Stonewall Jackson and the American Civil War
When the council met, however, it was found that someone had blundered.
The staff had been at fault. The general had ordered his trains to be
parked immediately south of Winchester, but they had been taken by
those in charge to Kernstown and Newtown, from three to eight miles
distant, and the troops had been marched back to them to get their
rations.
Jackson learned for the first time, when he met his officers, that his
brigades, instead of being on the outskirts of Winchester, were already
five or six miles away. A march of ten miles would thus be needed to
bring them into contact with the enemy. This fact and the disapproval
of the council caused him to abandon his project.
Before following his troops he once more went back to Dr. Graham’s. His
cheerful demeanour during his previous visit, although he had been as
reticent as ever as to his plans, had produced a false impression, and
this he thought it his duty to correct. He explained his plans to his
friend, and as he detailed the facts which had induced him to change
them, he repeatedly expressed his reluctance to give up Winchester
without a blow. “With slow and desperate earnestness he said, ‘Let me
think—can I not yet carry my plan into execution?’ As he uttered these
words he grasped the hilt of his sword, and the fierce light that
blazed in his eyes revealed to his companion a new man. The next moment
he dropped his head and released his sword, with the words, ‘No, I must
not do it; it may cost the lives of too many brave men. I must retreat
and wait for a better time.’” He had learned a lesson. “Late in the
evening,” says the medical director of the Valley army, “we withdrew
from Winchester. I rode with the general as we left the place, and as
we reached a high point overlooking the town we both turned to look at
Winchester, now left to the mercy of the Federal soldiers. I think that
a man may sometimes yield to overwhelming emotion, and I was utterly
overcome by the fact that I was leaving all that I held dear on earth;
but my emotion was arrested by one look at Jackson. His face was fairly
blazing with the fire of wrath that was burning in him, and I felt awed
before him. Presently he cried out, in a tone almost savage, ‘That is
the last council of war I will ever hold!’”
March 18 On leaving Winchester Jackson fell back to Strasburg, eighteen
miles south. There was no immediate pursuit. Banks, in accordance with
his instructions, occupied the town, and awaited further orders. These
came on the 18th,[9] and Shields’ division of 11,000 men with 27 guns
was at once pushed on to Strasburg. Jackson had already withdrawn,
hoping to draw Banks up the Valley, and was now encamped near Mount
Jackson, a strong position twenty-five miles further south, the
indefatigable Ashby still skirmishing with the enemy. The unusual
audacity which prompted the Federal advance was probably due to the
fact that the exact strength of the Confederate force had been
ascertained in Winchester. At all events, all apprehension of attack
had vanished. Jackson’s 4,500 men were considered a _quantité
négligeable,_ a mere corps of observation; and not only was Shields
sent forward without support, but a large portion of Banks’ corps was
ordered to another field. Its _rôle_ as an independent force had
ceased. Its movements were henceforward to be subordinate to those of
the main army, and McClellan designed to bring it into closer
connection with his advance on Richmond. How his design was frustrated,
how he struggled in vain to correct the original dissemination of his
forces, how his right wing was held in a vice by Jackson, and how his
initial errors eventually ruined his campaign, is a strategical lesson
of the highest import.
From the day McClellan took command the Army of the Potomac had done
practically nothing. Throughout the winter troops had poured into
Washington at the rate of 40,000 a month. At the end of December there
were 148,000 men fit for duty. On March 20 the grand aggregate was
240,000.[10] But during the winter no important enterprise had been
undertaken. The colours of the rebels were still flaunting within sight
of the forts of Washington, and the mouth of the Potomac was securely
closed by Confederate batteries. With a mighty army at their service it
is little wonder that the North became restive and reproached their
general. It is doubtless true that the first thing needful was
organisation. To discipline and consolidate the army so as to make
success assured was unquestionably the wiser policy. The impatience of
a sovereign people, ignorant of war, is not to be lightly yielded to.
At the same time, the desire of a nation cannot be altogether
disregarded. A general who obstinately refuses to place himself in
accord with the political situation forfeits the confidence of his
employers and the cordial support of the Administration. The cry
throughout the North was for action. The President took
it upon himself to issue a series of orders. The army was ordered to
advance on February 22, a date chosen because it was Washington’s
birthday, just as the third and most disastrous assault on Plevna was
delivered on the “name-day” of the Czar. McClellan secured delay. His
plans were not yet ripe. The Virginia roads were still impassable. The
season was not yet sufficiently advanced for active operations, and
that his objections were well founded it is impossible to deny. The
prospect of success depended much upon the weather. Virginia, covered
in many places with dense forests, crossed by many rivers, and with
most indifferent communications, is a most difficult theatre of war,
and the amenities of the Virginian spring are not to be lightly faced.
Napoleon’s fifth element, “mud,” is a most disturbing factor in
military calculations. It is related that a Federal officer, sent out
to reconnoitre a road in a certain district of Virginia, reported that
the road was there, but that he guessed “the bottom had fallen out.”
