Stonewall Jackson and the American Civil War
conversation with the unmeaning phrase “you know” were often astonished
by the blunt interruption that he did _not_ know; and when he was
entreated at parties or receptions to break through his dietary rules,
and for courtesy’s sake to accept some delicacy, he would always refuse
with the reply that he had “no genius for seeming.” But if he carried
his conscientiousness to extremes, if he laid down stringent rules for
his own governance, he neither set himself up for a model nor did he
attempt to force his convictions upon others. He was always tolerant;
he knew his own faults, and his own temptations, and if he could say
nothing good of a man he would not speak of him at all. But he was by
no means disposed to overlook conduct of which he disapproved, and
undue leniency was a weakness to which he never yielded. If he once
lost confidence or discovered deception on the
part of one he trusted, he withdrew himself as far as possible from any
further dealings with him; and whether with the cadets, or with his
brother-officers, if an offence had been committed of which he was
called upon to take notice, he was absolutely inflexible. Punishment or
report inevitably followed. No excuses, no personal feelings, no
appeals to the suffering which might be brought upon the innocent, were
permitted to interfere with the execution of his duty.
Such were the chief characteristics of the great Confederate as he
appeared to the little world of Lexington. The tall figure, clad in the
blue uniform of the United States army, always scrupulously neat,
striding to and from the Institute, or standing in the centre of the
parade-ground, while the cadet battalion wheeled and deployed at his
command, was familiar to the whole community. But Jackson’s heart was
not worn on his sleeve. Shy and silent as he was, the knowledge that
even his closest acquaintances had of him was hardly more than
superficial. A man who was always chary of expressing his opinions,
unless they were asked for, who declined argument, and used as few
words as possible, attracted but little notice. A few recognised his
clear good sense; the majority considered that if he said little it was
because he had nothing worth saying. Because he went his own way and
lived by his own rules he was considered eccentric; because he was
sometimes absent-minded, and apt to become absorbed in his own
thoughts, he was set down as unpractical; his literal accuracy of
statement was construed as the mark of a narrow intellect, and his
exceeding modesty served to keep him in the background.
At the Institute, despite his reputation for courage, he was no
favourite even with the cadets. He was hardly in sympathy with them.
His temper was always equable. Whatever he may have felt he never
betrayed irritation, and in the lecture-room or elsewhere he was
kindness itself; but his own life had been filled from boyhood with
earnest purpose and high ambition. Hard work was more to his taste than
amusement. Time, to his mind, was far
too valuable to be wasted, and he made few allowances for the
thoughtlessness and indolence of irresponsible youth. As a relief
possibly to the educational treadmill, his class delighted in listening
to the story of Contreras and Chapultepec; but there was nothing about
Jackson which corresponded with a boy’s idea of a hero. His aggressive
punctuality, his strict observance of military etiquette, his precise
interpretation of orders, seemed to have as little in common with the
fierce excitement of battle as the uninteresting occupations of the
Presbyterian deacon, who kept a Sunday school for negroes, had with the
reckless gaiety of the traditional _sabreur._
“And yet,” says one who know him, “they imbibed the principles he
taught. Slowly and certainly were they trained in the direction which
the teacher wished. Jackson justly believed that the chief value of the
Institute consisted in the habits of system and obedience which it
impressed on the ductile characters of the cadets, and regarded any
relaxation of the rules as tending to destroy its usefulness. His
conscientiousness seemed absurd to the young gentlemen who had no idea
of the importance of military orders or of the implicit obedience which
a good soldier deems it his duty to pay to them. But which was
right—the laughing young cadet or the grave major of artillery? Let the
thousands who in the bitter and arduous struggle of the Civil War were
taught by stern experience the necessity of strict compliance with all
orders, to the very letter, answer the question.”[2]
“As exact as the multiplication table, and as full of things military
as an arsenal,” was the verdict passed on Jackson by one of his
townsmen, and it appears to have been the opinion of the community at
large.
Jackson, indeed, was as inarticulate as Cromwell. Like the great
Protector he “lived silent,” and like him he was often misunderstood.
Stories which have been repeated by writer after writer attribute to
him the most grotesque eccentricities of manner, and exhibit his lofty
piety as the harsh intolerance of a fanatic. He has been
represented as the narrowest of Calvinists; and so general was the
belief in his stern and merciless nature that a great poet did not
scruple to link his name with a deed which, had it actually occurred,
would have been one of almost unexampled cruelty. Such calumnies as
Whittier’s “Barbara Frichtie” may possibly have found their source in
the impression made upon some of Jackson’s acquaintances at Lexington,
who, out of all sympathy with his high ideal of life and duty, regarded
him as morose and morbid; and when in after years the fierce and
relentless pursuit of the Confederate general piled the dead high upon
the battle-field, this conception of his character was readily
accepted. As he rose to fame, men listened greedily to those who could
speak of him from personal knowledge; the anecdotes which they related
were quickly distorted; the slightest peculiarities of walk, speech, or
gesture were greatly exaggerated; and even Virginians seemed to vie
with one another in representing the humble and kind-hearted soldier as
the most bigoted of Christians and the most pitiless of men.
