WINTER QUARTERS
1863 During the long interval which intervened between the battle of
Fredericksburg and the next campaign, Jackson employed himself in
preparing the reports of his battles, which had been called for by the
Commander-in-Chief. They were not compiled in their entirety by his own
hand. He was no novice at literary composition, and his pen, as his
letter-book shows, was not that of an unready writer. He had a good
command of language, and that power of clear and concise expression
which every officer in command of a large force, a position naturally
entailing a large amount of confidential correspondence, must
necessarily possess. But the task now set him was one of no ordinary
magnitude. Since the battle of Kernstown, the report of which had been
furnished in April 1862, the time had been too fully occupied to admit
of the crowded events being placed on record, and more than one-half of
the division, brigade, and regimental commanders who had been engaged
in the operations of the period had been killed. Nor, even now, did his
duties permit him the necessary leisure to complete the work without
assistance. On his requisition, therefore, Colonel Charles Faulkner,
who had been United States Minister to France before the war, was
attached to his staff for the purpose of collecting the reports of the
subordinate commanders, and combining them in the proper form. The
rough drafts were carefully gone over by the general. Every sentence
was weighed; and everything that might possibly convey a wrong
impression was at once rejected; evidence was called to clear up
disputed points;
no inferences or suppositions were allowed to stand; truth was never
permitted to be sacrificed to effect; superlatives were rigorously
excluded,[1] and the narratives may be unquestionably accepted as an
accurate relation of the facts. Many stirring passages were added by
the general’s own pen; and the praise bestowed upon the troops, both
officers and men, is couched in the warmest terms. Yet much was
omitted. Jackson had a rooted objection to represent the motives of his
actions, or to set forth the object of his movements. In reply to a
remonstrance that those who came after him would be embarrassed by the
absence of these explanations, and that his fame would suffer, he said:
“The men who come after me must act for themselves; and as to the
historians who speak of the movements of my command, I do not concern
myself greatly as to what they may say.” To judge, then, from the
reports, Jackson himself had very little to do with his success;
indeed, were they the only evidence available, it would be difficult to
ascertain whether the more brilliant manœuvres were ordered by himself
or executed on the initiative of others. But in this he was perfectly
consistent. When the publisher of an illustrated periodical wrote to
him, asking him for his portrait and some notes of his battles as the
basis of a sketch, he replied that he had no likeness of himself, and
had done nothing worthy of mention. It is not without interest, in this
connection, to note that the Old Testament supplied him with a pattern
for his reports, just as it supplied him, as he often declared, with
precepts and principles applicable to every military emergency. After
he was wounded, enlarging one morning on his favourite topic of
practical religion, he turned to the staff officer in attendance,
Lieutenant Smith, and asked him with a smile: “Can you tell me where
the Bible gives generals a model for their official reports of
battles?” The aide-de-camp answered, laughing, that it never entered
his mind to think of looking for such a thing
in the Scriptures. “Nevertheless,” said the general, “there are such;
and excellent models, too. Look, for instance, at the narrative of
Joshua’s battles with the Amalekites; there you have one. It has
clearness, brevity, modesty; and it traces the victory to its right
source, the blessing of God.”
The early spring of 1863 was undoubtedly one of the happiest seasons of
a singularly happy life. Jackson’s ambition, if the desire for such
rank that would enable him to put the powers within him to the best use
may be so termed, was fully gratified. The country lad who,
one-and-twenty years ago, on his way to West Point, had looked on the
green hills of Virginia from the Capitol at Washington, could hardly
have anticipated a higher destiny than that which had befallen him.
Over the hearts and wills of thirty thousand magnificent soldiers, the
very flower of Southern manhood, his empire was absolute; and such
dominion is neither the heritage of princes nor within the reach of
wealth. The most trusted lieutenant of his great commander, the strong
right arm with which he had executed his most brilliant enterprises, he
shared with him the esteem and admiration not only of the army but of
the whole people of the South. The name he had determined, in his
lonely boyhood, to bring back to honour already ranked with those of
the Revolutionary heroes. Even his enemies, for the brave men at the
front left rancour to the politicians, were not proof against the
attraction of his great achievements. A friendly intercourse, not
always confined to a trade of coffee for tobacco, existed between the
outposts; “Johnnies” and “Yanks” often exchanged greetings across the
Rappahannock; and it is related that one day when Jackson rode along
the river, and the Confederate troops ran together, as was their
custom, to greet him with a yell, the Federal pickets, roused by the
sudden clamour, crowded to the bank, and shouted across to ask the
cause. “General Stonewall Jackson,” was the proud reply of the
grey-coated sentry. Immediately, to his astonishment, the cry, “Hurrah
for Stonewall Jackson!” rang out from the Federal ranks, and the voices
of North
and South, prophetic of a time to come, mingled in acclamation of a
great American.
