Stonewall Jackson and the American Civil War
happened which would have brought about disaster:—
1. Banks, who was reported to have 21,000 men at Harrisonburg, might
have moved on Staunton, joined hands with Milroy, and crushed Edward
Johnson.
2. Banks might have attacked Ewell’s 8,000 with superior numbers.
3. Frémont, if he got warning of Jackson’s purpose, might have
reinforced Milroy, occupied a strong position, and requested Banks to
threaten or attack the Confederates in rear.
4. Frémont might have withdrawn his advanced brigade, and have
reinforced Banks from Moorefield.
5. Banks might have been reinforced by Blenker, of whose whereabouts
Jackson was uncertain.
6. Banks might have marched to join McDowell at Fredericksburg.
7. McClellan might have pressed Johnston so closely that a decisive
battle could not have been long delayed.
8. McDowell might have marched on Richmond, intervening between the
Valley army and the capital.
Such an array of possibilities would have justified a passive attitude
on Elk Run. A calculation of the chances, however, showed Jackson that
the dangers of action were illusory. “Never take counsel of your
fears,” was a maxim often on his lips. Unlike many others, he first
made up his mind what he wanted to do, and then, and not till then, did
he consider what his opponents might do to thwart him. To seize the
initiative was his chief preoccupation, and in this case it did not
seem difficult to do so. He knew that Banks was unenterprising. It was
improbable that McDowell would advance until McClellan was near
Richmond, and McClellan was very slow. To prevent Frémont getting an
inkling of his design in time to cross it was not impossible, and
Lincoln’s anxiety for Washington might be relied on to keep Banks in
the Valley.
It is true that Jackson’s force was very small. But the manifestation
of military genius is not affected by numbers. The handling of masses
is a mechanical art, of which knowledge and experience are the key; but
it is the manner in which the grand principles of
war are applied which marks the great leader, and these principles may
be applied as resolutely and effectively with 10,000 men as with
100,000.
“In meditation,” says Bacon, “all dangers should be seen; in execution
none, unless they are very formidable.” It was on this precept that
Jackson acted. Not a single one of his manœuvres but was based on a
close and judicial survey of the situation. Every risk was weighed.
Nothing was left to chance. “There was never a commander,” says his
chief of the staff, “whose foresight was more complete. Nothing emerged
which had not been considered before in his mind; no possibility was
overlooked; he was never surprised.”[7] The character of his opponent,
the _moral_ of the hostile troops, the nature of the ground, and the
manner in which physical features could be turned to account, were all
matters of the most careful consideration. He was a constant student of
the map, and his topographical engineer was one of the most important
officers on his staff. “It could readily be seen,” writes Major
Hotchkiss, “that in the preparations he made for securing success he
had fully in mind what Napoleon had done under similar circumstances;
resembling Napoleon especially in this, that he was very particular in
securing maps, and in acquiring topographical information. He furnished
me with every facility that I desired for securing topographical
information and for making maps, allowing me a complete transportation
outfit for my exclusive use and sending men into the enemy’s country to
procure copies of local maps when I expressed a desire to have them. I
do not think he had an accurate knowledge of the Valley previous to the
war. When I first reported to him for duty, at the beginning of March
1862, he told me that he wanted “a complete map of the entire
Shenandoah Valley from Harper’s Ferry to Lexington, one showing every
point of offence and defence,” and to that task I immediately addressed
myself. As a rule he did not refer to maps in the field, making his
study of them in advance. He undoubtedly had the power of retaining the
topography
of the country in his imagination. He had spent his youth among the
mountains, where there were but few waggon roads but many bridle and
foot paths. His early occupation made it necessary for him to become
familiar with such intricate ways; and I think this had a very
important bearing on his ability to promptly recognise the
topographical features of the country, and to recall them whenever it
became necessary to make use of them. He was quick in comprehending
topographical features. I made it a point, nevertheless, to be always
ready to give him a graphic representation of any particular point of
the region where operations were going on, making a rapid sketch of the
topography in his presence, and using different coloured pencils for
greater clearness in the definition of surface features. The carefully
prepared map generally had too many points of detail, and did not
sufficiently emphasise features apparently insignificant, but from a
military standpoint most important. I may add that Jackson not only
studied the general maps of the country, but made a particular study of
those of any district where he expected to march or fight, constantly
using sketch maps made upon the ground to inform him as to portions of
the field of operations that did not immediately come under his own
observation. I often made rough sketches for him when on the march, or
during engagements, in answer to his requests for information.”[8]
It is little wonder that it should have been said by his soldiers that
“he knew every hole and corner of the Valley as if he had made it
himself.”