But just as the majority of ridiculous stories which cluster round his
name rest on the very flimsiest foundation, so the popular conception
of his character during his life at Lexington was absolutely erroneous.
It was only within the portals of his home that his real nature
disclosed itself. The simple and pathetic pages in which his widow has
recorded the story of their married life unfold an almost ideal picture
of domestic happiness, unchequered by the faintest glimpse of austerity
or gloom. That quiet home was the abode of much content; the sunshine
of sweet temper flooded every nook and corner; and although the
pervading atmosphere was essentially religious, mirth and laughter were
familiar guests.
“Those who knew General Jackson only as they saw him in public would
have found it hard to believe that there could be such a transformation
as he exhibited in his domestic life. He luxuriated in the freedom and
liberty of his home, and his buoyancy and joyousness often ran into a
playfulness and abandon that would have been
incredible to those who saw him only when he put on his official
dignity.”[3] It was seldom, indeed, except under his own roof, or in
the company of his intimates, that his reserve was broken through; in
society he was always on his guard, fearful lest any chance word might
be misconstrued or give offence. It is no wonder, then, that Lexington
misjudged him. Nor were those who knew him only when he was absorbed in
the cares of command before the enemy likely to see far below the
surface. The dominant trait in Jackson’s character was his intense
earnestness, and when work was doing, every faculty of his nature was
engrossed in the accomplishment of the task on hand. But precise,
methodical, and matter-of-fact as he appeared, his was no commonplace
and prosaic nature. He had “the delicacy and the tenderness which are
the rarest and most beautiful ornament of the strong.”[4] Beneath his
habitual gravity a vivid imagination, restrained indeed by strong sense
and indulging in no vain visions, was ever at work; and a lofty
enthusiasm, which seldom betrayed itself in words, inspired his whole
being. He was essentially chivalrous. His deference to woman, even in a
land where such deference was still the fashion, was remarkable, and
his sympathy with the oppressed was as deep as his loyalty to Virginia.
He was an ardent lover of nature. The autumnal glories of the forest,
the songs of the birds, the splendours of the sunset, were sources of
unfailing pleasure. More than all, the strength of his imagination
carried him further than the confines of the material world, and he saw
with unclouded vision the radiant heights that lie beyond.
Jackson, then, was something more than a man of virile temperament; he
was gifted with other qualities than energy, determination, and common
sense. He was not witty. He had no talent for repartee, and the most
industrious collector of anecdotes will find few good things attributed
to him. But he possessed a kindly humour which found vent in playful
expressions of endearment, or in practical jokes of the most innocent
description; and if these outbursts of high spirits were confined to
the
precincts of his own home, they proved at least that neither by
temperament nor principle was he inclined to look upon the darker side.
His eye for a ludicrous situation was very quick, and a joke which told
against himself always caused him the most intense amusement. It is
impossible to read the letters which Mrs. Jackson has published and to
entertain the belief that his temper was ever in the least degree
morose. To use her own words, “they are the overflow of a heart full of
tenderness;” it is true that they seldom omit some reference to that
higher life which both husband and wife were striving hand in hand to
lead, but they are instinct from first to last with the serene
happiness of a contented mind.
Even more marked than his habitual cheerfulness was his almost feminine
sympathy with the poor and feeble. His servants, as was the universal
rule in Virginia, were his slaves; but his relations with his black
dependents were of almost a paternal character, and his kindness was
repaid by that childlike devotion peculiar to the negro race. More than
one of these servants—so great was his reputation for kindness—had
begged him to buy them from their former owners. Their interests were
his special care; in sickness they received all the attention and
comfort that the house afforded; to his favourite virtues, politeness
and punctuality, they were trained by their master himself, and their
moral education was a task he cheerfully undertook. “There was one
little servant in the family,” says Mrs. Jackson, “whom my husband took
under his sheltering roof at the solicitations of an aged lady; to whom
the child became a care after having been left an orphan. She was not
bright, but he persevered in drilling her into memorising a child’s
catechism, and it was a most amusing picture to see her standing before
him with fixed attention, as if she were straining every nerve, and
reciting her answers with the drop of a curtsey at each word. She had
not been taught to do this, but it was such an effort for her to learn
that she assumed the motion involuntarily.”
Jackson’s home was childless. A little daughter, born at Lexington,
lived only for a few weeks, and her place
remained unfilled. His sorrow, although he submitted uncomplainingly,
was very bitter, for his love for children was very great. “A