Stonewall Jackson and the American Civil War
this rule few reputations would survive. In war, however, it is as
impossible to avoid error as it is to avoid loss of life; but it is by
no means simple either to detect or to take advantage of mistakes.
Before both Napoleon and Wellington an unsound manœuvre was dangerous
in the extreme. None were so quick to see the slip, none more prompt to
profit by it. Herein, to a very great extent, lay the secret of their
success, and herein lies the true measure of military genius. A general
is not necessarily incapable because he makes a false move; both
Napoleon and Wellington, in the long course of their campaigns, gave
many openings to a resolute foe, and both missed opportunities. Under
ordinary circumstances mistakes may easily escape notice altogether, or
at all events pass unpunished, and the reputation of the leader who
commits them will remain untarnished. But if he is pitted against a
master of war a single false step may lead to irretrievable ruin; and
he will be classed as beneath contempt for a fault which his successful
antagonist may have committed with impunity a hundred times over.
So Jackson’s escape from Winchester was not due simply to the
inefficiency of the Federal generals, or to the ignorance of the
Federal President. Lincoln was wrong in dispatching McDowell to Front
Royal in order to cut off Jackson. When Shields, in execution of this
order, left Fredericksburg, the Confederates were only five miles north
of Winchester, and had they at once retreated McDowell must have missed
them by many miles. McDowell, hotly protesting, declared, and rightly,
that the movement he had been ordered to execute was strategically
false. “It is impossible,” he said, “that Jackson can have been largely
reinforced. He is merely creating a diversion, and the surest way to
bring him from the lower Valley is for me to move rapidly on Richmond.
In any case, it would be wiser to move on Gordonsville.”[1] His
arguments were unavailing. But when Jackson pressed forward to the
Potomac, it became possible to intercept him, and the President did all
he could to assist his generals. He kept them constantly informed of
the movements of the enemy and of each other. He left them a free hand,
and with an opponent less able his instructions would have probably
brought about complete success. Nor were the generals to blame. They
failed to accomplish the task that had been set them, and they made
mistakes. But the task was difficult; and, if at the critical moment
the hazard of their situation proved too much for their resolution, it
was exactly what might have been expected. The initial error of the
Federals was in sending two detached forces, under men of no particular
strength of character, from opposite points of the compass, to converge
upon an enemy who was believed to be superior to either of them.
Jackson at once recognised the blunder, and foreseeing the consequences
that were certain to ensue, resolved to profit by them. His escape,
then, was the reward of his own sagacity.
When once the actual position of the Confederates had been determined,
and the dread that reinforcements were coming down the Valley had
passed away, the vigour of the Federal pursuit left nothing to be
desired.
June 1 Directly it was found that the Confederates had gone south, on
the
afternoon of June 1, Shields was directed on Luray, and that night his
advanced guard was ten miles beyond Front Royal; on the other side of
the Massanuttons, Frémont, with Bayard’s cavalry heading his advance,
moved rapidly on Woodstock.
The Federal generals, however, had to do with a foe who never relaxed
his vigilance. Whilst Ashby and Ewell, on May 31, were engaged with
Frémont at Cedar Creek, Jackson had expected that Shields would advance
on Strasburg. But not a single infantry soldier was observed on the
Front Royal road throughout the day. Such inaction was suspicious, and
the probability to which it pointed had not escaped the penetration of
the Confederate leader. His line of retreat was the familiar route by
New Market and Harrisonburg to Port Republic, and thence to the Gaps of
the Blue Ridge. There he could secure an unassailable position, within
reach of the railway and of Richmond. But, during the movement, danger
threatened from the valley of the South Fork. Should Shields adopt that
line of advance the White House and Columbia bridges would give him
easy access to New Market; and while Frémont was pressing the
Confederates in rear, their flank might be assailed by fresh foes from
the Luray Gap. And even if the retiring column should pass New Market
in safety, Shields, holding the bridges at Conrad’s Store and Port
Republic, might block the passage to the Blue Ridge. Jackson, looking
at the situation from his enemy’s point of view, came to the conclusion
that a movement up the valley of the South Fork was already in
progress, and that the aim of the Federal commander would be to secure
the bridges. His conjectures hit the mark.
Before leaving Front Royal Shields ordered his cavalry to march rapidly
up the valley of the South Fork, and seize the bridge at Conrad’s
Store; the White House and Columbia bridges he intended to secure
himself. But Jackson was not to be so easily overreached.
June 2 On the night of June 2 the Federal cavalry reached Luray, to
find that they had come too late. The White House and Columbia bridges
had both been burned
by a detachment of Confederate horse, and Shields was thus cut off from
New Market. At dawn on the 4th, after a forced night march, his
advanced guard reached Conrad’s Store to find that bridge also gone,[2]
and he was once more foiled. On his arrival at Luray, the sound of
cannon on the other side of the Massanuttons was plainly heard. It
seemed probable that Jackson and Frémont were already in collision; but
Shields, who had written a few hours before to Mr. Stanton that with
supplies and forage he could “stampede the enemy to Richmond,” was
unable to stir a foot to assist his colleague.
