of resistance.
Thrown into the woods along the Sudley–Manassas road, five battalions
of the United States army held the extreme left, the most critical
point of the Federal line, until
the second brigade relieved them. To their right Meade and his
Pennsylvanians held fast against Anderson and Wilcox; and although six
guns fell into the hands of the Confederate infantry, and four of
Longstreet’s batteries, which had accompanied the cavalry, were now
raking their left, Pope’s soldiers, as twilight descended upon the
field, redeemed as far as soldiers could the errors of their general.
Stuart, on the right flank of the Confederate line, charged down the
opposing cavalry[3] and crossed Bull Run at Lewis’ Ford; but the dark
masses on the Henry Hill, increased every moment by troops ascending
from the valley, still held fast, with no hope indeed of victory, but
with a stern determination to maintain their ground. Had the hill been
lost, nothing could have saved Pope’s army. The crest commanded the
crossings of Bull Run. The Stone Bridge, the main point of passage, was
not more than a mile northward, within the range of artillery, and
Jackson was already in possession of the Matthew Hill, not fourteen
hundred yards from the road by which the troops must pass in their
retreat.
7.30 p.m. The night, however, put an end to the battle. Even the Valley
soldiers were constrained to halt. It was impossible in the obscurity
to distinguish friend from foe. The Confederate lines presented a
broken front, here pushed forward, and here drawn back; divisions,
brigades, and regiments had intermingled; and the thick woods,
intervening at frequent intervals, rendered combination impracticable.
During the darkness, which was accompanied by heavy rain, the Federals
quietly withdrew, leaving thousands of
wounded on the field, and morning found them in position on the heights
of Centreville, four miles beyond Bull Run.
Pope, with an audacity which disaster was powerless to tame, reported
to Halleck that, on the whole, the results of the battle were
favourable to the Federal army. “The enemy,” he wrote, “largely
reinforced, assailed our position early to-day. We held our ground
firmly until 6 o’clock p.m., when the enemy, massing very heavy forces
on our left, forced that wing back about half a mile. At dark we held
that position. Under all the circumstances, with horses and men having
been two days without food, and the enemy greatly outnumbering us, I
thought it best to move back to this place at dark. The movement has
been made in perfect order and without loss. The battle was most
furious for hours without cessation, and the losses on both sides very
heavy. The enemy is badly whipped, and we shall do well enough. Do not
be uneasy. We will hold our own here.”
Pope’s actions, however, were invariably at variance with Pope’s words.
At 6 p.m. he had ordered Franklin, who was approaching Bull Run from
Alexandria with 10,000 fresh troops, to occupy with his own command and
whatever other troops he could collect, the fortifications round
Centreville, and hold them “to the last extremity.” Banks, still at
Bristoe Station, was told to destroy all the supplies of which he was
in charge, as well as the railway, and to march on Centreville; while
30 guns and more than 2,000 wounded were left upon the field. Nor were
Pope’s anticipations as to the future to be fulfilled. The position at
Centrevile was strong. The intrenchments constructed by the
Confederates during the winter of 1861 were still standing. Halleck had
forwarded supplies; there was ammunition in abundance, and 20,000
infantry under Franklin and Sumner—for the latter also had come up from
Washington—more than compensated for the casualties of the battle. But
formidable earthworks, against generals who dare manœuvre, are often a
mere trap for the unwary.
August 31 Before daylight Stuart and his troopers were in the saddle;
and, picking up many stragglers as they marched, came within range of
the guns at Centreville. Lee, accompanied by Jackson, having
reconnoitred the position, determined to move once more upon the
Federal rear. Longstreet remained on the battle-field to engage the
attention of the enemy and cover the removal of the wounded; while
Jackson, crossing not by the Stone Bridge, but by Sudley Ford, was
entrusted with the work of forcing Pope from his strong position.
The weather was inclement, the roads were quagmires, and the men were
in no condition to make forced marches. Yet before nightfall Jackson
had pushed ten miles through the mud, halting near Pleasant Valley, on
the Little River turnpike, five miles north-west of Centreville. During
the afternoon Longstreet, throwing a brigade across Bull Run to keep
the enemy on the _qui vive,_ followed the same route. Of these
movements Pope received no warning, and Jackson’s proclivity for flank
manœuvres had evidently made no impression on him, for, in blissful
unconsciousness that his line of retreat was already threatened, he
ordered all waggons to be unloaded at Centreville, and to return to
Fairfax Station for forage and rations.
