Stonewall Jackson and the American Civil War
upon the sand, speak more clearly than written characters. His estimate
of the demoralisation of the Federal army after Bull Run, and of the
ease with which Washington might have been captured, was absolutely
correct. In the middle of May, 1862, both Lee and Johnston,
notwithstanding Jackson’s victory over Milroy, anticipated that Banks
would leave the Valley. Jackson thought otherwise, and Jackson was
right. After the bloody repulse at Malvern Hill, when his generals
reported the terrible confusion in the Confederate ranks, he simply
stated his opinion that the enemy was retreating, and went to sleep
again. A week later he suggested that the whole army should move
against Pope, for McClellan, he said, would never dare to march on
Richmond. At Sharpsburg, as the shells cut the trees to pieces in the
West Wood, and the heavy
masses of Federal infantry filled the fields in front, he told his
medical director that McClellan had done his worst. At Fredericksburg,
after the first day’s battle, he believed that the enemy was already
defeated, and, anticipating their escape under cover of the darkness,
he advised a night attack with the bayonet. His knowledge of his
adversary’s character, derived, in great degree, from his close
observation of every movement, enabled him to predict with astonishing
accuracy exactly how he would act under given circumstances.
Nor can he be charged in any single instance with neglect of
precautions by which the risks of war are diminished. He appears to
have thought out and to have foreseen—and here his imaginative power
aided him—every combination that could be made against him, and to have
provided for every possible emergency. He was never surprised, never
disconcerted, never betrayed into a false manœuvre. Although on some
occasions his success fell short of his expectations, the fault was not
his; his strategy was always admirable, but fortune, in one guise or
another—the indiscipline of the cavalry, the inefficiency of
subordinates, the difficulties of the country—interfered with the full
accomplishment of his designs. But whatever could be done to render
fortune powerless that Jackson did. By means of his cavalry, by forced
marches, by the careful selection of his line of march, of his camps,
of his positions, of his magazines, and lastly, by his consistent
reticence, he effectually concealed from the Federals both his troops
and his designs. Never surprised himself, he seldom failed to surprise
his enemies, if not tactically—that is, while they were resting in
their camps—at least strategically. Kernstown came as a surprise to
Banks, McDowell to Frémont. Banks believed Jackson to be at
Harrisonburg when he had already defeated the detachment at Front
Royal. At Cross Keys and Port Republic neither Frémont nor Shields
expected that their flying foe would suddenly turn at bay. Pope was
unable to support Banks at Cedar Run till the battle had been decided.
When McClellan on the Chickahominy was informed that the Valley army
had joined Lee
it was too late to alter his dispositions, and no surprise was ever
more complete than Chancellorsville.
And the mystery that always involved Jackson’s movements was
undoubtedly the result of calculation, He knew the effect his sudden
appearances and disappearances would have on the _moral_ of the Federal
generals, and he relied as much on upsetting the mental equilibrium of
his opponents as on concentrating against them superior numbers. Nor
was his view confined to the field of battle and his immediate
adversary. It embraced the whole theatre of war. The motive power which
ruled the enemy’s politics as well as his armies was always his real
objective. From the very first he recognised the weakness of the
Federal position—the anxiety with which the President and the people
regarded Washington—and on this anxiety he traded. Every blow struck in
the Valley campaign, from Kernstown to Cross Keys, was struck at
Lincoln and his Cabinet; every movement, including the advance against
Pope on Cedar Run, was calculated with reference to the effect it would
produce in the Federal councils; and if he consistently advocated
invasion, it was not because Virginia would be relieved of the enemy’s
presence, but because treaties of peace are only signed within sight of
the hostile capital.
It has been urged that the generals whom Jackson defeated were men of
inferior stamp, and that his capacity for command was consequently
never fairly tested. Had Grant or Sheridan, it is said, been pitted
against him in the Valley, or Sherman or Thomas on the Rappahannock,
his laurels would never have been won. The contention is fair. Generals
of such calibre as Banks and Frémont, Shields and Pope, committed
blunders which the more skilful leaders would undoubtedly have avoided;
and again, had he been pitted against a worthy antagonist, Jackson
would probably have acted with less audacity and greater caution. It is
difficult to conceive, however, that the fact would either have
disturbed his brain or weakened his resolution. Few generals,
apparently, have been caught in worse predicaments than he was; first,
when his army was near Harper’s Ferry, and Frémont and Shields were
converging on his
rear; second, when he lay in the woods near Groveton, with no news from
Longstreet, and Pope’s army all around him; third, when he was marching
by the Brock road to strike Hooker’s right, and Sickles’ column struck
in between himself and Lee. But it was at such junctures as these that
his self-possession was most complete and his skill most marked. The
greater the peril, the more fixed became his purpose. The capacity of
the opponent, moreover, cannot be accepted as the true touchstone of
generalship. “The greatest general,” said Napoleon, “is he who makes
the fewest mistakes,” _i.e._ he who neither neglects an opportunity nor
offers one.