The situation of the army, although the winter was unusually severe,
was not without its compensations. The country was covered with snow,
and storms were frequent; rations were still scarce,[2] for the single
line of badly laid rails, subjected to the strain of an abnormal
traffic, formed a precarious means of transport; every spring and pond
was frozen; and the soldiers shivered beneath their scanty
coverings.[3] Huts, however, were in process of erection, and the
goodwill of the people did something to supply the deficiencies of the
commissariat.[4] The homes of Virginia were stripped, and many—like
Jackson himself, whose blankets had already been sent from Lexington to
his old brigade—ordered their carpets to be cut up into rugs and
distributed amongst the men. But neither cold nor hunger could crush
the spirit of the troops. The bivouacs were never merrier than on the
bare hills and in the dark pine-woods which looked down on the ruins
and the graves of Fredericksburg. Picket duty was
light, for the black waters of the great river formed a secure barrier
against attack; and if the men’s stomachs were empty, they could still
feast their eyes on a charming landscape. “To the right and left the
wooded range extended towards Fredericksburg on the one hand, and Port
Royal on the other; in front, the far-stretching level gave full sweep
to the eye; and at the foot of its forest-clad bluffs, or by the margin
of undulating fields, the Rappahannock flowed calmly to the sea. Old
mansions dotted this beautiful land—for beautiful it was in spite of
the chill influences of winter, with its fertile meadows, its
picturesque woodlands, and its old roads skirted by long lines of
shadowy cedars.”[5]
The headquarters of the Second Army Corps were established at Moss
Neck, on the terrace above the Rappahannock, eleven miles below
Fredericksburg. After the retreat of the Federals to Falmouth, the
Confederate troops had reoccupied their former positions, and every
point of passage between Fredericksburg and Port Royal was strongly
intrenched and closely watched. At Moss Neck Jackson was not only
within easy reach of his divisions, but was more comfortably housed
than had usually been the case. A hunting-lodge which stood on the lawn
of an old and picturesque mansion-house, the property of a gentleman
named Corbin, was placed at his disposal—he had declined the offer of
rooms in the house itself lest he should trespass on the convenience of
its inmates; and to show the peculiar constitution of the Confederate
army, an anecdote recorded by his biographers is worth quoting. After
his first interview with Mrs. Corbin, he passed out to the gate, where
a cavalry orderly who had accompanied him was holding his horse. “Do
you approve of your accommodation, General?” asked the courier. “Yes,
sir, I have decided to make my quarters here.” “I am Mr. Corbin, sir,”
said the soldier, “and I am very pleased.”
The lower room of the lodge, hung with trophies of the chase, was both
his bedroom and his office; while a large tent, pitched on the grass
outside, served as a messroom
for his military family; and here for three long months, until near the
end of March, he rested from the labour of his campaigns. The Federal
troops, on the snow-clad heights across the river, remained idle in
their camps, slowly recovering from the effects of their defeat on the
fields of Fredericksburg; the pickets had ceased to bicker; the
gunboats had disappeared, and “all was quiet on the Rappahannock.” Many
of the senior officers in the Confederate army took advantage of the
lull in operations to visit their homes; but, although his wife urged
him to do the same, Jackson steadfastly refused to absent himself even
for a few days from the front. In November, to his unbounded delight, a
daughter had been born to him. “To a man of his extreme domesticity,
and love for children,” says his wife, “this was a crowning happiness;
and yet, with his great modesty and shrinking from publicity, he
requested that he should not receive the announcement by telegraph, and
when it came to him by letter he kept the glad tidings to
himself—leaving his staff and those around him in the camp to hear of
it from others. This was to him ‘a joy with which a stranger could not
intermeddle,’ and from which even his own hand could not lift the veil
of sanctity. His letters were full of longing to see his little Julia;
for by this name, which had been his mother’s, he had desired her to be
christened, saying, ‘My mother was mindful of me when I was a helpless,
fatherless child, and I wish to commemorate her now.’”
“How thankful I am,” he wrote, “to our kind Heavenly Father for having
spared my precious wife and given us a little daughter! I cannot tell
how gratified I am, nor how much I wish I could be with you and see my
two darlings. But while this pleasure is denied me, I am thankful it is
accorded to you to have the little pet, and I hope it may be a great
deal of company and comfort to its mother. Now, don’t exert yourself to
write to me, for to know that you were exerting yourself to write would
give me more pain than the letter would pleasure, _so you must not do
it._ But you must love your _esposo_ in the mean time. . . . I expect
you are just now made up with that baby. Don’t you wish
your husband wouldn’t claim any part of it, but let you have the sole
ownership? Don’t you regard it as the most precious little creature in
the world? Do not spoil it, and don’t let anybody tease it. Don’t
permit it to have a bad temper. How I would love to see the darling
little thing! Give her many kisses from her father. “At present I am
fifty miles from Richmond, and eight miles from Guiney’s Station, on
the railroad from Richmond to Fredericksburg. Should I remain here, I
do hope you and baby can come to see me before spring, as you can come
on the railway. Wherever I go, God gives me kind friends. The people
here show me great kindness. I receive invitation after invitation to
dine out and spend the night, and a great many provisions are sent me,
including cakes, tea, loaf-sugar, etc., and the socks and gloves and
handkerchiefs still come!
“I am so thankful to our ever-kind Heavenly Father for having so
improved my eyes as to enable me to write at night. He continually
showers blessings upon me; and that _you_ should have been spared, and
our darling little daughter given us, fills my heart with overflowing
gratitude. If I know my unworthy self, my desire is to live entirely
and unreservedly to God’s glory. Pray, my darling, that I may so live.”
