Stonewall Jackson and the American Civil War
Port Republic 18 per cent. At Manassas the Stonewall Brigade lost 16
per cent., at Cross Keys Ewell only lost 8 per cent. and Frémont 5 per
cent.
[9] _Southern Historical Society Papers,_ vol. ix, p. 372.
[10] Rations appear to have been short, for General Ewell reports that
when he marched against Shields the next day many of his men had been
without food for four-and-twenty hours.
[11] The mule battery does not appear to have done much more than
afford the Confederate soldiers an opportunity of airing their wit.
With the air of men anxiously seeking for information they would ask
the gunners whether the mule or the gun was intended to go off first?
and whether the gun was to fire the mule or the mule the gun?
[12] _Battles and Leaders,_ vol. ii, p. 293.
[13] _Destruction and Reconstruction,_ p. 90. Jackson’s order to the
staff officer (Major Hotchkiss) was brief: “Sweeping with his hand to
the eastward, and then towards the Lewis House, where the Federal guns
were raking the advance, he said: ‘Take General Taylor around and take
that battery.’”
[14] Dabney, vol. ii.
[15] The troops actually engaged were as follows:—
4 Regiments of Winder’s Brigade
The Louisiana Brigade, 5 regiments
Scott’s Brigade, 3 regiments
31st Virginia and 40th Virginia
Artillery (5 batteries)
Cavalry 1,200
2,500
900
600
300
400
———
5,900
[16] _Battles and Leaders,_ vol. ii, p. 324.
[17] O.R., vol. xii, part iii, p. 910.
[18] “The only true rule for cavalry is to follow as long as the enemy
retreats.”—Jackson to Munford, June 13.
[19] O.R., vol. xii, part iii, p. 913.
[20] Whiting’s division.
[21] Cooke, p. 205.
[22] Communicated by the Reverend J. W. Jones, D.D.
[23] The telegrams and letters containing the reports quoted on pages
399–400 are to be found in O.R., vol. xi, part iii, and vol. xii, part
iii.
Chapter XII
REVIEW OF THE VALLEY CAMPAIGN
In March, 1862, more than 200,000 Federals were prepared to invade
Virginia. McClellan, before McDowell was withheld, reckoned on placing
150,000 men at West Point. Frémont, in West Virginia, commanded 30,000,
including the force in the Kanawha Valley; and Banks had crossed the
Potomac with over 30,000.
Less than 60,000 Confederate soldiers were available to oppose this
enormous host, and the numerical disproportion was increased by the
vast material resources of the North. The only advantages which the
Southerners possessed were that they were operating in their own
country, and that their cavalry was the more efficient. Their leaders,
therefore, could count on receiving more ample and more accurate
information than their adversaries.[1] But, except in these respects,
everything was against them. In mettle and in discipline the troops
were fairly matched. On both sides the higher commands, with few
exceptions, were held by regular officers, who had received the same
training. On both sides the staff was inexperienced. If the Confederate
infantry were better marksmen than the majority of the Federals, they
were not so well armed; and the Federal artillery, both in materiel and
in handling, was the more efficient.
The odds against the South were great; and to those who believed that
Providence sides with the big battalions,
that numbers, armament, discipline, and tactical efficiency, are all
that is required to ensure success, the fall of Richmond must have
seemed inevitable.
But within three months of the day that McClellan started for the
Peninsula the odds had been much reduced. The Confederates had won no
startling victories. Except in the Valley, and there only small
detachments were concerned, the fighting had been indecisive. The North
had no reason to believe that her soldiers, save only the cavalry, were
in any way inferior to their adversaries. And yet, on June 26, where
were the “big battalions?” 105,000 men were intrenched within sight of
the spires of Richmond; but where were the rest? Where were the
70,000[2] that should have aided McClellan, have encircled the rebel
capital on every side, cut the communications, closed the sources of
supply, and have overwhelmed the starving garrison? How came it that
Frémont and Banks were no further south than they were in March? that
the Shenandoah Valley still poured its produce into Richmond? that
McDowell had not yet crossed the Rappahannock? What mysterious power
had compelled Lincoln to retain a force larger than the whole
Confederate army “to protect the national capital from danger and
insult?”
It was not hard fighting. The Valley campaign, from Kernstown to Port
Republic, had not cost the Federals more than 7,000 men; and, with the
exception of Cross Keys, the battles had been well contested. It was
not the difficulties of supply or movement. It was not absence of
information; for until Jackson vanished from the sight of both friend
and foe on June 17, spies and “contrabands“[3] (_i.e._ fugitive slaves)
had done good work. Nor was it want of will on the part of the Northern
Government. None
were more anxious than Lincoln and Stanton to capture Richmond, to
disperse the rebels, and to restore the Union. They had made stupendous
efforts to organise a sufficient army. To equip that army as no army
had ever been equipped before they had spared neither expense nor
labour; and it can hardly be denied that they had created a vast
machine, perhaps in part imperfect, but, considering the weakness of
the enemy, not ill-adapted for the work before it.