But to give attention to topography was not all that Jackson had
learned from Napoleon. “As a strategist,” says Dabney, “the first
Napoleon was undoubtedly his model. He had studied his campaigns
diligently, and he was accustomed to remark with enthusiasm upon the
evidences of his genius. “Napoleon,” he said, “was the first to show
what an army could be made to accomplish. He had shown what was the
value of time as an element
of strategic combination, and that good troops, if well cared for,
could be made to march twenty-five miles daily, and win battles
besides.” And he had learned more than this. “We must make this
campaign,” he said at the beginning of 1868, “an exceedingly active
one. Only thus can a weaker country cope with a stronger; it must make
up in activity what it lacks in strength. A defensive campaign can only
be made successful by taking the aggressive at the proper time.
Napoleon never waited for his adversary to become fully prepared, but
struck him the first blow.”
It would perhaps be difficult, in the writings of Napoleon, to find a
passage which embodies his conception of war in terms as definite as
these; but no words could convey it more clearly. It is sometimes
forgotten that Napoleon was often outnumbered at the outset of a
campaign. It was not only in the campaigns of Italy, of Leipsic, of
1814, and of Waterloo, that the hostile armies were larger than his
own. In those of Ulm, Austerlitz, Eckmühl, and Dresden, he was
numerically inferior on the whole theatre of war; but while the French
troops were concentrated under a single chief, the armies of the Allies
were scattered over a wide area, and unable to support each other.
Before they could come together, Napoleon, moving with the utmost
rapidity, struck the first blow, and they were defeated in succession.
The first principle of war is to concentrate superior force at the
decisive point, that is, upon the field of battle. But it is
exceedingly seldom that by standing still, and leaving the initiative
to the enemy, that this principle can be observed, for a numerically
inferior force, if it once permits its enemy to concentrate, can hardly
hope for success. True generalship is, therefore, “to make up in
activity for lack of strength; to strike the enemy in detail, and
overthrow his columns in succession. And the highest art of all is to
compel him to disperse his army, and then to concentrate superior force
against each fraction in turn.
It is such strategy as this that “gains the ends of States and makes
men heroes.” Napoleon did not discover it. Every single general who
deserves to be entitled great
has used it. Frederick, threatened by Austria, France, Russia, Saxony,
and Sweden, used it in self-defence, and from the Seven Years’ War the
little kingdom of Prussia emerged as a first-class Power. It was such
strategy which won back the Peninsula; not the lines of Torres Vedras,
but the bold march northwards to Vittoria.[9] It was on the same lines
that Lee and Jackson acted. Lee, in compelling the Federals to keep
their columns separated, manœuvred with a skill which has seldom been
surpassed; Jackson, falling as it were from the skies into the midst of
his astonished foes, struck right and left before they could combine,
and defeated in detail every detachment which crossed his path.
It is when regarded in connection with the operations of the main
armies that the Valley campaign stands out in its true colours; but, at
the same time, even as an isolated incident, it is in the highest
degree interesting. It has been compared, and not inaptly, with the
Italian campaign of 1796. And it may even be questioned whether, in
some respects, it was not more brilliant. The odds against the
Confederates were far greater than against the French. Jackson had to
deal with a homogeneous enemy, with generals anxious to render each
other loyal support, and not with the contingents of different States.
His marches were far longer than Napoleon’s. The theatre of war was not
less difficult. His troops were not veterans, but, in great part, the
very rawest of recruits. The enemy’s officers and soldiers were not
inferior to his own; their leaders were at least equal in capacity to
Colli, Beaulieu, and Alvinzi, and the statesmen who directed them were
not more purblind than the Aulic Council. Moreover, Jackson was merely
the commander of a detached force, which might at any moment be
required at Richmond. The risks which Napoleon freely accepted he could
not afford. He dared not deliver battle unless he were certain of
success,
and his one preoccupation was to lose as few men as possible. But be
this as it may, in the secrecy of the Confederate movements, the
rapidity of the marches, and the skilful use of topographical features,
the Valley campaign bears strong traces of the Napoleonic methods.
Seldom has the value of these methods been more forcibly illustrated.
Three times was McDowell to have marched to join McClellan: first, at
the beginning of April, when he was held back by Kernstown; second, on
May 26, when he was held back by Front Royal and Winchester; third, on
June 25, when he was held back by Jackson’s disappearance after Port
Republic. Above all, the campaign reveals a most perfect appreciation
of the surest means of dealing with superior numbers. “In my personal
intercourse with Jackson,” writes General Imboden, “in the early part
of the war, he often said that there were two things never to be lost
sight of by a military commander. ‘Always mystify, mislead, and
surprise the enemy, if possible; and when you strike and overcome him,
never give up the pursuit as long as your men have strength to follow;
for an army routed, if hotly pursued, becomes panic-stricken, and can
then be destroyed by half their number. The other rule is, never fight
against heavy odds, if by any possible manœuvering you can hurl your
own force on only a part, and that the weakest part, of your enemy and
crush it. Such tactics will win every time, and a small army may thus