Again to his sister-in-law: “I trust God will answer the prayers
offered for peace. Not much comfort is to be expected until this cruel
war terminates. I haven’t seen my wife since last March, and never
having seen my child, you can imagine with what interest I look to
North Carolina.”
But the tender promptings of his deep natural affection were stilled by
his profound faith that “duty is ours, consequences are God’s.” The
Confederate army, at this time as at all others, suffered terribly from
desertion; and one of his own brigades reported 1,200 officers and men
absent without leave.
“Last evening,” he wrote to his wife on Christmas Day, “I received a
letter from Dr. Dabney, saying, ‘one of the highest gratifications both
Mrs. Dabney and I could enjoy would be another visit from Mrs.
Jackson,’ and he
invites me to meet you there. He and Mrs. Dabney are very kind, but it
appears to me that it is better for me to remain with my command so
long as the war continues. . . . If all our troops, officers and men,
were at their posts, we might, through God’s blessing, expect a more
speedy termination of the war. The temporal affairs of some are so
deranged as to make a strong plea for their returning home for a short
time; but our God has greatly blessed me and mine during my absence,
and whilst it would be a great comfort to see you and our darling
little daughter, and others in whom I take a special interest, yet duty
appears to require me to remain with my command. It is important that
those at headquarters set an example by remaining at the post of duty.”
So business at headquarters went on in its accustomed course. There
were inspections to be made, the deficiencies of equipment to be made
good, correspondence to be conducted—and the control of 30,000 men
demanded much office-work—the enemy to be watched, information to be
sifted, topographical data to be collected, and the reports of the
battles to be written. Every morning, as was his invariable habit
during a campaign, the general had an interview with the chiefs of the
commissariat, transport, ordnance, and medical departments, and he
spent many hours in consultation with his topographical engineer. The
great purpose for which Virginia stood in arms was ever present to his
mind, and despite his reticence, his staff knew that he was occupied,
day and night, with the problems that the future might unfold.
Existence at headquarters to the young and high-spirited officers who
formed the military family was not altogether lively. Outside there was
abundance of gaiety. The Confederate army, even on those lonely hills,
managed to extract enjoyment from its surroundings. The hospitality of
the plantations was open to the officers, and wherever Stuart and his
brigadiers pitched their tents, dances and music were the order of the
day. Nor were the men behindhand. Even the heavy snow afforded them
entertainment. Whenever a thaw took place they set themselves to making
snowballs; and great battles, in which one division was arrayed against
another, and which were carried through with the pomp and circumstance
of war, colours flying, bugles sounding, and long lines charging
elaborately planned intrenchments, were a constant source of amusement,
except to unpopular officers. Theatrical and musical performances
enlivened the tedium of the long evenings; and when, by the glare of
the camp-fires, the band of the 5th Virginia broke into the rattling
quick-step of “Dixie’s Land,” not the least stirring of national
anthems, and the great concourse of grey-jackets took up the chorus,
closing it with a yell
That shivered to the tingling stars,
the Confederate soldier would not have changed places with the
President himself.
There was much social intercourse, too, between the different
headquarters. General Lee was no unfrequent visitor to Moss Neck, and
on Christmas Day Jackson’s aides-de-camp provided a sumptuous
entertainment, at which turkeys and oysters figured, for the
Commander-in-Chief and the senior generals. Stuart, too, often invaded
the quarters of his old comrade, and Jackson looked forward to the
merriment that was certain to result just as much as the youngest of
his staff. “Stuart’s exuberant cheerfulness and humour,” says Dabney,
“seemed to be the happy relief, as they were the opposites, to
Jackson’s serious and diffident temper. While Stuart poured out his
‘quips and cranks,’ not seldom at Jackson’s expense, the latter sat by,
sometimes unprepared with any repartee, sometimes blushing, but always
enjoying the jest with a quiet and merry laugh. The ornaments on the
wall of the general’s quarters gave Stuart many a topic of badinage.
Affecting to believe that they were of General Jackson’s selection, he
pointed now to the portrait of some famous race-horse, and now to the
print of some celebrated rat-terrier, as queer revelations of his
private tastes, indicating a great decline in his moral character,
which would be a grief and disappointment to the pious old ladies of
the South. Jackson, with a quiet smile, replied that perhaps he had had
more to do with
race-horses than his friends suspected. It was in the midst of such a
scene as this that dinner was announced, and the two generals passed to
the mess-table. It so happened that Jackson had just received, as a
present from a patriotic lady, some butter, upon the adornment of which
the fair donor had exhausted her housewife’s skill. The servants, in
honour of General Stuart’s presence, had chosen this to grace the
centre of the board. As his eye fell upon it, he paused, and with mock
gravity pointed to it, saying, ‘There, gentlemen! If that is not the
crowning evidence of our host’s sporting tastes. He even has his
favourite game-cock stamped on his butter!’ The dinner, of course,
began with great laughter, in which Jackson joined, with as much
enjoyment as any.”
