Stonewall Jackson and the American Civil War
It is to be noted, too, as tending to prove the equal courage of North
and South, that on the Western theatre of war the Federals were the
more successful. And yet the Western armies of the Confederacy were
neither less brave, less hardy, nor less disciplined than those in
Virginia. They were led, however, by inferior men, while, on the other
hand, many of the Northern generals opposed to them possessed
unquestionable ability, and understood the value of a good system of
command.
We may say, then, without detracting an iota from the high reputation
of the Confederate soldiers, that it was not the Army of Northern
Virginia that saved Richmond in 1862, but Lee; not the Army of the
Valley which won the Valley campaign, but Jackson.
It is related that a good priest, once a chaplain in Taylor’s Louisiana
brigade, concluded his prayer at the unveiling of the Jackson monument
in New Orleans with these remarkable words: “When in Thine inscrutable
decree it was ordained that the Confederacy should fail, it became
necessary for Thee to remove Thy servant Stonewall Jackson.”[5] It is
unnecessary, perhaps, to lay much forcible emphasis on the personal
factor, but, at the same time, it is exceedingly essential that it
should never be overlooked.
The Government which, either in peace or war, commits the charge of its
armed forces to any other than the ablest and most experienced soldier
the country can produce is but laying the foundation of national
disaster. Had the
importance of a careful selection for the higher commands been
understood in the North as it was understood in the South, Lee and
Jackson would have been opposed by foes more formidable than Pope and
Burnside, or Banks and Frémont. The Federal Administration, confident
in the courage and intelligence of their great armies, considered that
any ordinary general, trained to command, and supported by an efficient
staff, should be able to win victories. Mr. Davis, on the other hand,
himself a soldier, who, as United States Secretary of War, had enjoyed
peculiar opportunities of estimating the character of the officers of
the old army, made no such mistake. He was not always, indeed, either
wise or consistent; but, with few exceptions, his appointments were the
best that could be made, and he was ready to accept the advice, as
regarded selections for command, of his most experienced generals.
But however far-reaching may be the influence of a great leader, in
estimating his capacity the temper of the weapon that he wielded can
hardly be overlooked. In the first place, that temper, to a greater or
less degree, must have been of his own forging, it is part of his fame.
“No man,” says Napier, “can be justly called a great captain who does
not know how to organise and form the character of an army, as well as
to lead it when formed.” In the second place, to do much with feeble
means is greater than to do more with large resources. Difficulties are
inherent in all military operations, and not the least may be the
constitution of the army. Nor would the story of Stonewall Jackson be
more than half told without large reference to those tried soldiers,
subalterns and private soldiers as they were, whom he looked upon as
his comrades, whose patriotism and endurance he extolled so highly, and
whose devotion to himself, next to the approval of his own conscience,
was the reward that most he valued.
He is blind indeed who fails to recognise the unselfish patriotism
displayed by the citizen-soldiers of America, the stern resolution with
which the war was waged; the tenacity of the Northerner, ill-commanded
and
constantly defeated, fighting in a most difficult country and foiled on
every line of invasion; the tenacity of the Southerner, confronting
enormous odds, ill-fed, ill-armed, and ill-provided, knowing that if
wounded his sufferings would be great—for drugs had been declared
contraband of war, the hospitals contained no anæsthetics to relieve
the pain of amputation, and the surgical instruments, which were only
replaced when others were captured, were worn out with constant usage;
knowing too that his women-folk and children were in want, and yet
never yielding to despair nor abandoning hope of ultimate victory.
Neither Federal nor Confederate deemed his life the most precious of
his earthly possessions. Neither New Englander nor Virginian ever for
one moment dreamt of surrendering, no matter what the struggle might
cost, a single acre of the territory, a single item of the civil
rights, which had been handed down to him. “I do not profess,” said
Jackson, “any romantic sentiments as to the vanity of life. Certainly
no man has more that should make life dear to him than I have, in the
affection of my home; but I do not desire to survive the independence
of my country.” And Jackson’s attitude was that of his
fellow-countrymen. The words of Naboth, “Jehovah forbid that I should
give to thee the inheritance of my forefathers,” were graven on the
heart of both North and South; and the unknown and forgotten heroes who
fought in the ranks of either army, and who fought for a principle, not
on compulsion or for glory, are worthy of the highest honours that
history can bestow.