Sept. 1 But on the morning of September 1, although his whole army,
including Banks, was closely concentrated behind strong intrenchments,
Pope had conceived a suspicion that he would find it difficult to
fulfil his promise to Halleck that “he would hold on.” The previous
night Stuart had been active towards his right and rear, capturing his
reconnoitring parties, and shelling his trains. Before noon suspicion
became certainty. Either stragglers or the country people reported that
Jackson was moving down the Little River turnpike, and Centreville was
at once evacuated, the troops marching to a new position round Fairfax
Court House.
Jackson, meanwhile, covered by the cavalry, was advancing to
Chantilly—a fine old mansion which the Federals had gutted—with the
intention of seizing a position whence he could command the road. The
day was sombre, and a tempest was gathering in the mountains. Late in
the
afternoon, Stuart’s patrols near Ox Hill were driven in by hostile
infantry, the thick woods preventing the scouts from ascertaining the
strength or dispositions of the Federal force. Jackson at once ordered
two brigades of Hill’s to feel the enemy. The remainder of the Light
Division took ground to the right, followed by Lawton; Starke’s
division held the turnpike, and Stuart was sent towards Fairfax Court
House to ascertain whether the Federal main body was retreating or
advancing.
Reno, who had been ordered to protect Pope’s flank, came briskly
forward, and Hill’s advanced guard was soon brought to a standstill.
Three fresh brigades were rapidly deployed; as the enemy pressed the
attack a fourth was sent in, and the Northerners fell back with the
loss of a general and many men. Lawton’s first line became engaged at
the same time, and Reno, now reinforced by Kearney, made a vigorous
effort to hold the Confederates in check. Hays’ brigade of Lawton’s
division, commanded by an inexperienced officer, was caught while
“clubbed” during a change of formation, and driven back in disorder;
and Trimble’s brigade, now reduced to a handful, became involved in the
confusion. But a vigorous charge of the second line restored the
battle. The Federals were beginning to give way. General Kearney,
riding through the murky twilight into the Confederate lines, was shot
by a skirmisher. The hostile lines were within short range, and the
advent of a reserve on either side would have probably ended the
engagement. But the rain was now falling in torrents; heavy peals of
thunder, crashing through the forest, drowned the discharges of the two
guns which Jackson had brought up through the woods, and the red flash
of musketry paled before the vivid lightning. Much of the ammunition
was rendered useless, the men were unable to discharge their pieces,
and the fierce wind lashed the rain in the faces of the Confederates.
The night grew darker and the tempest fiercer; and as if by mutual
consent the opposing lines drew gradually apart.[4]
On the side of the Confederates only half the force had been engaged.
Starke’s division never came into action, and of Hill’s and Lawton’s
there were still brigades in reserve. 500 men were killed or wounded;
but although the three Federal divisions are reported to have lost
1,000, they had held their ground, and Jackson was thwarted in his
design. Pope’s trains and his whole army reached Fairfax Court House
without further disaster. But the persistent attacks of his
indefatigable foe had broken down his resolution. He had intended, he
told Halleck, when Jackson’s march down the Little River turnpike was
first announced, to attack the Confederates the next day, or “certainly
the day after.”
Sept. 2 The action at Chantilly, however, induced a more prudent mood;
and, on the morning of the 2nd, he reported that “there was an intense
idea among the troops that they must get behind the intrenchments [of
Alexandria]; that there was an undoubted purpose, on the part of the
enemy, to keep on slowly turning his position so as to come in on the
right, and that the forces under his command were unable to prevent him
doing so in the open field. Halleck must decide what was to be done.”
The reply was prompt, Pope was to bring his forces, “as best he could,”
under the shelter of the heavy guns.
Whatever might be the truth as regards the troops, there could be no
question but that the general was demoralised; and, preceded by
thousands of stragglers, the army fell back without further delay to
the Potomac. It was not followed except by Stuart. “It was found,” says
Lee, in his official dispatch, ”that the enemy had conducted his
retreat so rapidly that the attempt to interfere with him was
abandoned. The proximity of the fortifications around Alexandria and
Washington rendered further pursuit useless.”