Visitors, too, from Europe, attracted by the fame of the army and its
leaders, had made their way into the Confederate lines, and were
received with all the hospitality that the camps afforded. An English
officer has recorded his experiences at Moss Neck:—
“I brought from Nassau a box of goods (a present from England) for
General Stonewall Jackson, and he asked me when I was at Richmond to
come to his camp and see him. He left the city one morning about seven
o’clock, and about ten landed at a station distant some eight or nine
miles from Jackson’s (or, as his men called him, Old Jack’s) camp. A
heavy fall of snow had covered the country for some time before to the
depth of a foot, and formed a crust over the Virginian mud, which is
quite as villainous as that of Balaclava. The day before had been mild
and wet, and my journey was made in a drenching shower, which soon
cleared away the white mantle of snow. You cannot imagine the slough of
despond I had to pass through. Wet to the skin, I stumbled through mud,
I waded through creeks, I passed through pine-woods, and at last got
into camp about two o’clock. I then made my way to a small house
occupied by the general as his headquarters. I wrote down my name, and
gave it to the orderly, and I was immediately told to walk in.
“The general rose and greeted me warmly. I expected
to see an old, untidy man, and was most agreeably surprised and pleased
with his appearance. He is tall, handsome, and powerfully built, but
thin. He has brown hair and a brown beard. His mouth expresses great
determination. The lips are thin and compressed firmly together; his
eyes are blue and dark, with keen and searching expression. I was told
that his age was thirty-eight, and he looks forty. The general, who is
indescribably simple and unaffected in all his ways, took off my wet
overcoat with his own hands, made up the fire, brought wood for me to
put my feet on to keep them warm while my boots were drying, and then
began to ask me questions on various subjects. At the dinner hour we
went out and joined the members of his staff. At this meal the general
said grace in a fervent, quiet manner, which struck me very much. After
dinner I returned to his room, and he again talked for a long time. The
servant came in and took his mattress out of a cupboard and laid it on
the floor.
“As I rose to retire, the general said, ‘Captain, there is plenty of
room on my bed, I hope you will share it with me?’ I thanked him very
much for his courtesy, but said ‘Good-night,’ and slept in a tent,
sharing the blankets of one of his aides-de-camp. In the morning at
breakfast-time I noticed that the general said grace before the meal
with the same fervour I had remarked before. An hour or two afterwards
it was time for me to return to the station; on this occasion, however,
I had a horse, and I returned to the general’s headquarters to bid him
adieu. His little room was vacant, so I slipped in and stood before the
fire. I then noticed my greatcoat stretched before it on a chair.
Shortly afterwards the general entered the room. He said: ‘Captain, I
have been trying to dry your greatcoat, but I am afraid I have not
succeeded very well.’ That little act illustrates the man’s character.
With the care and responsibilities of a vast army on his shoulders he
finds time to do little acts of kindness and thoughtfulness.”
With each of his staff officers he was on most friendly
terms; and the visitors to his camp, such as the English officer quoted
above, found him a most delightful host, discussing with the ease of an
educated gentleman all manner of topics, and displaying not the
slightest trace of that awkwardness and extreme diffidence which have
been attributed to him. The range and accuracy of his information
surprised them. “Of military history,” said another English soldier,
“he knew more than any other man I met in America; and he was so far
from displaying the somewhat grim characteristics that have been
associated with his name, that one would have thought his tastes lay in
the direction of art and literature.” “His chief delight,” wrote the
Hon. Francis Lawley, who knew him well, “was in the cathedrals of
England, notably in York Minster and Westminster Abbey. He was never
tired of talking about them, or listening to details about the chapels
and cloisters of Oxford.”[6]
“General Jackson,” writes Lord Wolseley, “had certainly very little to
say about military operations, although he was intensely proud of his
soldiers, and enthusiastic in his devotion to General Lee; and it was
impossible to make him talk of his own achievements. Nor can I say that
his speech betrayed his intellectual powers. But his manner, which was
modesty itself, was most attractive. He put you at your ease at once,
listening with marked courtesy and attention to whatever you might say;
and when the subject of conversation was congenial, he was a most
interesting companion. I quite endorse the statement as to his love for
beautiful things. He told me that in all his travels he had seen
nothing so beautiful as the lancet windows in York Minster.”
In his daily intercourse with his staff, however, in his office or in
the mess-room, he showed to less advantage than in the society of
strangers. His gravity of demeanour seldom wholly disappeared, his
intense earnestness was in itself oppressive, and he was often absent
and preoccupied. “Life at headquarters,” says one of his staff
officers, “was decidedly dull. Our meals were often very
dreary. The general had no time for light or trivial conversation, and
he sometimes felt it his duty to rebuke our thoughtless and perhaps
foolish remarks. Nor was it always quite safe to approach him.
Sometimes he had a tired look in his eyes, and although he never
breathed a word to one or another, we knew that he was dissatisfied
with what was being done with the army.”[7]
Intense concentration of thought and purpose, in itself an indication
of a powerful will, had distinguished Jackson from his very boyhood.
During his campaigns he would pace for hours outside his tent, his
hands clasped behind his back, absorbed in meditation; and when the
army was on the march, he would ride for hours without raising his eyes
or opening his lips. It was unquestionably at such moments that he was
working out his plans, step by step, forecasting the counter-movements
of the enemy, and providing for every emergency that might occur. And
here the habit of keeping his whole faculties fixed on a single object,
and of imprinting on his memory the successive processes of complicated
problems, fostered by the methods of study which, both at West Point
and Lexington, the weakness of his eyes had made compulsory, must have
been an inestimable advantage. Brilliant strategical manœuvres, it
cannot be too often repeated, are not a matter of inspiration and of
decision on the spur of the moment. The problems presented by a theatre
of war, with their many factors, are not to be solved except by a
vigorous and sustained intellectual effort. “If,” said Napoleon, “I
always appear prepared, it is because, before entering on an
undertaking, I have meditated for long and have foreseen what may
occur. It is not genius which reveals to me suddenly and secretly what
I should do in circumstances unexpected by others; it is thought and
meditation.”
