Stonewall Jackson and the American Civil War
gentleman,” says Mrs. Jackson, “who spent the night with us was
accompanied by his daughter, but four years of age. It was the first
time the child had been separated from her mother, and my husband
suggested that she should be committed to my care during the night, but
she clung to her father. After our guests had both sunk in slumber, the
father was aroused by someone leaning over his little girl and drawing
the covering more closely round her. It was only his thoughtful host,
who felt anxious lest his little guest should miss her mother’s
guardian care under his roof, and could not go to sleep himself until
he was satisfied that all was well with the child.”
These incidents are little more than trivial. The attributes they
reveal seem of small import. They are not such as go towards building
up a successful career either in war or politics. And yet to arrive at
a true conception of Jackson’s character it is necessary that such
incidents should be recorded. That character will not appear the less
admirable because its strength and energy were tempered by softer
virtues; and when we remember the great soldier teaching a negro child,
or ministering to the comfort of a sick slave, it becomes easy to
understand the feelings with which his veterans regarded him. The quiet
home at Lexington reveals more of the real man than the camps and
conflicts of the Civil War, and no picture of Stonewall Jackson would
be complete without some reference to his domestic life.
“His life at home,” says his wife, “was perfectly regular and
systematic. He arose about six o’clock, and first knelt in secret
prayer; then he took a cold bath, which was never omitted even in the
coldest days of winter. This was followed by a brisk walk, in rain or
shine.
“Seven o’clock was the hour for family prayers, which he required all
his servants to attend promptly and regularly. He never waited for
anyone, not even his wife. Breakfast followed prayers, after which he
left immediately for the Institute, his classes opening at eight
o’clock and continuing to eleven. Upon his return home at eleven
o’clock he devoted himself to study until one. The first book he took
up daily was his Bible, which he read with a commentary, and the many
pencil marks upon it showed with what care he bent over its pages. From
his Bible lesson he turned to his text-books. During those hours of
study he would permit no interruption, and stood all the time in front
of a high desk. After dinner he gave himself up for half an hour or
more to leisure and conversation, and this was one of the brightest
periods in his home life. He then went into his garden, or out to his
farm to superintend his servants, and frequently joined them in manual
labour. He would often drive me to the farm, and find a shady spot for
me under the trees, while he attended to the work of the field. When
this was not the case, he always returned in time to take me, if the
weather permitted, for an evening walk or drive. In summer we often
took our drives by moonlight, and in the beautiful Valley of Virginia
the queen of night seemed to shine with more brightness than elsewhere.
When at home he would indulge himself in a season of rest and
recreation after supper, thinking it was injurious to health to go to
work immediately. As it was a rule with him never to use his eyes by
artificial light, he formed the habit of studying mentally for an hour
or so without a book. After going over his lessons in the morning, he
thus reviewed them at night, and in order to abstract his thoughts from
surrounding objects—a habit which he had cultivated to a remarkable
degree—he would, if alone with his wife, ask that he might not be
disturbed by any conversation; he would then take his seat with his
face to the wall, and remain in perfect abstraction until he finished
his mental task. He was very fond of being read to, and much of our
time in the evening was passed in my ministering to him in this way. He
had a library, which, though small, was select, composed chiefly of
scientific, historical, and religious books, with some of a lighter
character, and some in Spanish and French. Nearly all of them were full
of his pencil marks, made with a view to future reference.” Next to the
Bible, history, both ancient
and modern, was his favourite study. Plutarch, Josephus, Rollin,
Robertson, Hallam, Macaulay, and Bancroft were his constant companions.
Shakespeare held an honoured place upon his shelves; and when a novel
fell into his hands he became so absorbed in the story that he
eventually avoided such literature as a waste of time. “I am anxious,”
he wrote to a relative, “to devote myself to study until I shall become
master of my profession.”
The Jacksons were far from affluent. The professor had nothing but his
salary, and his wife, one of a large family, brought no increase to
their income. But the traditional hospitality of Virginia was a virtue
by no means neglected. He was generous but unostentatious in his mode
of living, and nothing gave him more pleasure than to bid his friends
welcome to his own home.
His outdoor recreations were healthful but not exciting. The hills
round Lexington teemed with game, the rivers with fish, and shooting
and fishing were the favourite amusements of his colleagues. But
Jackson found no pleasure in rod or gun; and although fond of riding
and a good horseman, he never appears to have joined in any of those
equestrian sports to which the Virginians were much addicted. He
neither followed the hunt nor tilted at the ring. His exercise was
taken after more utilitarian fashion, in the garden or the farm.