On the same day General McClellan was entrusted with the defence of
Washington, and Pope, permitted to resign, was soon afterwards
relegated to an obscure
command against the Indians of the North-west. His errors had been
flagrant. He can hardly be charged with want of energy, but his energy
was spasmodic; on the field of battle he was strangely indolent, and
yet he distrusted the reports of others. But more fatal than his
neglect of personal reconnaissance was his power of self-deception. He
was absolutely incapable of putting himself in his enemy’s place, and
time after time he acted on the supposition that Lee and Jackson would
do exactly what he most wished them to do. When his supplies were
destroyed, he concentrated at Manassas Junction, convinced that Jackson
would remain to be overwhelmed. When he found Jackson near Sudley
Springs, and Thoroughfare Gap open, he rushed forward to attack him,
convinced that Longstreet could not be up for eight-and-forty hours.
When he sought shelter at Centreville, he told Halleck not to be
uneasy, convinced that Lee would knock his head against his fortified
position. Before the engagement at Chantilly he had made up his mind to
attack the enemy the next morning. A few hours later he reported that
his troops were utterly untrustworthy, although 20,000 of them, under
Franklin and Sumner, had not yet seen the enemy. In other respects his
want of prudence had thwarted his best endeavours. His cavalry at the
beginning of the campaign was effectively employed. But so extravagant
were his demands on the mounted arm, that before the battle of Manassas
half his regiments were dismounted. It is true that the troopers were
still indifferent horsemen and bad horse-masters, but it was the fault
of the commander that the unfortunate animals had no rest, that
brigades were sent to do the work of patrols, and that little heed was
paid to the physical wants of man and beast. As a tactician Pope was
incapable. As a strategist he lacked imagination, except in his
dispatches. His horizon was limited, and he measured the capacity of
his adversaries by his own. He was familiar with the campaign in the
Valley, with the operations in the Peninsula, and Cedar Run should have
enlightened him as to Jackson’s daring. But he had no conception that
his adversaries would cheerfully accept
great risks to achieve great ends; he had never dreamt of a general who
would deliberately divide his army, or of one who would make fifty-six
miles in two marches.
Lee, with his extraordinary insight into character, had played on Pope
as he had played on McClellan, and his strategy was justified by
success. In the space of three weeks he had carried the war from the
James to the Potomac. With an army that at no time exceeded 55,000 men
he had driven 80,000 into the fortifications of Washington.[5] He had
captured 30 guns, 7,000 prisoners, 20,000 rifles, and many stand of
colours; he had killed or wounded 13,500 Federals, destroyed supplies
and material of enormous value; and all this with a loss to the
Confederates of 10,000 officers and men.
So much had he done for the South; for his own reputation he had done
more. If, as Moltke avers, the junction of two armies on the field of
battle is the highest achievement of military genius,[6] the campaign
against Pope has seldom been surpassed; and the great counterstroke at
Manassas is sufficient in itself to make Lee’s reputation as a
tactician. Salamanca was perhaps a more brilliant example of the same
manœuvre, for at Salamanca Wellington had no reason to anticipate that
Marmont would blunder, and the mighty stroke which beat 40,000 French
in forty minutes was conceived in a few moments. Nor does Manassas
equal Austerlitz. No such subtle manœuvres were employed as those by
which Napoleon induced the Allies to lay bare their centre, and drew
them blindly to their doom. It was not due to the skill of Lee that
Pope weakened his left at the crisis of the battle.[7]
But in the rapidity with which the opportunity was seized, in the
combination of the three arms, and in the vigour of the blow, Manassas
is in no way inferior to Austerlitz or Salamanca. That the result was
less decisive was due to the greater difficulties of the battle-field,
to the stubborn resistance of the enemy, to the obstacles in the way of
rapid and connected movement, and to the inexperience of the troops.
Manassas was not, like Austerlitz and Salamanca, won by veteran
soldiers, commanded by trained officers, perfect in drill and inured to
discipline.
Lee’s strategic manœuvres were undoubtedly hazardous. But that an
antagonist of different calibre would have met them with condign
punishment is short-sighted criticism. Against an antagonist of
different calibre, against such generals as he was afterwards to
encounter, they would never have been attempted. “He studied his
adversary,” says his Military Secretary, “knew his peculiarities, and
adapted himself to them. His own methods no one could foresee-he varied
them with every change in the commanders opposed to him. He had one
method with McClellan, another with Pope, another with Hooker, another
with Meade, and yet another with Grant.” Nor was the dangerous period
of the Manassas campaign so protracted as might be thought. Jackson
marched north from Jefferson on August 25. On the 26th he reached
Bristoe Station. Pope, during these two days, might have thrown himself
either on Longstreet or on Jackson. He did neither, and on the morning
of the 27th, when Jackson reached Sudley Springs, the crisis had
passed. Had the Federals blocked Thoroughfare Gap that day, and
prevented Longstreet’s passage, Lee was still able to concentrate
without incurring defeat. Jackson, retreating by Aldie Gap, would have
joined Longstreet west of the mountains; Pope would have escaped
defeat, but the Confederates would have lost nothing.