The proper objective, speaking in general terms, of all military
operations is the main army of the enemy, for a campaign can never be
brought to a successful conclusion until the hostile forces in the
field have become demoralised
by defeat; but, to ensure success, preponderance of numbers is usually
essential, and it may be said, therefore, that the proper objective is
the enemy’s main army when it is in inferior strength.
Under ordinary conditions, the first step, then, towards victory must
be a movement, or a series of movements, which will compel the enemy to
divide his forces, and put it out of his power to assemble even equal
strength on the battle-field.
This entails a consideration of the strategic points upon the theatre
of war, for it is by occupying or threatening some point which the
enemy cannot afford to lose that he will be induced to disperse his
army, or to place himself in a position where he can be attacked at a
disadvantage. While his main army, therefore, is the ultimate
objective, certain strategic points become the initial objectives, to
be occupied or threatened either by the main body or detached forces.
It is seldom, however, that these initial objectives are readily
discovered; and it is very often the case that even the ultimate
objective may be obscured.
These principles are well illustrated by the operations in the Valley
of Virginia during the month of May and the first fortnight of June,
1862. After the event it is easy to see that Banks’ army was Jackson’s
proper objective—being the principal force in the secondary theatre of
war. But at the time, before the event, Lee and Jackson alone realised
the importance of overwhelming Banks and thus threatening Washington.
It was not realised by Johnston, a most able soldier, for the whole of
his correspondence goes to show that he thought a purely defensive
attitude the best policy for the Valley Army. It was not realised by
Jackson’s subordinates, for it was not till long after the battle of
Winchester that the real purport of the operations in which they had
been engaged began to dawn on them. It was not realised by Lincoln, by
Stanton, or even by McClellan, for to each of them the sudden attack on
Front Royal was as much of a surprise as to Banks himself; and we may
be perfectly confident that none but a trained strategist, after
a prolonged study of the map and the situation, would realise it now.
It is to be noted, too, that Jackson’s initial objectives—the
strategical points in the Valley—were invariably well selected. The
Luray Gap, the single road which gives access across the Massanuttons
from one side of the Valley to the other, was the most important. The
flank position on Elk Run, the occupation of which so suddenly brought
up Banks, prevented him interposing between Jackson and Edward Johnson,
and saved Staunton from capture, was a second; Front Royal, by seizing
which he threatened Banks at Strasburg in flank and rear, compelling
him to a hasty retreat, and bringing him to battle on ground which he
had not prepared, a third; and the position at Port Republic,
controlling the only bridge across the Shenandoah, and separating
Shields from Frémont, a fourth. The bearing of all these localities was
overlooked by the Federals, and throughout the campaign we cannot fail
to notice a great confusion on their part as regards objectives. They
neither recognised what the aim of their enemy would be, nor at what
they should aim themselves. It was long before they discovered that
Lee’s army, and not Richmond, was the vital point of the Confederacy.
Not a single attempt was made to seize strategic points, and if we may
judge from the orders and dispatches in the Official Records, their
existence was never recognised. To this oversight the successive
defeats of the Northern forces were in great part due. From McClellan
to Banks, each one of their generals appears to have been blind to the
advantages that may be derived from a study of the theatre of war. Not
one of them hit upon a line of operations which embarrassed the
Confederates, and all possessed the unhappy knack of joining battle on
the most unfavourable terms. Moreover, when it at last became clear
that the surest means of conquering a country is to defeat its armies,
the true objective was but vaguely realised. The annihilation of the
enemy’s troops seems to have been the last thing dreamt of.
Opportunities of crushing him in detail were neither sought for nor
created. As General
Sheridan said afterwards: “The trouble with the commanders of the Army
of the Potomac was that they never marched out to ‘lick’ anybody; all
they thought of was to escape being ‘licked’ themselves.”
But it is not sufficient, in planning strategical combinations, to
arrive at a correct conclusion as regards the objective. Success
demands a most careful calculation of ways and means: of the numbers at
disposal; of food, forage, and ammunition; and of the forces to he
detached for secondary purposes. The different factors of the
problem—the strength and dispositions of the enemy, the roads,
railways, fortresses, weather, natural features, the _moral_ of the
opposing armies, the character of the opposing general, the facilities
for supply have each and all of them to be considered, their relative
prominence assigned to them, and their conflicting claims to be brought
into adjustment.
For such mental exertion Jackson was well equipped. He had made his own
the experience of others. His knowledge of history made him familiar
with the principles which had guided Washington and Napoleon in the
selection of objectives, and with the means by which they attained
them. It is not always easy to determine the benefit, beyond a
theoretical acquaintance with the phenomena of the battle-field, to be
derived from studying the campaigns of the great masters of war. It is
true that no successful general, whatever may have been his practical
knowledge, has neglected such study; but while many have borne witness
to its efficacy, none have left a record of the manner in which their
knowledge of former campaigns influenced their own conduct.
