Stonewall Jackson and the American Civil War
that reached the Indus, but Alexander; it was not the French army that
carried the war to the Weser and the Inn, but Turenne; it was not the
Prussian army which, for seven years, defended Prussia against the
three greatest Powers of Europe, but Frederick the Great.” So spoke
Napoleon, reiterating a truth confirmed by the experience of successive
ages, that a wise direction is of more avail than overwhelming numbers,
sound strategy than the most perfect armament; a powerful will,
invigorating all who come within its sphere, than the spasmodic efforts
of ill-regulated valour.
Even a professional army of long standing and old traditions is what
its commander makes it; its character sooner or later becomes the
reflex of his own; from him the officers take their tone; his energy or
his inactivity, his firmness or vacillation, are rapidly communicated
even to the lower ranks; and so far-reaching is the influence of the
leader, that those who record his campaigns concern themselves but
little as a rule with the men who followed him. The history of famous
armies is the history of great generals, for no army has ever achieved
great things unless it has been well commanded. If the general be
second-rate the army also will be second-rate. Mutual confidence is the
basis of
success in war, and unless the troops have implicit trust in the
resolution and resources of their chief, hesitation and
half-heartedness are sure to mark their actions. They may fight with
their accustomed courage; but the eagerness for the conflict, the
alacrity to support, the determination to conquer, will not be there.
The indefinable quality which is expressed by the word _moral_ will to
some degree be affected. The history of the Army of the Potomac is a
case in point.
Between the soldiers of the North and South there was little
difference. Neither could claim a superiority of martial qualities. The
Confederates, indeed, at the beginning of the war possessed a larger
measure of technical skill; they were the better shots and the finer
riders. But they were neither braver nor more enduring, and while they
probably derived some advantage from the fact that they were defending
their homes, the Federals, defending the integrity of their native
land, were fighting in the noblest of all causes. But Northerner and
Southerner were of the same race, a race proud, resolute, independent;
both were inspired by the same sentiments of self-respect; _noblesse
oblige_—the _noblesse_ of a free people—was the motto of the one as of
the other. It has been asserted that the Federal armies were very
largely composed of foreigners, whose motives for enlisting were purely
mercenary. At no period of the war, however, did the proportion of
native Americans sink below seventy per cent.,[1] and at the beginning
of 1863 it was much greater. As a matter of fact, the Union army was
composed of thoroughly staunch soldiers.[2]
Nor was the alien element at this time a source of weakness. Ireland
and Germany supplied the greater number of those who have been called
“Lincoln’s hirelings;” and, judging from the official records, the
Irish regiments at least were not a whit less trustworthy than those
purely American. Moreover, even if the admixture of foreigners had been
greater, the Army of the Potomac, for the reason that it was always
superior in numbers, contained in its ranks many more men bred in the
United States than the Army of Northern Virginia.[3] For the consistent
ill-success of the Federals the superior marksmanship and finer
horsemanship of the Confederates cannot, therefore, be accepted as
sufficient explanation.
In defence the balance of endurance inclined neither to one side nor
the other. Both Southerner and Northerner displayed that stubborn
resolve to maintain their ground which is the peculiar attribute of the
Anglo-Saxon. To claim for any one race a pre-eminence of valour is
repugnant alike to good taste and to sound sense. Courage and endurance
are widely distributed over the world’s surface, and political
institutions, the national conception of duty, the efficiency of the
corps of officers, and love of country, are the foundation of vigour
and staunchness in the field. Yet it is a fact which can hardly be
ignored, that from Creçy to Inkermann there have been exceedingly few
instances where an English army, large or small, has been driven from a
position. In the great struggle with France, neither Napoleon nor his
marshals, although the armies of every other European nation had fled
before them, could boast of having broken the English infantry; and no
soldiers have ever received a prouder tribute than the admission of a
generous enemy, “They never know when they are beaten.” In America, the
characteristics of the parent race were as prominent in the Civil War
as they had been in the Revolution. In 1861–65, the side that stood on
the defensive, unless hopelessly outnumbered, was almost
invariably successful, just as it had been in 1776–82. “My men,” said
Jackson, “sometimes fail to drive the enemy from his position, but to
hold one, never!” The Federal generals might have made the same
assertion with almost equal truth. Porter had indeed been defeated at
Gaines’ Mill, but he could only set 35,000 in line against 55,000;
Banks had been overwhelmed at Winchester, but 6,500 men could hardly
have hoped to resist more than twice their strength; and Shields’
advanced guard at Port Republic was much inferior to the force which
Jackson brought against it; yet these were the only offensive victories
of the ’62 campaign. But if in defence the armies were well matched, it
must be conceded that the Northern attack was not pressed with the same
concentrated vigour as the Southern. McClellan at Sharpsburg had more
than twice as many men as Lee; Pope, on the first day of the Second
Manassas, twice as many as Jackson; yet on both occasions the smaller