Moreover, it is well to remember that the Confederate cavalry was in
every single respect, in leading, horsemanship, training, and knowledge
of the country, superior to the Federal. The whole population, too, was
staunchly
Southern. It was always probable, therefore, that information would be
scarce in the Federal camps, and that if some items did get through the
cavalry screen, they would be so late in reaching Pope’s headquarters
as to be practically useless. There can be no question that Lee, in
these operations, relied much on the skill of Stuart. Stuart was given
a free hand. Unlike Pope, Lee issued few orders as to the disposition
of his horsemen. He merely explained the manœuvres he was about to
undertake, pointed out where he wished the main body of the cavalry
should be found, and left all else to their commander. He had no need
to tell Stuart that he required information of the enemy, or to lay
down the method by which it was to be obtained. That was Stuart’s
normal duty, and right well was it performed. How admirably the young
cavalry general co-operated with Jackson has already been described.
The latter suggested, the former executed, and the combination of the
three arms, during the whole of Jackson’s operations against Pope, was
as close as when Ashby led his squadrons in the Valley.
Yet it was not on Stuart that fell, next to Lee, the honours of the
campaign. Brilliant as was the handling of the cavalry, impenetrable
the screen it formed, and ample the information it procured, the
breakdown of the Federal horse made the task comparatively simple.
Against adversaries whose chargers were so leg-weary that they could
hardly raise a trot it was easy to be bold. One of Stuart’s brigadiers
would have probably done the work as well as Stuart himself. But the
handling of the Valley army, from the time it left Jefferson on the
25th until Longstreet reached Gainesville on the 29th, demanded higher
qualities than vigilance and activity. Throughout the operations
Jackson’s endurance was the wonder of his staff. He hardly slept. He
was untiring in reconnaissance, in examination of the country and in
observation of the enemy, and no detail of the march escaped his
personal scrutiny. Yet his muscles were much less hardly used than his
brain. The intellectual problem was more difficult than the physical.
To march his
army fifty-six miles in two days was far simpler than to maintain it on
Pope’s flank until Longstreet came into line. The direction of his
marches, the position of his bivouacs, the distribution of his three
divisions, were the outcome of long premeditation. On the night of the
25th he disappeared into the darkness on the road to Salem leaving the
Federals under the conviction that he was making for the Valley. On the
26th he moved on Bristoe Station, rather than on Manassas Junction,
foreseeing that he might be interrupted from the south-west in his
destruction of the stores. On the 27th he postponed his departure till
night had fallen, moving in three columns, of which the column marching
on Centreville, whither he desired that the enemy should follow, was
the last to move. Concentrating at Sudley Springs on the 28th, he
placed himself in the best position to hold Pope fast, to combine with
Longstreet, or to escape by Aldie Gap; and on the 29th the ground he
had selected for battle enabled him to hold out against superior
numbers.
Neither strategically nor tactically did he make a single mistake. His
attack on King’s division at Groveton, on the evening of the 28th, was
purely frontal, and his troops lost heavily. But he believed King to be
the flank-guard of a larger force, and under such circumstances turning
movements were over-hazardous. The woods, too, prevented the deployment
of his artillery; and the attack, in its wider aspect, was eminently
successful, for the aim was not to defeat King, but to bring Pope back
to a position where Lee could crush him. On the 29th his dispositions
were admirable. The battle is a fine example of defensive tactics. The
position, to use a familiar illustration, “fitted the troops like a
glove.” It was of such strength that, while the front was adequately
manned, ample reserves remained in rear. The left, the most dangerous
flank, was secured by Bull Run, and massed batteries gave protection to
the right. The distribution of the troops, the orders, and the amount
of latitude accorded to subordinate leaders, followed the best models.