In the case of Stonewall Jackson, however, we have much evidence,
indirect, but unimpeachable, as to the value to a commander of the
knowledge thus acquired. The Maxims of Napoleon, carried in his
haversack, were constantly consulted throughout his campaigns, and this
little volume contains a fairly complete exposition, in Napoleon’s own
words, of the grand principles of war. Moreover, Jackson often quoted
principles which are not to be found in the Maxims, but on which
Napoleon
consistently acted. It is clear, therefore, that he had studied the
campaigns of the great Corsican in order to discover the principles on
which military success is based; that having studied and reflected on
those principles, and the effect their application produced, in
numerous concrete cases, they became so firmly imbedded in his mind as
to be ever present, guiding him into the right path, or warning him
against the wrong, whenever he had to deal with a strategic or tactical
situation.
It may be noted, moreover, that these principles, especially those
which he was accustomed to quote, were concerned far more with the
moral aspect of war than with the material. It is a fair inference,
therefore, that it was to the study of human nature as affected by the
conditions of war, by discipline, by fear, by the want of food, by want
of information, by want of confidence, by the weight of responsibility,
by political interests, and, above all, by surprise, that his attention
was principally directed. He found in the campaigns of Jena and of
Austerlitz not merely a record of marches and manœuvres, of the use of
intrenchments, or of the general rules for attack and defence; this is
the mechanical and elementary part of the science of command. What
Jackson learned was the truth of the famous maxim that the moral is to
the physical—that is, to armament and numbers—as three to one. He
learned, too, to put himself into his adversary’s place and to realise
his weakness. He learned, in a word, that war is a struggle between two
intellects rather than the conflict of masses; and it was by reason of
this knowledge that he played on the hearts of his enemies with such
extraordinary skill.
It is not to be asserted, however, that the study of military history
is an infallible means of becoming a great or even a good general. The
first qualification necessary for a leader of men is a strong
character, the second, a strong intellect. With both Providence had
endowed Jackson, and the strong intellect illuminates and explains the
page that to others is obscure and meaningless. With its innate faculty
for discerning what is essential and for discarding unimportant
details, it discovers most valuable lessons
where ordinary men see neither light nor leading. Endowed with the
power of analysis and assimilation, and accustomed to observe and to
reflect upon the relations between cause and effect, it will
undoubtedly penetrate far deeper into the actual significance and
practical bearing of historical facts than the mental vision which is
less acute.
Jackson, by reason of his antecedent training, was eminently capable of
the sustained intellectual efforts which strategical conceptions
involve. Such was his self-command that under the most adverse
conditions, the fatigues and anxieties of a campaign, the fierce
excitement of battle, his brain, to use the words of a great
Confederate general, “worked with the precision of the most perfect
machinery.”[8] But it was not only in the field, when the necessity for
action was pressing, that he was accustomed to seclude himself with his
own thoughts. Nor was he content with considering his immediate
responsibilities. His interest in the general conduct of the war was of
a very thorough-going character. While in camp on the Rappahannock, he
followed with the closest attention the movements of the armies
operating in the Valley of the Mississippi, and made himself
acquainted, so far as was possible, not only with the local conditions
of the war, but also with the character of the Federal leaders. It was
said that, in the late spring of 1862, it was the intention of Mr.
Davis to transfer him to the command of the Army of the Tennessee, and
it is possible that some inkling of this determination induced him to
study the Western theatre.[9] Be this as it may, the general situation,
military and political, was always in his mind, and despite the victory
of Fredericksburg, the future was dark and the indications ominous.
According to the Official Records, the North, at the beginning of
April, had more than 900,000 soldiers under
arms; the South, so far as can be ascertained, not more than 600,000.
The Army of the Potomac was receiving constant reinforcements, and at
the beginning of April, 130,000 men were encamped on the Stafford
Heights. In the West, the whole extent of the Mississippi, with the
exception of the hundred miles between Vicksburg and Port Hudson, was
held by the Federals, and those important fortresses were both
threatened by large armies, acting in concert with a formidable fleet
of gunboats. A third army, over 50,000 strong, was posted at
Murfreesboro’, in the heart of Tennessee, and large detached forces
were operating in Louisiana and Arkansas. The inroads of the enemy in
the West, greatly aided by the waterways, were in fact far more serious
than in the East; but even in Virginia, although the Army of the
Potomac had spent nearly two years in advancing fifty miles, the
Federals had a strong foothold. Winchester had been reoccupied.
Fortress Monroe was still garrisoned. Suffolk, on the south bank of the
James, seventy miles from Richmond, was held by a force of 20,000 men;
while another small army, of about the same strength, occupied New
Berne, on the North Carolina coast.
Slowly but surely, before the pressure of vastly superior numbers, the
frontiers of the Confederacy were contracting; and although in no
single direction had a Federal army moved more than a few miles from
the river which supplied it, yet the hostile occupation of these
rivers, so essential to internal traffic, was making the question of
subsistence more difficult every day. Louisiana, Texas and Arkansas,
the cattle-raising States, were practically cut off from the remainder;
and in a country where railways were few, distances long, and roads
indifferent, it was impossible, in default of communication by water,
to accumulate and distribute the produce of the farms. Moreover, the
dark menace of the blockade had assumed more formidable proportions.