Once again Jackson had turned to account the strategic possibilities of
the Massanuttons and the Shenandoah; and, to increase General Shields’
embarrassment, the weather had broken. Heavy and incessant rain-storms
submerged the Virginia roads. He was ahead of his supplies; much
hampered by the mud; and the South Fork of the Shenandoah, cutting him
off from Frémont, rolled a volume of rushing water which it was
impossible to bridge without long delay.
Meanwhile, west of the great mountain, the tide of war, which had swept
with such violence to the Potomac, came surging back. Frémont, by the
rapidity of his pursuit, made full amends for his lack of vigour at
Cedar Creek. A cloud of horsemen filled the space between the hostile
columns. Day after day the quiet farms and sleepy villages on the
Valley turnpike heard the thunder of Ashby’s guns. Every stream that
crossed the road was the scene of a fierce skirmish; and the ripening
corn was trampled under the hoofs of the charging squadrons. On June 2,
the first day of the pursuit, between Strasburg and Woodstock the
Federals, boldly led by Bayard, gained a distinct advantage. A dashing
attack drove in the Confederate rear-guard, swept away the horse
artillery, and sent Ashby’s and Steuart’s regiments, exhausted by
hunger and loss of sleep, flying up the Valley. Many prisoners were
taken, and the pursuit was
only checked by a party of infantry stragglers, whom Ashby had
succeeded in rallying across the road.
Next day, June 3, the skirmishing was continued; and the Confederates,
burning the bridges across the roads, retreated to Mount Jackson.
June 4 On the 4th the bridge over the North Fork was given to the
flames, Ashby, whose horse was shot under him, remaining to the last;
and the deep and turbulent river placed an impassable obstacle between
the armies. Under a deluge of rain the Federals attempted to launch
their pontoons; but the boats were swept away by the rising flood, and
it was not till the next morning that the bridge was made.
June 5 The Confederates had thus gained twenty-four hours’ respite, and
contact was not resumed until the 6th. Jackson, meanwhile, constructing
a ferry at Mount Crawford, had sent his sick and wounded to Staunton,
thus saving them the long _détour_ by Port Republic; and dispatching
his stores and prisoners by the more circuitous route, had passed
through Harrisonburg to Cross Keys, a clump of buildings on Mill Creek,
where, on the night of the 5th, his infantry and artillery, with the
exception of a brigade supporting the cavalry, went into bivouac.
June 6 On the afternoon of the 6th the Federal cavalry followed Ashby.
Some three miles from Harrisonburg is a tract of forest, crowning a
long ridge; and within the timber the Confederate squadrons occupied a
strong position. The enemy, 800 strong, pursued without precaution,
charged up a gentle hill, and were repulsed by a heavy fire. Then Ashby
let loose his mounted men on the broken ranks, and the Federals were
driven back to within half a mile of Harrisonburg, losing 4 officers
and 30 men.
Smarting under this defeat, Frémont threw forward a still stronger
force of cavalry, strengthened by two battalions of infantry. Ashby had
already called up a portion of the brigade which supported him, and met
the attack in a clearing of the forest. The fight was fierce. The
Confederates were roughly handled by the Northern riflemen, and the
ranks began to waver. Riding to the front,
where the opposing lines were already at close range, Ashby called upon
his infantry to charge.
As he gave the order his horse fell heavily to the ground. Leaping to
his feet in an instant, again he shouted, “Charge, men! for God’s sake,
charge!” The regiments rallied, and inspired by his example swept
forward from the wood. But hardly had they left the covert when their
leader fell, shot through the heart. He was speedily avenged. The men
who followed him, despite the heavy fire, dashed at the enemy in front
and flank, and drove them from their ground. The cavalry, meanwhile,
had worked round in rear; the horse artillery found an opportunity for
action; and under cover of the night the Federals fell back on
Harrisonburg.
The losses of the Union troops were heavy; but the Confederate victory
was dearly purchased. The death of Ashby was a terrible blow to the
Army of the Valley. From the outbreak of the war he had been employed
on the Shenandoah, and from Staunton to the Potomac his was the most
familiar figure in the Confederate ranks. His daring rides on his
famous white charger were already the theme of song and story; and if
the tale of his exploits, as told in camp and farm, sometimes bordered
on the marvellous, the bare truth, stripped of all exaggeration, was
sufficient in itself to make a hero. His reckless courage, his fine
horsemanship, his skill in handling his command, and his power of
stimulating devotion, were not the only attributes which incited
admiration. “With such qualities,” it is said, “were united the utmost
generosity and unselfishness, and a delicacy of feeling equal to a
woman’s.” His loss came home with especial force to Jackson. After the
unfortunate episode in the pursuit from Middletown, he had rated his
cavalry leader in no measured terms for the indiscipline of his
command; and for some days their intercourse, usually most cordial, had
been simply official. Sensitive in the extreme to any reflection upon
himself or his troops, Ashby held aloof; and Jackson, always stern when
a breach of duty was concerned, made no overtures for a renewal of
friendly intercourse. Fortunately, before the fatal fight near
Harrisonburg, they had been fully reconciled; and with no shadow of
remorse Jackson was able to offer his tribute to the dead. Entering the