Stonewall Jackson and the American Civil War
them back in confusion; and then, with their fierce shouts pealing high
above the tumult, the 2nd and 4th Virginia, supported by the 5th,
charged forward across the hill. At the same moment that the enemy’s
centre was thus unexpectedly assailed, Kirby Smith’s fresh brigade bore
down upon the flank,[8] and Beauregard, with ready judgment, dispatched
his staff officers to order a general advance. The broken remnants of
Bee, Hampton, and Evans advanced upon Jackson’s right, and victory,
long wavering, crowned the standards of the South. The Federals were
driven past
the guns, now finally abandoned, past the Henry House, and down the
slope. McDowell made one desperate endeavour to stay the rout. Howard’s
brigade was rapidly thrown in. But the centre had been completely
broken by Jackson’s charge; the right was giving way, and the
Confederates, manning the captured guns, turned them on the masses
which covered the fields below.
Howard, although his men fought bravely, was easily repulsed; in a few
minutes not a single Federal soldier, save the dead and dying, was to
be seen upon the plateau.
Illustration: Map of the field of Bull Run. For larger view click on
image
3.30 p.m. A final stand was made by McDowell along Young’s Branch; and
there, at half-past three, a line of battle was once more established,
the battalion of regular infantry forming a strong centre. But another
Confederate brigade, under General Early, had now arrived, and again
the enemy’s right was overthrown, while Beauregard, leaving Jackson,
whose brigade had lost all order and many men in its swift advance, to
hold the plateau, swept forward towards the Matthews Hill. The movement
was decisive. McDowell’s volunteers broke up in the utmost confusion.
The Confederate infantry was in no condition to pursue, but the cavalry
was let loose, and before long the retreat became a panic. The regular
battalion, composed of young soldiers, but led by experienced officers,
alone preserved its discipline, moving steadily in close order through
the throng of fugitives, and checking the pursuing troopers by its firm
and confident bearing. The remainder of the army dissolved into a mob.
It was not that the men were completely demoralised, but simply that
discipline had not become a habit. They had marched as individuals,
going just so far as they pleased, and halting when they pleased; they
had fought as individuals, bravely enough, but with little combination;
and when they found that they were beaten, as individuals they
retreated. “The old soldier,” wrote one of the regular officers a week
later, “feels safe in the ranks, unsafe out of the ranks, and the
greater the danger the more pertinaciously he clings to his place. The
volunteer of three months never attains this instinct of discipline.
Under danger, and
even under mere excitement, he flies away from his ranks, and hopes for
safety in dispersion. At four o’clock in the afternoon of the 21st
there were more than 12,000 volunteers on the battle-field of Bull Run
who had entirely lost their regimental organisation. They could no
longer be handled as troops, for the officers and men were not
together. Men and officers mingled together promiscuously; and it is
worthy of remark that this disorganisation did not result from defeat
or fear, for up to four o’clock we had been uniformly successful. The
instinct of discipline which keeps every man in his place had not been
acquired. We cannot suppose that the enemy had attained a higher degree
of discipline than our own, but they acted on the defensive, and were
not equally exposed to disorganisation.”[9]
“Cohesion was lost,” says one of McDowell’s staff; “and the men walked
quietly off. There was no special excitement except that arising from
the frantic efforts of officers to stop men who paid little or no
attention to anything that was said; and there was no panic, in the
ordinary sense and meaning of the word, until the retiring soldiers,
guns, waggons, Congressmen and carriages, were fired upon, on the road
east of Bull Run.”[10]
At Centreville the reserve division stood fast; and the fact that these
troops were proof against the infection of panic and the exaggerated
stories of the fugitives is in itself strong testimony to the native
courage of the soldiery.
A lack of competent Staff officers, which, earlier in the day, had
prevented an advance on Centreville by the Confederate right, brought
Johnston’s arrangements for pursuit to naught. The cavalry, weak in
numbers, was soon incumbered with squads of prisoners; darkness fell
upon the field, and the defeated army streamed over the roads to
Washington, followed only by its own fears.
Why the Confederate generals did not follow up their success on the
following day is a question round which controversy raged for many a
year. Deficiencies in
commissariat and transport; the disorganisation of the army after the
victory; the difficulties of a direct attack upon Washington, defended
as it was by a river a mile broad, with but a single bridge, and
patrolled by gunboats; the determination of the Government to limit its
military operations to a passive defence of Confederate territory, have
all been pressed into service as excuses. “Give me 10,000 fresh
troops,” said Jackson, as the surgeon dressed his wound, “and I would
be in Washington to-morrow.” Before twenty-four hours had passed
reinforcements had increased the strength of Johnston’s army to 40,000.