Thus tested Jackson has few superiors. During the whole of the two
years he held command he never committed a single error. At
Mechanicsville, and again at Frayser’s Farm, the failure to establish
some method of intercommunication left his column isolated; this,
however, was a failure in staff duties, for which the Confederate
headquarters was more to blame than himself. And further, how sure and
swift was the retribution which followed a mistake committed within his
sphere of action! What opportunity did Jackson miss? His penetration
was unerring; and when, after he had marked his prey, did he ever
hesitate to swoop? “What seemed reckless audacity,” it has been well
said by one of the greatest of Southern soldiers, “was the essence of
prudence. His eye had caught at a glance the entire situation, and his
genius, with marvellous celerity and accuracy, had weighed all the
chances of success or failure. While, therefore, others were slowly
feeling their way, or employing in detail insufficient forces, Jackson,
without for one moment doubting his success, hurled his army like a
thunderbolt against the opposing lines, and thus ended the battle at a
single blow.”[6]
But if Jackson never failed to take advantage of his
opponent’s blunders, it might be said that he sometimes laid himself
open to defeat. Grant and Sheridan, had they been in place of Shields
and Frémont, would hardly have suffered him to escape from Harper’s
Ferry; Sherman would probably have crushed him at the Second Manassas;
Thomas would not have been surprised at Chancellorsville. But Jackson
only pushed daring to its limits when it was safe to do so. He knew the
men he had to deal with. And in whatever situation he might find
himself he invariably reserved more than one means of escape.
On the field of battle his manœuvres were always sound and often
brilliant. He never failed to detect the key-point of a position, or to
make the best use of the ground. On the defensive his flanks were
always strong and his troops concealed both from view and fire; on the
offensive he invariably attacked where he was least expected. He
handled the three arms, infantry, cavalry, and artillery, in the
closest combination and with the maximum of effect. Except at
Kernstown, where Garnett interfered, his reserve was invariably put in
at exactly the right moment, and he so manipulated his command that he
was always strongest at the decisive point. Nor did he forget that a
battle is only half won where there is no pursuit, and whenever he held
command upon the field, his troops, especially the cavalry, were so
disposed that from the very outset the enemy’s retreat was menaced. The
soldiers, sharers in his achievements, compared his tactical leading
with that of others, and gave the palm to Jackson. An officer of his
staff, who served continuously with the Army of Northern Virginia,
says: “I was engaged in no great battle subsequent to Jackson’s death
in which I did not see the opportunity which, in my opinion, he would
have seized, and have routed our opponents;”[7] and General Lane writes
that on many a hard-fought field, subsequent to Chancellorsville, he
heard his veterans exclaim: “Oh for another Jackson!”
Until Jackson fell the Army of Northern Virginia, except when his
advice was overruled, had never missed an opening. Afterwards it missed
many. Gettysburg, which
should have been decisive of the war, was pre-eminently a battle of
lost opportunities, and there are others which fall into the same
category. It is a perfectly fair assumption, then, that Jackson, so
unerring was his insight, would not only have proved an efficient
substitute for Lee, but that he would have won such fame as would have
placed him, as it placed his great commander, among the most
illustrious soldiers of all ages. With any of his contemporaries, not
even excepting Lee, he compares more than favourably. Most obedient of
subordinates as he was, his strategical views were not always in
accordance with those of his Commander-in-Chief. If Jackson had been in
charge of the operations, the disastrous battle of Malvern Hill would
never have been fought; Pope would have been cut off from the
Rappahannock; McClellan would have found the whole Confederate army
arrayed against him at South Mountain, or would have been attacked near
Frederick; and Burnside would have been encountered on the North Anna,
where defeat would probably have proved his ruin. It is difficult to
compare him with Lee. A true estimate of Lee’s genius is impossible,
for it can never be known to what extent his designs were thwarted by
the Confederate Government. Lee served Mr. Davis; Jackson served Lee,
wisest and most helpful of masters. It would seem, however, that
Jackson in one respect was Lee’s superior. His courage, physical and
moral, was not more brilliant or more steadfast; his tactical skill no
greater; but he was made of sterner stuff. His self-confidence was
supreme. He never doubted his ability, with God’s help, to carry out
any task his judgment approved. Lee, on the other hand, was oppressed
by a consciousness of his own shortcomings. Jackson never held but one
council of war. Lee seldom made an important movement without
consulting his corps commanders. Jackson kept his subordinates in their
place, exacting from his generals the same implicit obedience he
exacted from his corporals. Lee lost the battle of Gettysburg because
he allowed his second in command to argue instead of marching. Nor was
that political courage, which Nelson declared is as necessary for a
commander as
military courage, a component part of Lee’s character.[8] On assuming
command of the Army of Northern Virginia, in spite of Mr. Davis’
protestations, he resigned the control of the whole forces of the
Confederacy, and he submitted without complaint to interference.
Jackson’s action when Loring’s regiments were ordered back by the