The Federal navy, gradually increasing in numbers and activity, held
the highway of the ocean in an iron grip; and proudly though the
Confederacy bore her isolation, men looked across the waters with dread
foreboding, for the shadow of their doom was already rising from the
pitiless sea.
If, then, his staff officers had some reason to complain of their
chief’s silence and abstraction, it was by no means unfortunate for the
South, so imminent was the danger, that the strong brain was
incessantly occupied in forecasting the emergencies that might occur.
But not for a single moment did Jackson despair of ultimate success.
His faith in the justice of the Southern cause was as profound as his
trust in God’s good providence. He had long since realised that the
overwhelming strength of the Federals was more apparent than real. He
recognised their difficulties; he knew that the size of an army is
limited to the number that can be subsisted, and he relied much on the
superior _moral_ and the superior leading of the Confederate troops.
After long and mature deliberation he had come to a conclusion as to
the policy to be pursued. “We must make this campaign,” he said, in a
moment of unusual expansion, “an exceedingly active one. Only thus can
a weaker country cope with a stronger; it must make up in activity what
it lacks in strength. A defensive campaign can only be made successful
by taking the aggressive at the proper time. Napoleon never waited for
his adversary to become fully prepared, but struck him the first blow.”
On these principles Jackson had good reason to believe General Lee had
determined to act;[10] of their efficacy he was convinced, and when his
wife came to visit him at the end of April, she found him in good heart
and the highest spirits. He not only anticipated a decisive result from
the forthcoming operations, but he had seen with peculiar satisfaction
that a more manly tone was pervading the Confederate army. Taught by
their leaders, by Lee, Jackson, Stuart, and many others, of whose worth
and valour they had received convincing proof, the Southern soldiers
had begun to practise the clean and wholesome virtue of self-control.
They had discovered that purity
and temperance are by no means incompatible with military prowess, and
that a practical piety, faithful in small things as in great, detracts
in no degree from skill and resolution in the field. The Stonewall
Brigade set the example. As soon as their own huts were finished, the
men, of their own volition, built a log church, where both officers and
men, without distinction of rank, were accustomed to assemble during
the winter evenings; and those rude walls, illuminated by pine torches
cut from the neighbouring forest, witnessed such scenes as filled
Jackson’s cup of content to overflowing. A chaplain writes: “The devout
listener, dressed in simple grey, ornamented only with three stars,
which any Confederate colonel was entitled to wear, is our great
commander, Robert Edward Lee. That dashing-looking cavalry-man, with
‘fighting jacket,’ plumed hat, jingling spurs, and gay decorations, but
solemn, devout aspect during the service, is ‘Jeb’ Stuart, the flower
of cavaliers—and all through the vast crowd wreaths and stars of rank
mingle with the bars of the subordinate officers and the rough garb of
the private soldier. But perhaps the most supremely happy of the
gathered thousands is Stonewall Jackson.” “One could not,” says
another, “sit in that pulpit and meet the concentrated gaze of those
men without deep emotion. I remembered that they were the veterans of
many a bloody field. The eyes which looked into mine, waiting for the
Gospel of peace, had looked steadfastly upon whatever is terrible in
war. Their earnestness of aspect constantly impressed me. . . . They
looked as if they had come on business, and very important business,
and the preacher could scarcely do otherwise than feel that he, too,
had business of moment there!
At this time, largely owing to Jackson’s exertions, chaplains were
appointed to regiments and brigades, and ministers from all parts of
the country were invited to visit the camps. The Chaplains’
Association, which did a good work in the army, was established at his
suggestion, and although he steadfastly declined to attend its
meetings,
deeming them outside his functions, nothing was neglected, so far as
lay within his power, that might forward the moral welfare of the
troops.
But at the same time their military efficiency and material comforts
received his constant attention. Discipline was made stricter, indolent
and careless officers were summarily dismissed, and the divisions were
drilled at every favourable opportunity. Headquarters had been
transferred to a tent near to Hamilton’s Crossing, the general
remarking, “It is rather a relief to get where there will be less
comfort than in a room, as I hope thereby persons will be prevented
from encroaching so much upon my time.” On his wife’s arrival he moved
to Mr. Yerby’s plantation, near Hamilton’s Crossing, but “he did not
permit,” she writes, “the presence of his family to interfere in any
way with his military duties. The greater part of each day he spent at
his headquarters, but returned as early as he could get off from his
labours, and devoted all his leisure time to ha visitors—little Julia
having his chief attention and his care. His devotion to his child was
remarked upon by all who beheld the happy pair together, for she soon
learned to delight in his caresses as much as he loved to play with
her. An officer’s wife, who saw him often during this time, wrote to a
friend in Richmond that ‘the general spent all his leisure time in
playing with the baby.’”
April 29 But these quiet and happy days were soon ended. On April 29
the roar of cannon was heard once more at Gurney’s Station, salvo after
salvo following in quick succession, until the house shook and the
windows rattled with the reverberations. The crash of musketry
succeeded, rapid and continuous, and before the sun was high wounded
men were brought in to the shelter of Mr. Yerby’s outhouses. Very early
in the morning a message from the pickets had come in, and after making
arrangements for his wife and child to leave at once for Richmond, the
general, without waiting for breakfast, had hastened to the front. The
Federals were crossing the
Rappahannock, and Stonewall Jackson had gone to his last field.[11]
NOTE
Headquarters, Second Corps, Army of N. Va.:
April 13, 1863.
