Stonewall Jackson and the American Civil War
would surely strengthen the links of kindly sympathy, and by those
links alone it was believed that the Union would be held together. Such
was the dream of the unselfish patriots who ruled the destinies of the
infant Republic. Such were the ideas that so far influenced their
deliberations that, with all their wisdom, they left a legacy to their
posterity which deluged the land in blood.
Mr. Lincoln’s predecessor in the presidential chair had publicly
proclaimed that coercion was both illegal and inexpedient; and for the
three months which intervened between the secession of South Carolina
and the inauguration of the Republican President, the Government made
not the slightest attempt to interfere with the peaceable establishment
of the new Confederacy. Not a single soldier reinforced the garrisons
of the military posts in the South. Not a single regiment was recalled
from the western frontiers; and the seceded States, without a word of
protest, were permitted to take possession, with few exceptions, of the
forts, arsenals, navy yards and custom houses which stood on their own
territory. It seemed that the Federal Government was only waiting until
an amicable arrangement might be arrived at as to the terms of
separation.
If, in addition to the words in which she had assented to the
Constitution, further justification were needed for the belief of
Virginia in the right of secession, it was assuredly to be found in the
apparent want of unanimity on so grave a question even in the
Republican party, and in the acquiescent attitude of the Federal
Government.
The people of Virginia, however, saw in the election of a Republican
President no immediate danger of the Constitution being “perverted to
their injury and oppression.” The North, generally speaking, regarded
the action of the secessionists with that strange and good-humoured
tolerance with which the American citizen too often regards internal
politics. The common sense of the nation asserted itself in all its
strength. A Union which could only be maintained by force was a strange
and obnoxious idea to the majority. Amid the storm of abuse and insult
in which the two extreme parties indulged, the abolitionists on the one
side, the politicians on the other, Lincoln,
“The still strong man in a blatant land,”
stood calm and steadfast, promising justice to the South, and eager for
reconciliation. And Lincoln represented the real temper of the Northern
people.
So, in the earlier months of 1861, there was no sign whatever that the
Old Dominion might be compelled to use the alternative her original
representatives had reserved. The question of slavery was no longer to
the fore. While reprobating the action of the Confederates, the
President, in his inaugural address (March 4, 1861), had declared that
the Government had no right to interfere with the domestic institutions
of the individual States; and throughout Virginia the feeling was
strong in favour of the Union. Earnest endeavours were made to effect a
compromise, under which the seceded communities might renew the Federal
compact. The Legislature called a Convention of the People to
deliberate on the part that the State should play, and the other States
were invited to join in a Peace Conference at Washington.
It need hardly be said that during the period of negotiation excitement
rose to the highest pitch. The political situation was the sole theme
of discussion. In Lexington as elsewhere the one absorbing topic ousted
all others, and in Lexington as elsewhere there was much difference of
opinion. But the general sentiment was strongly Unionist, and in the
election of members of the Convention an overwhelming majority had
pronounced against secession. Between the two parties, however, there
were sharp conflicts. A flagstaff flying the national ensign had been
erected in Main Street, Lexington. The cadets fired on the flag,
and substituting the State colours placed a guard over them. Next
morning a report reached the Institute that the local company of
volunteers had driven off the guard, and were about to restore the
Stars and Stripes. It was a holiday, and there were no officers
present. The drums beat to arms. The boys rushed down to their
parade-ground, buckling on their belts, and carrying their rifles.
Ammunition was distributed, and the whole battalion, under the cadet
officers, marched out of the Institute gates, determined to lower the
emblem of Northern tyranny and drive away the volunteers. A collision
would certainly have ensued had not the attacking column been met by
the Commandant.
In every discussion on the action of the State Jackson had spoken
strongly on the side of the majority. In terse phrase he had summed up
his view of the situation. He was no advocate of secession. He
deprecated the hasty action of South Carolina. “It is better,” he said,
“for the South to fight for her rights in the Union than out of it.”
But much as they loved the Union, the people of Virginia revered still
more the principles inculcated by their forefathers, the right of
secession and the illegality of coercion. And when the proposals of the
Peace Conference came to nothing, when all hope of compromise died
away, and the Federal Government showed no sign of recognising the
Provisional Government, it became evident even to the staunchest
Unionist that civil war could no longer be postponed. From the very
first no shadow of a doubt had existed in Jackson’s mind as to the side
he should espouse, or the course he should pursue. “If I know myself,”
he wrote, “all I am and all I have is at the service of my country.”
