Stonewall Jackson and the American Civil War
be controlled in battle;”_ and the slightest interference with the
habit of subordination is fraught, therefore, with the very greatest
danger to the efficiency of an army.
It has been asserted, and it would appear that the idea is widespread,
that patriotism and intelligence are of vastly more importance than the
habit of obedience, and it was certainly a very general opinion in
America before the war. This idea should have been effectually
dissipated, at all events in the North, by the battle of Bull Run.
Nevertheless, throughout the conflict a predilection existed in favour
of what was called the “thinking bayonet;” and the very term
“machine-made soldier,” employed by General D. H. Hill, proves that the
strict discipline of regular armies was not held in high esteem.
It is certainly true that the “thinking bayonet” is by no means to be
decried. A man can no more be a good soldier without intelligence and
aptitude for his profession than he can be a successful poacher or a
skilful jockey. But it is possible, in considering the value of an
armed force, to rate too highly the natural qualities of the individual
in the ranks. In certain circumstances, especially in irregular
warfare, where each man fights for his own hand, they doubtless play a
conspicuous part. A thousand skilled riflemen, familiar with the
“moving accidents by flood and field,” even if they have no regular
training and are incapable of precise manœuvres, may prove more than a
match for the same number of professional soldiers. But when large
numbers are in question, when the concentration of superior force at a
single point, and the close co-operation of the three arms, infantry,
artillery, and cavalry, decide the issue, then the force that can
manœuvre, that moves like a machine at the mandate of a single will,
has a marked advantage; and the power of manœuvring and of combination
is conferred by discipline alone. “Two Mamelukes,” said Napoleon, “can
defeat three French horsemen, because they are better armed, better
mounted, and more skilful. A hundred French horse have nothing to fear
from a hundred Mamelukes, three hundred would defeat a similar number,
and a thousand French would defeat fifteen hundred Mamelukes. So great
is the influence of tactics, order, and the power of manœuvring.”
It may be said, moreover, that whatever may have been the case in past
times, the training of the regular soldier to-day neither aims at
producing mere machines nor has it that effect. As much attention is
given to the development of self-reliance in the rank and file as to
making them subordinate. It has long been recognised that there are
many occasions in war when even the private must use his wits; on
outpost, or patrol, as a scout, an orderly, or when his immediate
superiors have fallen, momentous issues may hang on his judgment and
initiative; and in a good army these qualities are sedulously fostered
by constant instruction in field duties. Nor is the fear justified that
the strict enforcement of exact obedience, whenever a superior is
present, impairs, under this system of training, the capacity for
independent action when such action becomes necessary. In the old days,
to drill and discipline the soldier into a machine was undoubtedly the
end of all his training. To-day his officers have the more difficult
task of stimulating his intelligence, while, at the same time, they
instil the habits of subordination; and that such task
may be successfully accomplished we have practical proof. The regiments
of the Light Brigade, trained by Sir John Moore nearly a century ago on
the system of to-day, proved their superiority in the field over all
others. As skirmishers, on the outpost, and in independent fighting,
they were exceedingly efficient; and yet, when they marched shoulder to
shoulder, no troops in Wellington’s army showed a more solid front,
manœuvred with greater precision, or were more completely under the
control of their officers.
Mechanical obedience, then, is perfectly compatible with the freest
exercise of the intelligence, provided that the men are so trained that
they know instinctively when to give the one and to use the other; and
the Confederates, had their officers and non-commissioned officers been
trained soldiers, might easily have acquired this highest form of
discipline. As it was, and as it always will be with improvised troops,
the discipline of battle was to a great degree purely personal. The men
followed those officers whom they knew, and in whom they had
confidence; but they did not always obey simply because the officer had
the right to command; and they were not easily handled when the wisdom
of an order or the necessity of a movement was not apparent. The only
way, it was said by an Englishman in the Confederacy, in which an
officer could acquire influence over the Southern soldiers was by his
personal conduct under fire. “Every ounce of authority,” was his
expression, “had to be purchased by a drop of my blood.”[18] Such being
the case, it is manifest that Jackson’s methods of discipline were well
adapted to the peculiar constitution of the army in which he served.
With the officers he was exceedingly strict. He looked to them to set
an example of unhesitating obedience and the precise performance of
duty. He demanded, too—and in this respect his own conduct was a
model—that the rank and file should be treated with tact and
consideration. He remembered that his citizen soldiers were utterly
unfamiliar with the forms and customs of military life, that what to
the regular would
be a mere matter of course, might seem a gross outrage to the man who
had never acknowledged a superior. In his selection of officers,
therefore, for posts upon his staff, and in his recommendations for
promotion, he considered personal characteristics rather than
professional ability. He preferred men who would win the confidence of
others—men not only strong, but possessing warm sympathies and broad
minds—to mere martinets, ruling by regulation, and treating the soldier
as a machine. But, at the same time, he was by no means disposed to
condone misconduct in the volunteers. Never was there a more striking
contrast than between Jackson the general and Jackson off duty. During
his sojourn at Moss Neck, Mr. Corbin’s little daughter, a child of six
years old, became a special favourite. “Her pretty face and winsome
ways were so charming that he requested her mother that she might visit
him every afternoon, when the day’s labours were over. He had always
some little treat in store for her—an orange or an apple—but one
afternoon he found that his supply of good things was exhausted.
