Stonewall Jackson and the American Civil War
Loring’s command was left in midwinter in an alpine region, almost
within the jaws of a powerful enemy, these favoured regiments were
brought back to the comforts and hospitalities of the town; whereas in
truth, while the forces in Romney were ordered into huts, the brigade
was three miles below Winchester, in tents, and under the most rigid
discipline.”[11]
It should not be forgotten, however, that Loring’s troops were little
more as yet than a levy of armed civilians, ignorant of war; and this
was one reason the more that during those cruel marches the hand that
held the reins should have been a light one. A leader more genial and
less rigid would have found a means to sustain their courage. Napoleon,
with the captivating familiarity he used so well, would have laughed
the grumblers out of their ill-humour, and have nerved the fainting by
pointing to the glory to be won. Nelson would have struck the chord of
patriotism. Skobeleff, taking the very privates into his confidence,
would have enlisted their personal interest in the success of the
enterprise, and the eccentric speeches of “Father” Suvoroff would have
cheered them like a cordial. There are occasions when both officers and
men are the better for a little humouring, and the march to Romney was
one. A few words of hearty praise, a stirring appeal to their nobler
instincts, a touch of sympathy, might have worked wonders. But whatever
of personal magnetism existed in Stonewall Jackson found no utterance
in words. Whilst his soldiers struggled painfully towards Romney in the
teeth of the winter storm, his lips were never opened save for sharp
rebuke or peremptory order, and Loring’s men had some reason to
complain of his fanatical regard for the very letter of the law. On the
most inclement of those January nights the captain of a Virginia
company, on whose property they happened to have halted, had allowed
them to use the fence-rails for the camp fires. Jackson, ever careful
of private rights, had
issued an order that fences should not be burnt, and the generous donor
was suspended from duty on the charge of giving away his own property
without first asking leave! Well might the soldiers think that their
commander regarded them as mere machines.
His own men knew his worth. Bull Run had shown them the measure of his
courage and his ability; in a single battle he had won that respect and
confidence which go so far towards establishing discipline. But over
Loring’s men his personal ascendency was not yet established. They had
not yet seen him under fire. The fighting in the Romney campaign had
been confined to skirmishing. Much spoil had been gathered in, but
there were no trophies to show in the shape of guns or colours; no
important victory had raised their self-respect. It is not too much to
say that the silent soldier who insisted on such constant exertion and
such unceasing vigilance was positively hated.
“They were unaccustomed to a military regimen so energetic as his.
Personally the most modest of men, officially he was the most exacting
of commanders, and his purpose to enforce a thorough performance of
duty, and his stern disapprobation of remissness and self-indulgence
were veiled by no affectations of politeness. Those who came to serve
near his person, if they were not wholly like-minded with himself,
usually underwent, at first, a sort of breaking in, accompanied with no
little chafing to restless spirits. The expedition to Romney was, to
such officers, just such an apprenticeship to Jackson’s methods of
making war. All this was fully known to him; but while he keenly felt
the injustice, he disdained to resent it, or to condescend to any
explanation.”[12]
Jackson returned to Winchester with no anticipation that the darkest
days of his military life were close at hand. Little Sorrel, the
charger he had ridden at Bull Run, leaving the senior members of the
staff toiling far in rear, had covered forty miles of mountain roads in
one short winter day. “After going to an hotel and divesting
himself of the mud which had bespattered him in his rapid ride, he
proceeded to Dr. Graham’s. In order to give his wife a surprise he had
not intimated when he would return. As soon as the first glad greetings
were over, before taking his seat, with a face all aglow with delight,
he glanced round the room, and was so impressed with the cosy and
cheerful aspect of the fireside, as we all sat round it that winter
evening, that he exclaimed: ‘This is the very essence of comfort.’”[13]
He had already put aside the unpleasant memories of the expedition, and
had resigned himself to rest content with the measure of success that
had been attained. Romney at least was occupied, and operations might
be effectively resumed at a more propitious season.