According to his political creed his country was his native State, and
such was the creed of the whole South. In conforming to the Ordinance
of Secession enacted by the legislatures of their own States, the
people, according to their reading of the Constitution, acted as loyal
and patriotic citizens; to resist that ordinance was treason and
rebellion; and in taking up arms “they were not, in their own opinion,
rebels at all; they were defending
their States—that is, the nations to which they conceived themselves to
belong, from invasion and conquest.”[12]
When, after the incident described above, the cadets marched back to
barracks, it was already so certain that the Stars and Stripes would
soon be torn down from every flagstaff in Virginia that their breach of
discipline was easily condoned. They were addressed by the Commandant,
and amid growing excitement officer after officer, hardly concealing
his sympathy with their action, gave vent to his opinions on the
approaching crisis. Jackson was silent. At length, perhaps in
anticipation of some amusement, for he was known to be a stumbling
speaker, the cadets called on him by name. In answer to the summons he
stood before them, not, as was his wont in public assemblies, with
ill-dissembled shyness and awkward gesture, but with body erect and
eyes sparkling. “Soldiers,” he said, “when they make speeches should
say but few words, and speak them to the point, and I admire, young
gentlemen, the spirit you have shown in rushing to the defence of your
comrades; but I must commend you particularly for the readiness with
which you listened to the counsel and obeyed the commands of your
superior officer. The time may come,” he continued, and the deep tones,
vibrating with unsuspected resolution, held his audience spellbound,
“when your State will need your services; and if that time does come,
then draw your swords and throw away the scabbards.”
The crisis was not long postponed. Fort Sumter, in Charleston Harbour,
the port of South Carolina, was held by a Federal garrison. The State
had demanded its surrender, but no reply had been vouchsafed by
Lincoln. On April 8 a message was conveyed to the Governor of the State
that an attempt would be made to supply the troops with provisions.
This message was telegraphed to Montgomery, still the capital of the
Confederacy, and the Government ordered the reduction of the fort. On
the morning of April 12 the Southern batteries opened fire, and the
next day, when the flames were already scorching the doors
of the magazine, the standard of the Union was hauled down.
Two days later Lincoln spoke with no uncertain voice. 75,000 militia
were called out to suppress the “rebellion.” The North gave the
President loyal support. The insult to the flag set the blood of the
nation, of Democrat and Republican, aflame. The time for reconciliation
was passed. The Confederates had committed an unpardonable crime. They
had forfeited all title to consideration; and even in the minds of
those Northerners who had shared their political creed the memory of
their grievances was obliterated.
So far Virginia had given no overt sign of sympathy with the
revolution. But she was now called upon to furnish her quota of
regiments for the Federal army. To have acceded to the demand would
have been to abjure the most cherished principles of her political
existence. As the Federal Government, according to her political faith,
had no jurisdiction whatever within the boundaries of States which had
chosen to secede, it had not the slightest right to maintain a garrison
in Fort Sumter. The action of the Confederacy in enforcing the
withdrawal of the troops was not generally approved of, but it was held
to be perfectly legitimate; and Mr. Lincoln’s appeal to arms, for the
purpose of suppressing what, in the opinion of Virginia, was a strictly
constitutional movement, was instantly and fiercely challenged.
Neutrality was impossible. She was bound to furnish her tale of troops,
and thus belie her principles; or to secede at once, and reject with a
clean conscience the President’s mandate. On April 17 she chose the
latter, deliberately and with her eyes open, knowing that war would be
the result, and knowing the vast resources of the North. She was
followed by Arkansas, Tennessee, and North Carolina.[13]
The world has long since done justice to the motives of Cromwell and of
Washington, and signs are not wanting
that before many years have passed it will do justice to the motives of
the Southern people. They were true to their interpretation of the
Constitution; and if the morality of secession may be questioned, if
South Carolina acted with undue haste and without sufficient
provocation, if certain of the Southern politicians desired
emancipation for themselves that they might continue to enslave others,
it can hardly be denied that the action of Virginia was not only fully
justified, but beyond suspicion. The wildest threats of the Black
Republicans, their loudly expressed determination, in defiance of the
Constitution, to abolish slavery, if necessary by the bullet and the
sabre, shook in no degree whatever her loyalty to the Union. Her best
endeavours were exerted to maintain the peace between the hostile
sections; and not till her liberties were menaced did she repudiate a
compact which had become intolerable. It was to preserve the freedom
which her forefathers had bequeathed her, and which she desired to hand
down unsullied to future generations, that she acquiesced in the
revolution.
The North, in resolving to maintain the Union by force of arms, was
upheld by the belief that she was acting in accordance with the
Constitution. The South, in asserting her independence and resisting
coercion, found moral support in the same conviction, and the
patriotism of those who fought for the Union was neither purer nor more
ardent than the patriotism of those who fought for States’ Rights. Long
ago, a parliament of that nation to which Jackson and so many of his
compatriots owed their origin made petition to the Pope that he should
require the English king “to respect the independence of Scotland, and