Glancing round the room he eye fell on a new uniform cap, ornamented
with a gold band. Taking his knife, he ripped off the braid, and
fastened it among the curls of his little playfellow.” A little later
the child was taken ill, and after his removal from Moss Neck he heard
that she had died. “The general,” writes his aide-de-camp, “wept freely
when I brought him the sad news.” Yet in the administration of
discipline Jackson was far sterner than General Lee, or indeed than any
other of the generals in Virginia. “Once on the march, fearing lest his
men might stray from the ranks and commit acts of pillage, he had
issued an order that the soldiers should not enter private dwellings.
Disregarding the order, a soldier entered a house, and even used
insulting language to the women of the family. This was reported to
Jackson, who had the man arrested, tried by drum-head court-martial,
and shot in twenty minutes.”[19] He never failed to confirm the
sentences of death passed by courts-martial on deserters. It was in
vain that his oldest
friends, or even the chaplains, appealed for a mitigation of the
extreme penalty. “While he was in command at Winchester, in December
1861, a soldier who was charged with striking his captain was tried by
court-martial and sentenced to be shot. Knowing that the breach of
discipline had been attended with many extenuating circumstances, some
of us endeavoured to secure his pardon. Possessing ourselves of all the
facts, we waited upon the general, who evinced the deepest interest in
the object of our visit, and listened with evident sympathy to our
plea. There was moisture in his eyes when we repeated the poor fellow’s
pitiful appeal that he be allowed to die for his country as a soldier
on the field of battle, and not as a dog by the muskets of his own
comrades. Such solicitude for the success of our efforts did he
manifest that he even suggested some things to be done which we had not
thought of. At the same time he warned us not to be too hopeful. He
said: ‘It is unquestionably a case of great hardship, but a pardon at
this juncture might work greater hardship. Resistance to lawful
authority is a grave offence in a soldier. To pardon this man would be
to encourage insubordination throughout the army, and so ruin our
cause. Still,’ he added, ‘I will review the whole case, and no man will
be happier than myself if I can reach the same conclusions as you have
done.’ The soldier was shot.”[20]
On another occasion four men were to be executed for desertion to the
enemy. The firing party had been ordered to parade at four o’clock in
the afternoon, and shortly before the hour a chaplain, not noted for
his tact, made his way to the general’s tent, and petitioned earnestly
that the prisoners might even now be released. Jackson, whom he found
pacing backwards and forwards, in evident agitation, watch in hand,
listened courteously to his arguments, but made no reply, until at
length the worthy minister, in his most impressive manner, said,
“General, consider your responsibility before the Lord. You are sending
these men’s souls to hell!” With a look of intense
disgust at such empty cant, Jackson made one stride forward, took the
astonished divine by his shoulders, and saying, in his severest tones,
“That, sir, is my business—do you do yours!” thrust him forcibly from
the tent.
His severity as regards the more serious offences did not, however,
alienate in the smallest degree the confidence and affection of his
soldiers. They had full faith in his justice. They were well aware that
to order the execution of some unfortunate wretch gave him intense
pain. But they recognised, as clearly as he did himself, that it was
sometimes expedient that individuals should suffer. They knew that not
all men, nor even the greater part, are heroes, and that if the
worthless element had once reason to believe that they might escape the
legitimate consequences of their crimes, desertion and insubordination
would destroy the army. By some of the senior officers, however, his
rigorous ideas of discipline were less favourably considered. They were
by no means disposed to quarrel with the fact that the sentences of
courts-martial in the Second Army Corps were almost invariably
confirmed; but they objected strongly to the same measure which they
meted out to the men being consistently applied to themselves. They
could not be brought to see that neglect of duty, however trivial, on
the part of a colonel or brigadier was just as serious a fault as
desertion or insubordination on the part of the men; and the conflict
of opinion, in certain cases, had unfortunate results.
To those whose conduct he approved he was more than considerate.
General Lane, who was under him as a cadet at Lexington, writes as
follows:—
“When in camp at Bunker Hill, after the battle of Sharpsburg, where the
gallant Branch was killed, I, as colonel commanding the brigade, was
directed by General A. P. Hill to hold my command in readiness, with
three days’ rations, for detached service, and to report to General
Jackson for further orders. That was all the information that Hill