Want of organisation had undoubtedly prevented McDowell from winning a
victory on the 19th or 20th, but pursuit is a far less difficult
business than attack. There was nothing to interfere with a forward
movement. There were supplies along the railway, and if the mechanism
for their distribution and the means for their carriage were wanting,
the counties adjoining the Potomac were rich and fertile. Herds of
bullocks were grazing in the pastures, and the barns of the farmers
were loaded with grain. It was not a long supply train that was
lacking, nor an experienced staff, nor even well-disciplined
battalions; but a general who grasped the full meaning of victory, who
understood how a defeated army, more especially of new troops, yields
at a touch, and who, above all, saw the necessity of giving the North
no leisure to develop her immense resources. For three days Jackson
impatiently awaited the order to advance, and his men were held ready
with three days’ cooked rations in their haversacks. But his superiors
gave no sign, and he was reluctantly compelled to abandon all hope of
reaping the fruits of victory.
It is true that the Confederates were no more fit for offensive
operations than McDowell’s troops. “Our army,” says General Johnston,
“was more disorganised by victory than that of the United States by
defeat.” But it is to be remembered that if the Southerners had moved
into Maryland, crossing the Potomac by some of the numerous fords near
Harper’s Ferry, they would have found no organised opposition, save the
_débris_ of McDowell’s army, between them
and the Northern capital. On July 26, five days after the battle, the
general who was to succeed McDowell arrived in Washington and rode
round the city. “I found,” he wrote, “no preparations whatever for
defence, not even to the extent of putting the troops in military
position. Not a regiment was properly encamped, not a single avenue of
approach guarded. All was chaos, and the streets, hotels, and bar-rooms
were filled with drunken officers and men, absent from their regiments
without leave, a perfect pandemonium. Many had even gone to their
homes, their flight from Bull Run terminating in New York, or even in
New Hampshire and Maine. There was really nothing to prevent a small
cavalry force from riding into the city. A determined attack would
doubtless have carried Arlington Heights and placed the city at the
mercy of a battery of rifled guns. If the Secessionists attached any
value to the possession of Washington, they committed their greatest
error in not following up the victory of Bull Run.” On the same date,
the Secretary of War, Mr. Stanton, wrote as follows: “The capture of
Washington seems now to be inevitable; during the whole of Monday and
Tuesday [July 22 and 23] it might have been taken without resistance.
The rout, overthrow, and demoralisation of the whole army were
complete.”[11]
Of his own share in the battle, either at the time or afterwards,
Jackson said but little. A day or two after the battle an anxious crowd
was gathered round the post-office at Lexington, awaiting intelligence
from the front. A letter was handed to the Reverend Dr. White, who,
recognising the handwriting, exclaimed to the eager groups about him,
“Now we shall know all the facts.” On opening it he found the
following, and no more:
“My dear Pastor,—In my tent last night, after a fatiguing day’s
service, I remembered that I had failed to send you my contribution to
our coloured Sunday school. Enclosed you will find my check for that
object, which please acknowledge at your earliest convenience, and
oblige yours faithfully, T. J. Jackson.”
To his wife, however, he was less reserved. “Yesterday,” he wrote, we
“fought a great battle and gained a great victory, for which all the
glory is due to God alone. . . . Whilst great credit is due to other
parts of our gallant army, God made my brigade more instrumental than
any other in repulsing the main attack. This is for your information
only—say nothing about it. Let others speak praise, not myself.”
Again, on August 5: “And so you think the papers ought to say more
about your husband. My brigade is not a brigade of newspaper
correspondents. I know that the First Brigade was the first to meet and
pass our retreating forces—to push on with no other aid than the smiles
of God; to boldly take up its position with the artillery that was
under my command—to arrest the victorious foe in his onward progress—to
hold him in check until the reinforcements arrived—and finally to
charge bayonets, and, thus advancing, to pierce the enemy’s centre. I
am well satisfied with what it did, and so are my generals, Johnston
and Beauregard. It is not to be expected that I should receive the
credit that Generals Johnston and Beauregard would, because I was under
them; but I am thankful to my ever-kind Heavenly Father that He makes
me content to await His own good time and pleasure for
commendation—knowing that all things work together for my good. If my
brigade can always play so important and useful a part as it did in the
last battle, I trust I shall ever be most grateful. As you think the
papers do not notice me enough, I send a specimen, which you will see
from the upper part of the paper is a ‘leader.’ My darling, never
distrust our God, Who doeth all things well. In due time He will make
manifest all His pleasure, which is all His people should desire. You
must not be concerned at seeing other parts of the army lauded, and my
brigade not mentioned. Truth is mighty and will prevail. When the
official reports are published, if not before, I expect to see justice
done to this noble body of patriots.”[12]
These letters reveal a generous pride in the valour of his
troops, and a very human love of approbation struggles with the curb
which his religious principles had placed on his ambition. Like Nelson,
he felt perhaps that before long he would have “a Gazette of his own.”
But still, of his own achievements, of his skilful tactics, of his
personal behaviour, of his well-timed orders, he spoke no word, and the
victory was ascribed to a higher power. “The charge of the 2nd and 4th
Virginia,” he wrote in his modest report, “through the blessing of God,
Who gave us the victory, pierced the centre of the enemy.”[13]