The front was so apportioned that each brigadier on the fighting-line
had his own reserve,
and each divisional general half his force in third line. The orders
indicated that counterstrokes were not to be pushed so far as to
involve the troops in an engagement with the enemy’s reserves, and the
subordinate generals were encouraged, without waiting for orders, and
thus losing the occasion, to seize all favourable opportunities for
counterstroke. The methods employed by Jackson were singularly like
those of Wellington. A position was selected which gave cover and
concealment to the troops, and against which the powerful artillery of
a more numerous enemy was practically useless. These were the
characteristics of Vimiera, Busaco, Talavera, and Waterloo. Nor did
Jackson’s orders differ from those of the great Englishman.
The Duke’s subordinates, when placed in position, acted on a
well-established rule. Within that position they had unlimited power.
They could defend the first line, or they could meet the enemy with a
counter-attack from a position in rear, and in both cases they could
pursue. But the pursuit was never to be carried beyond certain defined
limits. Moreover, Wellington’s views as to the efficacy of the
counterstroke were identical with those of Jackson, and he had the same
predilection for cold steel. “If they attempt this point again, Hill,”
were his orders to that general at Busaco, “give them a volley and
charge bayonets; but don’t let your people follow them too far.”
But it was neither wise strategy nor sound tactics which was the main
element in Pope’s defeat; neither the strong effort of a powerful
brain, nor the judicious devolution of responsibility. A brilliant
military historian, more conversant perhaps with the War of Secession
than the wars of France, concludes his review of this campaign with a
reference to Jackson as “the Ney of the Confederate army.”[8] The
allusion is obvious. So long as the victories of Napoleon are
remembered, the name of his lieutenant will always be a synonym for
heroic valour. But the valour of Ney was of a different type from that
of Jackson. Ney’s valour was animal, Jackson’s was moral, and between
the two there is a vast distinction. Before the
enemy, when his danger was tangible, Ney had few rivals. But when the
enemy was unseen and his designs were doubtful, his resolution
vanished. He was without confidence in his own resources. He could not
act without direct orders, and he dreaded responsibility. At Bautzen
his timidity ruined Napoleon’s combinations; in the campaign of Leipsic
he showed himself incapable of independent command; and he cannot be
acquitted of hesitation at Quatre Bras.
It was in the same circumstances that Ney’s courage invariably gave way
that Jackson’s courage shone with the brightest lustre. It might appear
that he had little cause for fear in the campaign of the Second
Manassas, that he had only to follow his instructions, and that if he
had failed his failure would have been visited upon Lee. The
instructions which he received, however, were not positive, but
contingent on events. If possible, he was to cut the railway, in order
to delay the reinforcements which Pope was expecting from Alexandria;
and then, should the enemy permit, he was to hold fast east of the Bull
Run Mountains until Lee came up. But he was to be guided in everything
by his own discretion. He was free to accept battle or refuse it, to
attack or to defend, to select his own line of retreat, to move to any
quarter of the compass that he pleased. For three days, from the
morning of August 26 to the morning of August 29, he had complete
control of the strategic situation; on his movements were dependent the
movements of the main army; the bringing the enemy to bay and the
choice of the field of battle were both in his hands. And during those
three days he was cut off from Lee and Longstreet. The mountains, with
their narrow passes, lay between; and, surrounded by three times his
number, he was abandoned entirely to his own resources.
Throughout the operations he had been in unusually high spirits. The
peril and responsibility seemed to act as an elixir, and he threw off
much of his constraint. But as the day broke on August 29 he looked
long and earnestly in the direction of Thoroughfare Gap, and
when a messenger from Stuart brought the intelligence that Longstreet
was through the pass, he drew a long breath and uttered a sigh of
relief.[9] The period of suspense was over, but even on that unyielding
heart the weight of anxiety had pressed with fearful force. For three
days he had only received news of the main army at long and uncertain
intervals. For two of these days his information of the enemy’s
movements was very small. While he was marching to Bristoe Station,
Pope, for all he knew, might have been marching against Longstreet with
his whole force. When he attacked King on the 28th the Federals, in
what strength he knew not, still held Thoroughfare Gap; when he formed
for action on the 29th he was still ignorant of what had happened to
the main body, and it was on the bare chance that Longstreet would
force the passage that he accepted battle with far superior numbers.