There was but one thing they had overlooked, and that was that their
host would require intelligent control. So complete was the mechanism,
so simple a matter it appeared to set the machine in motion, and to
keep it in the right course, that they believed that their untutored
hands, guided by common-sense and sound abilities, were perfectly
capable of guiding it, without mishap, to the appointed goal. Men who,
aware of their ignorance, would probably have shrunk from assuming
charge of a squad of infantry in action, had no hesitation whatever in
attempting to direct a mighty army, a task which Napoleon has assured
us requires profound study, incessant application, and wide
experience.[4]
They were in fact ignorant—and how many statesmen, and even soldiers,
are in like case?—that strategy, the art of manœuvring armies, is an
art in itself, an art which none may master by the light of nature, but
to which, if he is to attain success, a man must serve a long
apprenticeship.
The rules of strategy are few and simple. They may be learned in a
week. They may be taught by familiar illustrations or a dozen diagrams.
But such knowledge will no more teach a man to lead an army like
Napoleon
than a knowledge of grammar will teach him to write like Gibbon.
Lincoln, when the army he had so zealously toiled to organise, reeled
back in confusion from Virginia, set himself to learn the art of war.
He collected, says his biographer, a great library of military books;
and, if it were not pathetic, it would be almost ludicrous, to read of
the great President, in the midst of his absorbing labours and his
ever-growing anxieties, poring night after night, when his capital was
asleep, over the pages of Jomini and Clausewitz. And what was the
result? In 1864, when Grant was appointed to the command of the Union
armies, he said: “I neither ask nor desire to know anything of your
plans. Take the responsibility and act, and call on me for assistance.”
He had learned at last that no man is a born strategist.
The mistakes of Lincoln and Stanton are not to be condoned by pointing
to McClellan.
McClellan designed the plan for the invasion of Virginia, and the plan
failed. But this is not to say that the plan was in itself a bad one.
Nine times out of ten it would have succeeded. In many respects it was
admirable. It did away with a long line of land communications, passing
through a hostile country. It brought the naval power of the Federals
into combination with the military. It secured two great waterways, the
York and the James, by which the army could be easily supplied, which
required no guards, and by which heavy ordnance could be brought up to
bombard the fortifications of Richmond. But it had one flaw. It left
Washington, in the opinion of the President and of the nation,
insecure; and this flaw, which would have escaped the notice of an
ordinary enemy, was at once detected by Lee and Jackson. Moreover, had
McClellan been left in control of the whole theatre of war, Jackson’s
manœuvres would probably have failed to produce so decisive an effect.
The fight at Kernstown would not have induced McClellan to strike
40,000 men off the strength of the invading army. He had not been
deceived when Jackson threatened Harper’s Ferry at the end of May. The
reinforcements sent from Richmond after Port Republic
had not blinded him, nor did he for a moment believe that Washington
was in actual danger. There is this, however, to be said: had McClellan
been in sole command, public opinion, alarmed for Washington, would
have possibly compelled him to do exactly what Lincoln did, and to
retain nearly half the army on the Potomac.
So much for the leading of civilians. On the other hand, the failure of
the Federals to concentrate more than 105,000 men at the decisive
point, and even to establish those 105,000 in a favourable position,
was mainly due to the superior strategy of the Confederates. Those were
indeed skilful manœuvres which prevented McDowell from marching to the
Chickahominy; and, at the critical moment, when Lee was on the point of
attacking McClellan, which drew McDowell, Banks, and Frémont on a
wild-goose chase towards Charlottesville. The weak joint in the enemy’s
armour, the national anxiety for Washington, was early recognised.
Kernstown induced Lincoln, departing from the original scheme of
operations, to form four independent armies, each acting on a different
line. Two months later, when McClellan was near Richmond it was of
essential importance that the move of these armies should be combined,
Jackson once more intervened; Banks was driven across the Potomac, and
again the Federal concentration was postponed. Lastly, the battles of
Cross Keys and Port Republic, followed by the dispatch of Whiting and
Lawton to the Valley, led the Northern President to commit his worst
mistake. For the second time the plan of campaign was changed, and
McClellan was left isolated at the moment he most needed help.
The brains of two great leaders had done more for the Confederacy than
200,000 soldiers had done for the Union. Without quitting his desk, and
leaving the execution of his plans to Jackson, Lee had relieved
Richmond of the pressure of 70,000 Federals, and had lured the
remainder into the position he most wished to find them. The
Confederacy, notwithstanding the enormous disparity of force, had once
more gained the upper hand; and from this
instance, as from a score of others, it may be deduced that Providence
is more inclined to side with the big brains than with the big
battalions.
It was not mere natural ability that had triumphed. Lee, in this
respect, was assuredly not more highly gifted than Lincoln, or Jackson
than McClellan. But, whether by accident or design, Davis had selected
for command of the Confederate army, and had retained in the Valley,
two past masters in the art of strategy. If it was accident he was
singularly favoured by fortune. He might have selected many soldiers of
high rank and long service, who would have been as innocent of
strategical skill as Lincoln himself. His choice might have fallen on
the most dashing leader, the strictest disciplinarian, the best drill,
in the Confederate army; and yet the man who united all these qualities