General Orders, No. 26.
I. . . . . . . . .
II. Each division will move precisely at the time indicated in the
order of march, and if a division or brigade is not ready to move at
that time, the next will proceed and take its place, even if a division
should be separated thereby.
III. On the march the troops are to have a rest of ten minutes each
hour. The rate of march is not to exceed one mile in twenty-five
minutes, unless otherwise specially ordered. The time of each division
commander will be taken from that of the corps commander. When the
troops are halted for the purpose of resting, arms will be stacked,
ranks broken, and in no case during the march will the troops be
allowed to break ranks without previously stacking arms.
IV. When any part of a battery or train is disabled on a march, the
officer in charge must have it removed immediately from the road, so
that no part of the command be impeded upon its march.
Batteries or trains must not stop in the line of march to water; when
any part of a battery or train, from any cause, loses its place in the
column, it must not pass any part of the column in regaining its place.
Company commanders will march at the rear of their respective
companies; officers must be habitually occupied in seeing that orders
are strictly enforced; a day’s march should be with them a day of
labour; as much vigilance is required on the march as in camp.
Each division commander will, as soon as he arrive at his
camping-ground, have the company rolls called, and guard details
marched to the front of the regiment before breaking ranks; and
immediately afterwards establish his chain of sentinels, and post his
pickets so as to secure the safety of his command, and will soon
thereafter report to their headquarters the disposition made for the
security of his camp.
Division commanders will see that all orders respecting their divisions
are carried out strictly; each division commander before leaving an
encampment will have all damages occasioned by his command settled for
by payment or covered by proper certificates.
V. All ambulances in the same brigade will be receipted for by the
brigade quartermaster, they will be parked together, and habitually
kept together, not being separated unless the exigencies of the service
require, and on marches follow in rear of their respective brigades.
Ample details will be made for taking care of the wounded;
those selected will wear the prescribed badge; and no other person
belonging to the army will be permitted to take part in this important
trust.
Any one leaving his appropriate duty, under pretext of taking care of
the wounded, will be promptly arrested, and as soon as charges can be
made out, they will be forwarded.
By command of Lieutenant-General Jackson,
A. S. PENDLETON,
_Assistant Adjutant-General._
[1] The report of Sharpsburg, which Jackson had not yet revised at the
time of his death, is not altogether free from exaggeration.
[2] On January 23 the daily ration was a quarter of a pound of beef,
and one-fifth of a pound of sugar was ordered to be issued in
addition, but there was no sugar! Lee to Davis, O.R., vol. xxi, p.
1110. In the Valley, during the autumn, the ration had been one and
one-eighth pound of flour, and one and a quarter pounds of beef. On
March 27 the ration was eighteen ounces of flour, and four ounces of
indifferent bacon, with occasional issues of rice, sugar, or molasses.
Symptoms of scurvy were appearing, and to supply the place of
vegetables each regiment was directed to send men daily to gather
sassafras buds, wild onions, garlic, etc., etc. Still “the men are
cheerful,” writes Lee, “and I receive no complaints.” O.R., vol. xxv,
part ii, p. 687. On April 17 the ration had been increased by ten
pounds of rice to every 100 men about every third day, with a few peas
and dried fruits occasionally. O.R., vol. xxv, part ii, p. 730.
[3] On January 19, 1,200 pairs of shoes and 400 or 500 pairs of
blankets were forwarded for issue to men without either in D. H.
Hill’s division, O.R., vol. xxi, p. 1097. In the Louisiana brigade on
the same date, out of 1,500 men, 400 had no covering for their feet
whatever. A large number had not a particle of underclothing, shirts,
socks, or drawers; overcoats were so rare as to be a curiosity; the
5th Regiment could not drill for want of shoes; the 8th was almost
unfit for duty from the same cause; the condition of the men’s feet,
from long exposure, was horrible, and the troops were almost totally
unprovided with cooking utensils. O.R., vol. xxi, p. 1098.
[4] O.R., vol. xxi, p. 1098.
[5] Cooke, p. 389.
[6] _The Times,_ June 11, 1863.
[7] Letter from Dr. Hunter McGuire.
[8] General G. B. Gordon. _Introduction to Memoirs of Stonewall
Jackson,_ p. 14.
[9] In April he wrote to his wife: “There is increasing probability
that I may be elsewhere as the season advances.” That he said no more
is characteristic.
[10] “There is no better way of defending a long line than by moving
into the enemy’s country.” Lee to General Jones, March 21, 1863; O.R.,
vol. xxv, part ii, p. 680.
[11] The Army of the Potomac was now constituted as follows:—
Engineer Brigade
First Corps
Second Corps
Third Corps Reynolds
Couch
Sickles Divisions Birney
Berry
Whipple Fifth Corps
Sixth Corps
Eleventh Corps Meade
Sedgwick
Howard Divisions McLean
Von Steinwehr
Schurz Twelfth Corps Slocum Divisions Williams
Geary Cavalry Corps Stoneman Divisions Pleasanton
Averell
Gregg.