It is not difficult to imagine how a general like Ney, placed in
Jackson’s situation, would have trimmed and hesitated: how in his march
to Manassas, when he had crossed the mountains and left the Gap behind
him, he would have sent out reconnaissances in all directions, halting
his troops until he learned the coast was clear; how he would have
dashed at the Junction by the shortest route; how he would have forced
his weary troops northward when the enemy’s approach was reported; how,
had he reached Sudley Springs, he would have hugged the shelter of the
woods and let King’s division pass unmolested; and, finally, when
Pope’s columns converged on his position, have fallen back on
Thoroughfare or Aldie. Nor would he have been greatly to blame. Unless
gifted with that moral fortitude which Napoleon ranks higher than
genius or experience, no general would have succeeded in carrying Lee’s
design to a successful issue. In his unhesitating march to Manassas
Junction, in his deliberate sojourn for four-and-twenty hours astride
his enemy’s communications, in his daring challenge to Pope’s whole
army at Groveton, Jackson displayed the indomitable courage
characteristic of the greatest soldiers.
As suggested in the first volume, it is too often overlooked, by those
who study the history of campaign, that war is the province of
uncertainty. The reader has the whole theatre of war displayed before
him. He notes the exact disposition of the opposing forces at each hour
of the campaign, and with this in his mind’s eye he condemns or
approves the action of the commanders. In the action of the defeated
general he usually often sees much to blame; in the action of the
successful general but little to admire. But his judgment is not based
on a true foundation. He has ignored the fact that the information at
his disposal was not at the disposal of those he criticises; and until
he realises that both generals, to a greater or less degree, must have
been groping in the dark, he will neither make just allowance for the
errors of the one, nor appreciate the genius of the other.
It is true that it is difficult in the extreme to ascertain how much or
how little those generals whose campaigns have become historical knew
of their enemy at any particular moment. For instance, in the campaign
before us, we are nowhere told whether Lee, when he sent Jackson to
Manassas Junction, was aware that a portion of McClellan’s army had
been shipped to Alexandria in place of Aquia; or whether he knew, on
the second day of the battle of Manassas, that Pope had been reinforced
by two army corps from the Peninsula. He had certainly captured Pope’s
dispatch book, and no doubt it threw much light on the Federal plans,
but we are not aware how far into the future this light projected. We
do know, however, that, in addition to this correspondence, such
knowledge as he had was derived from reports. But reports are never
entirely to be relied on; they are seldom full, they are often false,
and they are generally exaggerated. However active the cavalry, however
patriotic the inhabitants, no general is ever possessed of accurate
information of his enemy’s dispositions, unless the forces are very
small, or the precautions to elude observation very feeble. On August
28 Stuart’s patrols covered the whole country round Jackson’s army, and
during the
whole day the Federal columns were converging on Manassas. Sigel and
Reynolds’ four divisions passed through Gainesville, not five miles
from Sudley Springs, and for a time were actually in contact with
Jackson’s outposts; and yet Sigel and Reynolds mistook Jackson’s
outposts for reconnoitring cavalry. Again, when King’s single division,
the rear-guard of Pope’s army, appeared upon the turnpike, Jackson
attacked it with the idea that it was the flank-guard of a much larger
force. Nor was this want of accurate intelligence due to lack of
vigilance or to the dense woods. As a matter of fact the Confederates
were more amply provided with information than is usually the case in
war, even in an open country and with experienced armies.
But if, in the most favourable circumstances, a general is surrounded
by an atmosphere which has been most aptly named the fog of war, his
embarrassments are intensified tenfold when he commands a portion of a
divided army. Under ordinary conditions a general is at least fully
informed of the dispositions of his own forces. But when between two
widely separated columns a powerful enemy, capable of crushing each in
turn, intervenes; when the movements of that enemy are veiled in
obscurity; when anxiety has taken possession of the troops, and the
soldiers of either column, striving hopelessly to penetrate the gloom,
reflect on the fate that may have overtaken their comrades, on the
obstacles that may delay them, on the misunderstandings that may have
occurred—it is at such a crisis that the courage of their leader is put
to the severest test.
His situation has been compared to a man entering a dark room full of
assailants, never knowing when or whence a blow may be struck against
him. The illustration is inadequate. Not only has he to contend with
the promptings of his own instincts, but he has to contend with the
instincts and to sustain the resolution of his whole army. It is not
from the enemy he has most to fear. A time comes in all protracted
operations when the nervous energy of the best troops becomes
exhausted, when the most daring shrink from further sacrifice, when
the desire of self-preservation infects the stoutest veterans, and the
will of the mass opposes a tacit resistance to all further effort.