Six days later, however, Jackson received a peremptory message from the
Secretary of War: “Our news indicates that a movement is making to cut
off General Loring’s command; order him back immediately.”[14]
This order had been issued without reference to General Johnston,
Jackson’s immediate superior, and so marked a departure from ordinary
procedure could not possibly be construed except as a severe reflection
on Jackson’s judgment. Nor could it have other than a most fatal effect
on the discipline of the Valley troops. It had been brought about by
most discreditable means. Loring’s officers had sat in judgment on
their commander. Those who had been granted leave at the close of the
expedition had repaired to Richmond, and had filled the ears of the
Government and the columns of the newspapers with complaints. Those who
remained at Romney formulated their grievance in an official
remonstrance, which Loring was indiscreet enough to approve and
forward. A council of subordinate officers had the effrontery to record
their opinion that “Romney was a place of no strategical importance,”
and to suggest that the division might be “maintained much more
comfortably, at much less expense, and with every military advantage,
at almost any other place.”[15]
Discomfort was the burden of their complaint. They had been serving
continuously for eight months. Their present position imposed upon them
even greater vigilance and more constant exertion than had hitherto
been demanded of them, and their one thought was to escape from a
situation which they characterised as “one of the most disagreeable and
unfavourable that could well be imagined.” Only a single pertinent
argument was brought forward. The Confederate soldiers had enlisted
only for twelve months, and the Government was about to ask them to
volunteer for the duration of the war. It was urged by Loring’s
officers that with the present prospect before them there was much
doubt that a single man of the division would re-enlist. “With some
regard for its comfort,” added the general, “a large portion, if not
the whole, may be prevailed upon to do so.”
It does not seem to have occurred to these officers that soldiers in
the near vicinity of the enemy, wherever they may be placed, must
always be subject to privations, and that at any other point of the
Confederate frontier—at Winchester with Jackson, at Leesburg with Hill,
or at Centreville with Johnston—their troops would be exposed to the
same risks and the same discomforts as at Romney. That the occupation
of a dangerous outpost is in itself an honour never entered their
minds; and it would have been more honest, instead of reviling the
climate and the country, had they frankly declared that they had had
enough for the present of active service, and had no mind to make
further sacrifices in the cause for which they had taken arms.
Jan. 31 With the Secretary’s order Jackson at once complied. Loring was
recalled to Winchester, but before his command arrived Jackson’s
resignation had gone in.
His letter, forwarded through Johnston, ran as follows:
“Headquarters, Valley District, Winchester, Va.:
“Jan. 31, 1862
“Hon. J. P. Benjamin, Secretary of War,
“Sir,—Your order, requiring me to direct General Loring to return
with his command to Winchester immediately, has been received and
promptly complied with.
“With such interference in my command I cannot expect to be of much
service in the field, and, accordingly, respectfully request to be
ordered to report for duty to the Superintendent of the Virginia
Military Institute at Lexington, as has been done in the case of
other professors. Should this application not be granted, I
respectfully request that the President will accept my resignation
from the army.[16]
The danger apprehended by the Secretary of War, that Loring’s division,
if left at Romney, might be cut off, did not exist. General Lander, an
able and energetic officer, now in command of the Federal force at
Cumberland, had put forward proposals for an active campaign in the
Shenandoah Valley; but there was no possibility of such an enterprise
being immediately undertaken. The Potomac was still a formidable
obstacle; artillery and cavalry were both deficient; the troops were
scattered, and their discipline was indifferent. Lander’s command,
according to his official despatches, was “more like an armed mob than
an army.”[17] Romney, therefore, was in little danger; and Jackson, who
had so lately been in contact with the Federal troops, whose cavalry
patrolled the banks of the Potomac, and who was in constant receipt of
information of the enemy’s attitude and condition, was certainly a
better judge of what was probable than any official in the Confederate
capital. There were doubtless objections to the retention of Romney. An
enormous army, in the intrenched camp at Washington, threatened
Centreville; and in the event of that army advancing, Jackson would be
called upon to reinforce Johnston, just as Johnston had reinforced
Beauregard before Bull Run. With the greater part of his force at
Romney such an operation would be delayed by at least two days. Even
Johnston himself, although careful to leave his subordinate a free
hand, suggested that the occupation of Romney, and the consequent
dispersion of Jackson’s force, might enable the enemy to cut in
effectively between the Valley troops and the main army. It is beyond
question, however, that Jackson had carefully
studied the situation. There was no danger of his forgetting that his
was merely a detached force, or of his overlooking, in the interests of
his own projected operations, the more important interests of the main
army; and if his judgment of the situation differed from that of his
superior, it was because he had been indefatigable in his search for
information.
He had agents everywhere.[18] His intelligence was more ample than that
supplied by the Confederate spies in Washington itself. No
reinforcements could reach the Federals on the Potomac without his
knowledge. He was always accurately informed of the strength and
movements of their detachments. Nor had he failed to take the
precautions which minimise the evils arising from dissemination. He had
constructed a line of telegraph from Charlestown, within seven miles of
Harper’s Ferry, to Winchester, and another line was to have been
constructed to Romney. He had established relays of couriers through
his district. By this means he could communicate with Hill at Leesburg
in three hours, and by another line of posts with Johnston at
Centreville.
But his chief reason for believing that Romney might be occupied
without risk to a junction between himself and Johnston lay in the
impassable condition of the Virginia roads. McClellan’s huge army could
not drag its guns and waggons through the slough of mud which lay
between Washington and Centreville. Banks’ command at Frederick was in