Stonewall Jackson and the American Civil War
for the first time, the enormous armies of the Union were manœuvred in
harmonious combination, and the superior force was exerted to its full
effect. Nor is it less significant that during the most critical period
of the 1862 campaign, the most glorious to the Confederacy, Lee was
Commander-in-Chief of the Southern armies. But when Lee left Richmond
for the Northern border, Davis once more assumed supreme control,
retaining it until it was too late to stave off ruin.
Yet the Southern soldiers had never to complain of such constant
interference on the part of the Cabinet as had the Northern; and to
Jackson it was due that each Confederate general, with few exceptions,
was henceforward left unhampered in his own theatre of operations. His
threat of resignation at least effected this, and, although the
President still managed or mismanaged the grand operations, the
Secretary of War was muzzled.
It might be objected that in this instance Jackson showed little
respect for the discipline he so rigidly enforced, and that in the
critical situation of the Confederacy
his action was a breach of duty which was almost disloyalty. Without
doubt his resignation would have seriously embarrassed the Government.
To some degree at least the confidence of both the people and the army
in the Administration would have become impaired. But Jackson was
fighting for a principle which was of even more importance than
subordination. Foreseeing as he did the certain results of civilian
meddling, submission to the Secretary’s orders would have been no
virtue. His presence with the army would hardly have counterbalanced
the untrammelled exercise of Mr. Benjamin’s military sagacity, and the
inevitable decay of discipline. It was not the course of a weak man, an
apathetic man, or a selfish man. We may imagine Jackson eating his
heart out at Lexington, while the war was raging on the frontier, and
the Stonewall Brigade was fighting manfully under another leader
against the hosts of the invader. The independence of his country was
the most intense of all his earthly desires; and to leave the forefront
of the fight before that desire had been achieved would have been more
to him than most. He would have sacrificed far more in resigning than
in remaining; and there was always the possibility that a brilliant
success and the rapid termination of the war would place Mr. Benjamin
apparently in the right. How would Jackson look then? What would be the
reputation of the man who had quitted the army, on what would have been
considered a mere point of etiquette, in the very heat of the campaign?
No ordinary man would have faced the alternative, and have risked his
reputation in order to teach the rulers of his country a lesson which
might never reach them. It must be remembered, too, that Jackson had
not yet proved himself indispensable. He had done good work at
Manassas, but so had others. His name was scarcely known beyond the
confines of his own State, and Virginia had several officers of higher
reputation. His immediate superiors knew his value, but the Confederate
authorities, as their action proved, placed little dependence on his
judgment, and in all probability set no special store upon his
services. There was undoubtedly
every chance, had not Governor Letcher intervened, that his resignation
would have been accepted. His letter then to the Secretary of War was
no mere threat, the outcome of injured vanity, but the earnest and
deliberate protest of a man who was ready to sacrifice even his own
good name to benefit his country.
The negotiations which followed his application to resign occupied some
time. He remained at Winchester, and the pleasant home where he and his
wife had found such kindly welcome was the scene of much discussion.
Governor Letcher was not alone in his endeavours to alter his decision.
Many were the letters that poured in. From every class of Virginians,
from public men and private, came the same appeal. But until he was
convinced that Virginia would suffer by his action, Jackson was deaf to
argument. He had not yet realised the measure of confidence which he
had won. To those who sought to move him by saying that his country
could not spare his services, or by speaking of his hold upon the
troops, he replied that they greatly overestimated his capacity for
usefulness, and that his place would readily be filled by a better man.
That many of his friends were deeply incensed with the Secretary of War
was only natural, and his conduct was bitterly denounced. But Jackson
not only forbore to criticise, but in his presence all criticism was
forbidden. There can be no doubt that he was deeply wounded. He could
be angry when he chose, and his anger was none the less fierce because
it was habitually controlled. He never forgave Davis for his want of
wisdom after Manassas; and indeed, in future campaigns, the President’s
action was sufficient to exasperate the most patriotic of his generals.
But during this time of trouble not a word escaped Jackson which showed
those nearest him that his equanimity was disturbed. Anticipating that
he would be ordered to the Military Institute, he was even delighted,
says his wife, at the prospect of returning home. The reason of his
calmness is not far to seek. He had come to the determination that it
was his duty to resign, not, we may be certain, without prayer and
self-communing, and when Jackson
saw what his duty was, all other considerations were soon dismissed. He
was content to leave the future in higher hands. It had been so with
him when the question of secession was first broached. “It was soon
after the election of 1860,” wrote one of his clerical friends, “when
the country was beginning to heave in the agony of dissolution. We had
just risen from morning prayers in his own house, where at that time I
was a guest. Filled with gloom, I was lamenting in strong language the
condition and prospect of our beloved country. ‘Why,’ said he, ‘should
Christians be disturbed about the dissolution of the Union? It can only
come by God’s permission, and will only be permitted if for His
people’s good. I cannot see why we should be distressed about such
things, whatever be their consequence.’”