“Then,” says Clausewitz, “the spark in the breast of the commander must
rekindle hope in the hearts of his men, and so long as he is equal to
this he remains their master. When his influence ceases, and his own
spirit is no longer strong enough to revive the spirit of others, the
masses, drawing him with them, sink into that lower region of animal
nature which recoils from danger and knows not shame. Such are the
obstacles which the brain and courage of the military commander must
overcome if he is to make his name illustrious.” And the obstacles are
never more formidable than when his troops see no sign of the support
they have expected. Then, if he still moves forward, although his peril
increase at every step, to the point of junction; if he declines the
temptation, although overwhelming numbers threaten him, of a safe line
of retreat; if, as did Jackson, he deliberately confronts and
challenges the hostile masses, then indeed does the soldier rise to the
highest level of moral energy.
Strongly does Napoleon inveigh against operations which entail the
division of an army into two columns unable to communicate; and
especially does he reprobate the strategy which places the point of
junction under the very beard of a concentrated enemy. Both of these
maxims Lee violated. The last because he knew Pope, the first because
he knew Jackson. It is rare indeed that such strategy succeeds. When
all has depended on a swift and unhesitating advance, generals renowned
for their ardent courage have wavered and turned aside. Hasdrubal,
divided from Hannibal by many miles and a Consular army, fell back to
the Metaurus, and Rome was saved. Two thousand years later, Prince
Frederick Charles, divided by a few marches and two Austrian army corps
from the Crown Prince, lingered so long upon the leer that the
supremacy of Prussia trembled in the balance. But the character of the
Virginian soldier was of loftier type. It has been remarked that after
Jackson’s death Lee never again attempted those great turning movements
which had
achieved his most brilliant victories. Never again did he divide his
army to unite it again on the field of battle. The reason is not far to
seek. There was now no general in the Confederate army to whom he dared
confide the charge of the detached wing, and in possessing one such
general he had been more fortunate than Napoleon.[10]
[1]
D. H. Hill
McLaws
Walker
Hampton
Artillery 7,000
6,850
4,000
1,500
1,000
———
20,350
[2] Hood’s Texans had a hymn which graphically expressed this truism:—
“The race is not to him that’s got
The longest legs to run,
Nor the battle to those people
That shoot the biggest gun.”
[3] This was one of the most brilliant cavalry fights of the war.
Colonel Munford, of the 2nd Virginia, finding the enemy advancing,
formed line and charged, the impetuosity of the attack carrying his
regiment through the enemy’s first line, with whom his men were
thoroughly intermingled in hand-to-hand conflict. The Federals,
however, who had advanced at a trot, in four successive lines, were
far superior in numbers; but the 7th and 12th Virginia rapidly came
up, and the charge of the 12th, constituting as it were a last
reserve, drove the enemy from the field. The Confederates lost 5
killed and 40 wounded. Munford himself, and the commander of the First
Michigan (Union) cavalry were both wounded by sabre-cuts, the latter
mortally. 300 Federals were taken prisoners, 19 killed, and 80
wounded. Sabre, carbine, and revolver were freely used.
[4] It was at this time, probably, that Jackson received a message
from a brigade commander, reporting that his cartridges were so wet
that he feared he could not maintain his position. “Tell him,” was the
quick reply, “to hold his ground; if his guns will not go off, neither
will the enemy’s.”
[5] Sumner and Franklin had become involved in Pope’s retreat.
[6] Tried by this test alone Lee stands out as one of the greatest
soldiers of all times. Not only against Pope, but against McClellan at
Gaines’ Mill, against Burnside at Fredericksburg, and against Hooker
at Chancellorsville, he succeeded in carrying out the operations of
which Moltke speaks; and in each case with the same result of
surprising his adversary. None knew better how to apply that great
principle of strategy, “to march divided but to fight concentrated.”
[7] It may be noticed, however, that the care with which Longstreet’s
troops were kept concealed for more than four-and-twenty hours had
much to do with Pope’s false manœuvres.
[8] Swinton. _Campaigns of the Army of the Potomac._
[9] Letter from Dr. Hunter McGuire.
[10] It is noteworthy that Moltke once, at Königgrätz, carried out the
operation referred to; Wellington twice, at Vittoria and Toulouse;
Napoleon, although he several times attempted it, and, against
inferior numbers, never, except at Ulm, with complete success.