force was victorious. But, in the first place, the Federal tactics in
attack were always feeble. Lincoln, in appointing Hooker to command the
Army of the Potomac, warned him “to put in all his men.” His sharp eye
had detected the great fault which had characterised the operations of
his generals. Their assaults had been piecemeal, like those of the
Confederates at Malvern Hill, and they had been defeated in detail by
the inferior numbers. The Northern soldiers were strangers to those
general and combined attacks, pressed with unyielding resolution, which
had won Winchester, Gaines’ Mill, and the Second Manassas, and which
had nearly won Kernstown. The Northern generals invariably kept large
masses in reserve, and these masses were never used. They had not yet
learned, as had Lee, Jackson, and Longstreet, that superior numbers are
of no avail unless they are brought into action, impelling the attack
forward by sheer weight, at the decisive point. In the second place,
none of the Federal leaders possessed the entire confidence either of
their generals or their troops. With all its affection for McClellan,
it may strongly be questioned whether his army gave him credit for dash
or resolution. Pope was
defeated in his first action at Cedar Run. Banks at Winchester, Frémont
west of Staunton, had both been out-manœuvred. Burnside had against him
his feeble conduct at Sharpsburg. Hence the Federal soldiers fought
most of their offensive battles under a terrible disadvantage. They
were led by men who had known defeat, and who owed their defeat, in
great measure, to the same fault—neglect to employ their whole force in
combination. Brave and unyielding as they were, the troops went into
battle mistrustful of their leader’s skill, and fearful, from the very
outset, that their efforts would be unsupported; and when men begin to
look over their shoulders for reinforcements, demoralisation is not far
off. It would be untrue to say that a defeated general can never regain
the confidence of his soldiers; but unless he has previous successes to
set off against his failure, to permit him to retain his position is
dangerous in the extreme. Such was the opinion of Jackson, always
solicitous of the _moral_ of his command. “To his mind nothing ever
fully excused failure, and it was rarely that he gave an officer the
opportunity of failing twice. ‘The service,’ he said, ‘cannot afford to
keep a man who does not succeed.’ Nor was he ever restrained from a
change by the fear of making matters worse. His motto was, get rid of
the unsuccessful man at once, and trust to Providence for finding a
better.”
Nor was the presence of discredited generals the only evil which went
to neutralise the valour of the Federal soldiers. The system of command
was as rotten in the Army of the Potomac as in the Armies of Northern
Virginia and of the Valley it was sound; and the system of command
plays a most important part in war. The natural initiative of the
American, the general fearlessness of responsibility, were as
conspicuous among the soldiers as in the nation at large. To those
familiar with the Official Records, where the doings of regiments and
even companies are preserved, it is perfectly apparent that, so soon as
the officers gained experience, the smaller units were as boldly and
efficiently handled as in the army of Germany under Moltke. But while
Lee and Jackson, by every means in
their power, fostered the capacity for independent action, following
therein the example of Napoleon,[4] of Washington, of Nelson, and of
Wellington, and aware that their strength would thus be doubled,
McClellan and Pope did their best to stifle it; and in the higher ranks
they succeeded. In the one case the generals were taught to wait for
orders, in the other to anticipate them. In the one case, whether
troops were supported or not depended on the word of the commanding
general; in the other, every officer was taught that to sustain his
colleagues was his first duty. It thus resulted that while the
Confederate leaders were served by scores of zealous assistants,
actively engaged in furthering the aim of their superiors, McClellan,
Pope, and Frémont, jealous of power reduced their subordinates, with
few exceptions, to the position of machines, content to obey the letter
of their orders, oblivious of opportunity, and incapable of
co-operation. Lee and Jackson appear to have realised the requirements
of battle far more fully than their opponents. They knew that the scope
of the commander is limited; that once his troops are committed to
close action it is impossible for him to exert further control, for his
orders can no longer reach them; that he cannot keep the whole field
under observation, much less observe every fleeting opportunity. Yet it
is by utilising opportunities that the enemy’s strength is sapped. For
these reasons the Confederate generals were exceedingly careful not to
chill the spirit of enterprise. Errors of judgment were never
considered in the light of crimes; while the officer who, in default of
orders, remained inactive, or who, when his orders were manifestly
inapplicable to a suddenly changed situation, and there was no time to
have them altered, dared not act for himself, was not long retained in
responsible command. In the Army of the Potomac, on the other hand,
centralisation was the rule. McClellan
expected blind obedience from his corps commanders, and nothing more,
and Pope brought Porter to trial for using his own judgment, on
occasions when Pope himself was absent, during the campaign of the
Second Manassas. Thus the Federal soldiers, through no fault of their
own, laboured for the first two years of the war under a disadvantage
from which the wisdom of Lee and Jackson had relieved the Confederates.
The Army of the Potomac was an inert mass, the Army of Northern
Virginia a living organism, endowed with irresistible vigour.