For the next month the Stonewall Brigade and its commander enjoyed a
well-earned rest. The Federals, on Loring’s withdrawal, contented
themselves with holding Romney and Moorefield, and on Johnston’s
recommendation Loring and part of his troops were transferred
elsewhere. The enemy showed no intention of advancing. The season was
against them. The winter was abnormally wet; the Potomac was higher
than it had been for twenty years, and the Virginia roads had
disappeared in mud. In order to encourage re-enlistment amongst the
men, furloughs were liberally granted by the authorities at Richmond,
and for a short season the din of arms was unheard on the Shenandoah.
This peaceful time was one of unalloyed happiness to Jackson. The
country round Winchester—the gently rolling ridges, surmounted by
groves of forest trees, the great North Mountains to the westward,
rising sharply from the Valley, the cosy villages and comfortable
farms, and, in the clear blue distance to the south, the towering peaks
of the Massanuttons—is a picture not easily forgotten. And the little
town, quiet and old-fashioned, with its ample gardens and red-brick
pavements, is not unworthy of its surroundings. Up a narrow street,
shaded by silver maples, stood the manse, not far from the headquarter
offices; and
here when his daily work was done Jackson found the happiness of a
home, brightened by the winning ways and attractive presence of his
wife. With his host he had much in common. They were members of the
same church, and neither yielded to the other in his high standard of
morality. The great bookcases of the manse were well stocked with
appropriate literature, and the cultured intellect of Dr. Graham met
more than half-way the somewhat abstruse problems with which Jackson’s
powerful brain delighted to wrestle.
But Jackson and his host, even had they been so inclined, were not
permitted to devote their whole leisure to theological discussion.
Children’s laughter broke in upon their arguments. The young staff
officers, with the bright eyes of the Winchester ladies as a lure,
found a welcome by that hospitable hearth, and the war was not so
absorbing a topic as to drive gaiety afield.
The sedate manse was like to lose its character. There were times when
the house overflowed with music and with merriment, and sounds at which
a Scotch elder would have shuddered were heard far out in the street.
And the fun and frolic were not confined to the more youthful members
of the household. The Stonewall Brigade would hardly have been
surprised had they seen their general surrounded by ponderous volumes,
gravely investigating the teaching of departed commentators, or joining
with quiet fervour in the family devotions. But had they seen him
running down the stairs with an urchin on his shoulders, laughing like
a schoolboy, they would have refused to credit the evidence of their
senses.
So the months wore on. “We spent,” says Mrs. Jackson, “as happy a
winter as ever falls to the lot of mortals upon earth.” But the brigade
was not forgotten, nor the enemy. Every day the Virginia regiments
improved in drill and discipline. The scouts were busy on the border,
and not a movement of the Federal forces was unobserved. A vigilant
watch was indeed necessary. The snows had melted and the roads were
slowly
drying. The Army of the Potomac, McClellan’s great host, numbering over
200,000 men, encamped around Washington, hardly more than a day’s march
distant from Centreville, threatened to overwhelm the 82,000
Confederates who held the intrenchments at Centreville and Manassas
Junction. General Lander was dead, but Shields, a veteran of the
Mexican campaign, had succeeded him, and the force at both Romney and
Frederick had been increased. In the West things were going badly for
the new Republic. The Union troops had overrun Kentucky, Missouri, and
the greater part of Tennessee. A Confederate army had been defeated;
Confederate forts captured; and “the amphibious power” of the North had
already been effectively exerted. Various towns on the Atlantic
seaboard had been occupied. Not one of the European Powers had evinced
a decided intention of espousing the Confederate cause, and the
blockade still exercised its relentless pressure.
It was not, however, until the end of February that the great host
beyond the Potomac showed symptoms of approaching movement. But it had
long been evident that both Winchester and Centreville must soon be
abandoned. Johnston was as powerless before McClellan as Jackson before
Banks. Even if by bringing fortification to their aid they could hold
their ground against the direct attack of far superior numbers, they
could not prevent their intrenchments being turned. McClellan had at
his disposal the naval resources of the North. It would be no difficult
task to transfer his army by the broad reaches of the Potomac and the
Chesapeake to some point on the Virginia coast, and to intervene
between Centreville and Richmond. At the same time the army of Western
Virginia, which was now under command of General Fremont, might
threaten Jackson in rear by moving on Staunton from Beverley and the
Great Kanawha, while Banks assailed him in front.[24]
Johnston was already preparing to retreat. Jackson,
reluctant to abandon a single acre of his beloved Valley to the enemy,
was nevertheless constrained to face the possibilities of such a
course. His wife was sent back to her father’s home in the same train
that conveyed his sick to Staunton; baggage and stores were removed to