Nor can a soldier withhold his tribute of praise to the capacity for
making war which distinguished the American citizen. The intelligence
of the rank and file played an important _rôle_ in every phase of a
campaign. As skirmishers,—and modern battles, to a very great extent,
are fought out by lines of skirmishers—their work was admirable; and
when the officers were struck down, or when command, by reason of the
din and excitement, became impossible, the self-dependence of the
individual asserted itself with the best effect.[6] The same quality
which the German
training had sought to foster, and which, according to Moltke,[7] had
much to do with the victories of 1870, was born in both Northerner and
Southerner. On outpost and on patrol, in seeking information and in
counteracting the ruses of the enemy, the keen intelligence of the
educated volunteer was of the utmost value. History has hitherto
overlooked the achievements of the scouts, whose names so seldom occur
in the Official Records, but whose daring was unsurpassed, and whose
services were of vast importance. In the Army of Northern Virginia
every commanding general had his own party of scouts, whose business it
was to penetrate the enemy’s lines, to see everything and to hear
everything, to visit the base of operations, to inspect the line of
communications, and to note the condition and the temper of the hostile
troops. Attracted by a pure love of adventure, these private soldiers
did exactly the same work as did the English Intelligence officers in
the Peninsula, and did it with the same thoroughness and acuteness.
Wellington, deploring the capture of Captain Colquhoun Grant, declared
that the gallant Highlander was worth as much to the army as a brigade
of cavalry; Jackson had scouts who were more useful to him than many of
his brigadiers. Again, in constructing hasty intrenchments, the
soldiers needed neither assistance nor impulsion. The rough cover
thrown up by the men when circumstances demanded it, on their own
volition, was always adapted to the ground, and generally fulfilled the
main principles of fortification. For bridge-building, for road-making,
for the destruction, the repair, and even the making, of railroads,
skilled labour was always forthcoming from the ranks; and the soldiers
stamped the impress of their individuality on the tactics of the
infantry. Modern formations, to a very large extent, had their origin
on American battle-fields. The men realised very quickly the advantages
of shelter; the advance by rushes from one cover to another, and the
gradually working up, by this method, of the firing-line to effective
range—the method which all experience shows to be the true one—became
the general rule.
That the troops had faults, however, due in great part to the fact that
their intelligence was not thoroughly trained, and to the inexperience
of their officers, it is impossible to deny.
“I agree with you,” wrote Lee in 1868, “in believing that our army
would be invincible if it could be properly organised and officered.
There were never such men in an army before. They will go anywhere and
do anything if properly led. But there is the difficulty—proper
commanders. Where can they be obtained? But they are
improving—constantly improving. Rome was not built in a day, nor can we
expect miracles in our favour.”[8] Yet, taking them all in all, the
American rank and file of 1863, with their native characteristics,
supplemented by a great knowledge of war, were in advance of any
soldiers of their time.
In the actual composition of the Confederate forces no marked change
had taken place since the beginning of the war. But the character of
the army, in many essential respects, had become sensibly modified. The
men encamped on the Rappahannock were no longer the raw recruits who
had blundered into victory at the First Manassas; nor were they the
unmanageable divisions of the Peninsula. They were still, for the most
part, volunteers, for conscripts in the Army of Northern Virginia were
not numerous, but they were volunteers of a very different type from
those who had fought at Kernstown or at Gaines’ Mill. Despite their
protracted absence from their homes, the wealthy and well-born privates
still shouldered the musket. Though many had been promoted to
commissions, the majority were content to set an example of
self-sacrifice and sterling patriotism, and the regiments were thus
still leavened with a large admixture of educated and intelligent men.
It is a significant fact that during those months of 1863 which were
spent in winter quarters Latin, Greek, mathematical, and even Hebrew
classes were instituted by the soldiers. But all trace of social
distinction had long since vanished. Between the rich planter
and the small farmer or mechanic there was no difference either in
aspect or habiliments. Tanned by the hot Virginia sun, thin-visaged and
bright-eyed, gaunt of frame and spare of flesh, they were neither more
nor less than the rank and file of the Confederate army; the product of
discipline and hard service, moulded after the same pattern, with the
same hopes and fears, the same needs, the same sympathies. They looked
at life from a common standpoint, and that standpoint was not always
elevated. Human nature claimed its rights. When his hunger was
satisfied and, to use his own expression, he was full of hog and
hominy, the Confederate soldier found time to discuss the operations in
which he was engaged. Pipe in mouth, he could pass in review the
strategy and tactics of both armies, the capacity of his generals, and
the bearing of his enemies, and on each one of these questions, for he
was the shrewdest of observers, his comments were always to the point.
He had studied his profession in a practical school. The more delicate
moves of the great game were topics of absorbing interest. He cast a
comprehensive glance over the whole theatre; he would puzzle out the
reasons for forced marches and sudden changes of direction; his
curiosity was great, but intelligent, and the groups round the
camp-fires often forecast with surprising accuracy the manœuvres that
the generals were planning. But far more often the subjects of
conversation were of a more immediate and personal character. The
capacity of the company cook, the quality of the last consignment of
boots, the merits of different bivouacs, the prospect of the supply
train coming up to time, the temper of the captain and subaltern—such
were the topics which the Confederate privates spent their leisure in