Moreover, McClellan had reason to believe that the Confederate army at
Manassas was more than double its actual strength. His intelligence
department, controlled, not by a trained staff officer, but by a
well-known detective, estimated Johnston’s force at 115,000 men. In
reality, including the detachment on the Shenandoah, it at no time
exceeded 50,000. But for all this there was no reason whatever for
absolute inactivity. The capture of the batteries which barred the
entrance to the Potomac, the defeat of the Confederate detachments
along the river, the occupation of Winchester or of Leesburg, were all
feasible operations. By such means the impatience of the Northern
people might have been assuaged. A few successes, even on a small
scale, would have raised the _moral_ of the troops and have trained
them to offensive movements. The general would have retained the
confidence of the Administration, and have secured the respect of his
opponents. Jackson had set him the example. His winter expeditions had
borne fruit. The Federal generals opposed to him gave him full credit
for activity. “Much dissatisfaction was expressed by the troops,” says
one of Banks’ brigadiers, “that Jackson was permitted to
get away from Winchester without a fight, and but little heed was paid
to my assurances that this chieftain would be apt, before the war
closed, to give us an entertainment up to the utmost of our
aspirations.”[11]
It was not only of McClellan’s inactivity that the Government
complained. At the end of February he submitted a plan of operations to
the President, and with that plan Mr. Lincoln totally disagreed.
McClellan, basing his project on the supposition that Johnston had
100,000 men behind formidable intrenchments at Manassas, blocking the
road to Richmond, proposed to transfer 150,000 men to the Virginia
coast by sea; and landing either at Urbanna on the Rappahannock, or at
Fortress Monroe on the Yorktown peninsula, to intervene between the
Confederate army and Richmond, and possibly to capture the Southern
capital before Johnston could get back to save it.
The plan at first sight seemed promising. But in Lincoln’s eyes it had
this great defect: during the time McClellan was moving round by water
and disembarking his troops—and this, so few were the transports, would
take at least a month—Johnston might make a dash at Washington. The
city had been fortified. A cordon of detached forts surrounded it on a
circumference of thirty miles. The Potomac formed an additional
protection. But a cordon of isolated earthworks does not appeal as an
effective barrier to the civilian mind, and above Point of Rocks the
great river was easy of passage. Even if Washington were absolutely
safe from a _coup de main,_ Lincoln had still good reason for
apprehension. The Union capital was merely the seat of government. It
had no commercial interests. With a population of but 20,000, it was of
no more practical importance than Windsor or Versailles. Compared with
New York, Pittsburg, or Philadelphia, it was little more than a
village. But, in the regard of the Northern people, Washington was the
centre of the Union, the keystone of the national existence. The
Capitol, the White House, the Treasury, were symbols as sacred to the
States as the colours
to a regiment.[12] If the nation was set upon the fall of Richmond, it
was at least as solicitous for the security of its own chief city, and
an administration that permitted that security to be endangered would
have been compelled to bow to the popular clamour. The extraordinary
taxation demanded by the war already pressed heavily on the people.
Stocks were falling rapidly, and the financial situation was almost
critical. It is probable, too, that a blow at Washington would have
done more than destroy all confidence in the Government. England and
France were chafing under the effects of the blockade. The marts of
Europe were hungry for cotton. There was much sympathy beyond seas with
the seceded States; and, should Washington fall, the South, in all
likelihood, would be recognised as an independent nation. Even if the
Great Powers were to refuse her active aid in the shape of fleets and
armies, she would at least have access to the money markets of the
world; and it was possible that neither England nor France would endure
the closing of her ports. With the breaking of the blockade, money,
munitions, and perhaps recruits, would be poured into the Confederacy,
and the difficulty of reconquest would be trebled. The dread of foreign
interference was, therefore, very real; and Lincoln, foreseeing the
panic that would shake the nation should a Confederate army cross the
Potomac at Harper’s Ferry or Point of Rocks, was quite justified in
insisting on the security of Washington being placed beyond a doubt. He
knew, as also did Jackson, that even a mere demonstration against so
vital a point might have the most deplorable effect. Whatever line of
invasion, he asked, might be adopted, let it be one that would cover
Washington.
Lincoln’s remonstrances, however, had no great weight with McClellan.
The general paid little heed to the political situation. His chief
argument in favour of the expedition by sea had been the strength of
the fortifications at Manassas. Johnston’s retreat on March 9 removed
this obstacle from
his path; but although he immediately marched his whole army in
pursuit, he still remained constant to his favourite idea. The road to
Richmond from Washington involved a march of one hundred miles, over a
difficult country, with a single railway as the line of supply. The
route from the coast, although little shorter, was certainly easier.
Fortress Monroe had remained in Federal hands. Landing under the
shelter of its guns, he would push forward, aided by the navy, to West