It need hardly be said that such a lover of order and method was
strictly economical, and the wise administration of the farm and
household permitted an annual expenditure on travel. Many of the most
beautiful localities and famous cities of the east and north were
visited in these excursions. Sometimes he wandered with his wife in
search of health; more often the object of their journey was to see
with their own eyes the splendid scenery of their native land. The
associations which were ever connected in Jackson’s mind with his tour
through Europe show how intensely he appreciated the marvels both of
nature and of art.
“I would advise you,” he wrote to a friend, “never to name my European
trip to me unless you are blest with a superabundance of patience, as
its very mention is calculated
to bring up with it an almost inexhaustible assemblage of grand and
beautiful associations. Passing over the works of the Creator, which
are far the most impressive, it is difficult to conceive of the
influences which even the works of His creatures exercise over the mind
of one who lingers amidst their master productions. Well do I remember
the influence of sculpture upon me during my short stay in Florence,
and how there I began to realise the sentiment of the Florentine: ‘Take
from me my liberty, take what you will, but leave me my statuary, leave
me these entrancing productions of art.’ And similar to this is the
influence of painting.”
But delightful as were these holiday expeditions, the day of Jackson’s
return to Lexington and his duties never came too soon. In the quiet
routine of his home life, in his work at the Institute, in the
supervision of his farm and garden, in his evenings with his books, and
in the services of his church, he was more than contented. Whatever
remained of soldierly ambition had long been eradicated. Man of action
as he essentially was, he evinced no longing for a wider sphere of
intellectual activity or for a more active existence. Under his own
roof-tree he found all that he desired. “There,” says his wife, “all
that was best in his nature shone forth;” and that temper was surely of
the sweetest which could utter no sterner rebuke than “Ah! that is not
the way to be happy!”
Nor was it merely his own gentleness of disposition and the many graces
of his charming helpmate that secured so large a degree of peace and
happiness. Jackson’s religion played even a greater part. It was not of
the kind which is more concerned with the terrors of hell than the
glories of paradise. The world to him was no place of woe and
lamentation, its beauties vanity, and its affections a snare. As he
gazed with delight on the gorgeous tints of the autumnal forests, and
the lovely landscapes of his mountain home, so he enjoyed to the utmost
the life and love which had fallen to his lot, and thanked God for that
capacity for happiness with which his nature was so largely gifted. Yet
it cannot be said that he practised no self-denial. His life, in many
respects, was one of constant self-discipline, and
when his time came to sacrifice himself, he submitted without a murmur.
But in his creed fear had no place. His faith was great. It was not,
however, a mere belief in God’s omnipotence and God’s justice, but a
deep and abiding confidence in His infinite compassion and infinite
love; and it created in him an almost startling consciousness of the
nearness and reality of the invisible world. In a letter to his wife it
is revealed in all its strength:
“You must not be discouraged at the slowness of recovery. Look up to
Him who giveth liberally for faith to be resigned to His divine will,
and trust Him for that measure of health which will most glorify Him,
and advance to the greatest extent your own real happiness. We are
sometimes suffered to be in a state of perplexity that our faith may be
tried and grow stronger. See if you cannot spend a short time after
dark in looking out of your window into space, and meditating upon
heaven, with all its joys unspeakable and full of glory. . . . ‘All
things work together for good’ to God’s children. Try to look up and be
cheerful, and not desponding. Trust our kind Heavenly Father, and by
the eye of faith see that all things are right and for your best
interests. The clouds come, pass over us, and are followed by bright
sunshine; so in God’s moral dealings with us, He permits to have
trouble awhile. But let us, even in the most trying dispensations of
His Providence, be cheered by the brightness which is a little ahead.”
It would serve no useful purpose to discuss Jackson’s views on
controversial questions. It may be well, however, to correct a common
error. It has been asserted that he was a fatalist, and therefore
careless of a future over which he believed he had no control. Not a
word, however, either in his letters or in his recorded conversations
warrants the assumption. It is true that his favourite maxim was “Duty
is ours, consequences are God’s,” and that knowing “all things work
together for good,” he looked forward to the future without misgiving
or apprehension.
But none the less he believed implicitly that the destiny of men and of
nations is in their own hands. His faith
was as sane as it was humble, without a touch of that presumptuous
fanaticism which stains the memory of Cromwell, to whom he has been so
often compared. He never imagined, even at the height of his renown,
when victory on victory crowned his banners, that he was “the scourge
of God,” the chosen instrument of His vengeance. He prayed without
ceasing, under fire as in the camp; but he never mistook his own
impulse for a revelation of the divine will. He prayed for help to do
his duty, and he prayed for success. He knew that:
“More things are wrought by prayer
Than this world dreams of;”
but he knew, also, that prayer is not always answered in the way which
man would have it. He went into battle with supreme confidence, not, as
has been alleged, that the Lord had delivered the enemy into his hands,
but that whatever happened would be the best that could happen. And he
was as free from cant as from self-deception. It may be said of