Stonewall Jackson and the American Civil War
roads; and if there was a chance of effecting a surprise, or if the
enemy was already flying, it mattered little how many men fell out. And
fall out they did, in large numbers. Between May 17 and the battle of
Cross Keys the army was reduced from 16,500 men to 18,000. Not more
than 500 had been killed or wounded, so there were no less than 3,000
absentees. Many were footsore and found no place in the ambulances.
Many were sick; others on detachment; but a large proportion had
absented themselves without asking leave. Two days after Winchester, in
a letter to Ewell, Jackson writes that “the evil of straggling has
become enormous.”
Such severe exertion as the march against Kenly, the pursuit of Banks,
and the retreat from the Potomac, would have told their tale upon the
hardiest veterans. When the German armies, suddenly changing direction
from west to north, pushed on to Sedan by forced marches, large numbers
of the infantry succumbed to pure exhaustion. When the Light Division,
in 1818, pressing forward after Sauroren to intercept the French
retreat, marched nineteen consecutive hours in very sultry weather, and
over forty miles of mountain roads, “many men fell and died convulsed
and frothing at the mouth, while others, whose spirit and strength had
never before been quelled, leant on their muskets and muttered in
sullen tones that they yielded for the first time.”[20]
But the men that fell out on the march to Sedan and in the passes of
the Pyrenees were physically incapable of further effort. They were not
stragglers in the true sense of the term; and in an army broken to
discipline straggling on the line of march is practically unknown. The
sickly and feeble may fall away, but every sound man may confidently be
relied upon to keep his place. The secret of full ranks is good
officers and strict discipline; and the most marked difference between
regular troops and those hastily
organised is this—with the former the waste of men will be small, with
the latter very great. In all armies, however constituted, there is a
large proportion of men whose hearts are not in the business.[21]
When hard marching and heavy fighting are in prospect the inclination
of such men is to make themselves scarce, and when discipline is
relaxed they will soon find the opportunity. But when their instincts
of obedience are strong, when the only home they know is with the
colours, when the credit of their regiment is at stake—and even the
most worthless have some feeling for their own corps—engrained habit
and familiar associations overcome their natural weakness. The
troop-horse bereft of his rider at once seeks his comrades, and pushes
his way, with empty saddle, into his place in the ranks. And so the
soldier by profession, faint-hearted as he may be, marches shoulder to
shoulder with his comrades, and acquires a fictitious, but not
unuseful, courage from his contact with braver men.
It is true that the want of good boots told heavily on the
Confederates. A pair already half-worn, such as many of the men started
with, was hardly calculated to last out a march of several hundred
miles over rocky tracks, and fresh supplies were seldom forthcoming.
There was a dearth both of shoe-leather and shoe-factories in the
South; and if Mr. Davis, before the blockade was established, had
indented on the shoemakers of Europe, he would have added very largely
to the efficiency of his armies. A few cargoes of good boots would have
been more useful than a shipload of rifled guns.
Nevertheless, the absentees from the ranks were not all footsore. The
vice of straggling was by no means confined to Jackson’s command. It
was the curse of both armies, Federal and Confederate. The Official
Records, as well as the memoirs of participants, teem with references
to it. It was an evil which the severest punishments seemed incapable
of checking. It was in vain that it was
denounced in orders, that the men were appealed to, warned, and
threatened. Nor were the faint-hearted alone at fault. The day after
Jackson’s victory at M’Dowell, Johnston, falling back before McClellan,
addressed General Lee as follows:—
“Stragglers cover the country, and Richmond is no doubt filled with the
absent without leave. . . . The men are full of spirit when near the
enemy, but at other times to avoid restraint leave their regiments in
crowds.”[22] A letter from a divisional general followed:—
“It is with deep mortification that I report that several thousand
soldiers and many individuals with commissions have fled to Richmond
under pretext of sickness. They have even thrown away their arms that
their flight might not be impeded. Cannot these miserable wretches be
arrested and returned to their regiments, where they can have their
heads shaved and be drummed out of the service?’[23]
Jackson, then, had to contend with difficulties which a general in
command of regular troops would not have been called on to provide
against; and in other respects also he suffered from the constitution
of his army. The one thing lacking in the Valley campaign was a
decisive victory over a considerable detachment of the Federal army,
the annihilation of one of the converging forces, and large capture of
guns and prisoners. A victory as complete as Rivoli would have
completed its dramatic interest. But for this Jackson himself was
hardly to blame. The misconduct of the Confederate cavalry on May 24
and 25 permitted Banks to escape destruction; and the delay at the
temporary bridge near Port Republic, due, mainly, to the disinclination
of the troops to face the ford, and the want of resolute obedience on
the part of their commanders, saved Frémont from the same fate. Had
Shields’ advanced brigades been driven back, as Jackson designed, while
the day was still young, the operations of the Valley army would in all
probability have been crowned by a brilliant triumph over nearly
equal forces. Frémont, already fearful and irresolute, was hardly the
man to withstand the vigour of Jackson’s onset; and that onset would
assuredly have been made if more careful arrangements had been made to
secure the bridge. This was not the only mistake committed by the
staff. The needlessly long march of the main body when approaching
Front Royal on May 28 might well have been obviated. But for this delay
the troops might have pushed on before nightfall to within easy reach
of the Valley turnpike, and Banks have been cut off from Winchester.
It is hardly necessary to say that, even with regular troops, the same
mistakes might have occurred. They are by no means without parallel,
and even those committed by the Federals have their exact counterpart
in European warfare. At the beginning of August, 1870, the French army,
like Banks’ division on May 28, 1862, was in two portions, divided by a
range of mountains. The staff was aware that the Germans were in
superior strength, but their dispositions were unknown. Like Banks,
they neglected to reconnoitre; and when a weak detachment beyond the
mountains was suddenly overwhelmed, they still refused to believe that
attack was imminent. The crushing defeats of Wörth and Spicheren were
the result.
The staff of a regular army is not always infallible. It would be hard
to match the extraordinary series of blunders made by the staffs of the
three armies—English, French, and Prussian—in the campaign of Waterloo,
and yet there was probably no senior officer present in Belgium who had
not seen several campaigns. But the art of war has made vast strides
since Waterloo, and even since 1870. Under Moltke’s system, which has
been applied in a greater or less degree to nearly all professional
armies, the chance of mistakes has been much reduced. The staff is no
longer casually educated and selected haphazard; the peace training of
both officers and men is far more thorough; and those essential details
on which the most brilliant conceptions, tactical and strategical,
depend for success stand much less chance of being overlooked than in
1815. It is by the standard of a modern army, and not of those
whose only school in peace was the parade-ground, that the American
armies must be judged.
That Jackson’s tactical skill, and his quick eye for ground, had much
to do with his victories can hardly be questioned. At Kernstown and
Port Republic he seized the key of the position without a moment’s
hesitation. At Winchester, when Ewell was checked upon the right, three
strong brigades, suddenly thrown forward on the opposite flank,
completely rolled up the Federal line. At Cross Keys the position
selected for Ewell proved too formidable for Frémont, despite his
superiority in guns. At Port Republic, Taylor’s unexpected approach
through the tangled forest was at once decisive of the engagement. The
cavalry charge at Front Royal was admirably timed; and the manner in
which Ashby was employed throughout the campaign, not only to screen
the advance but to check pursuit, was a proof of the highest tactical
ability. Nor should the quick insight into the direction of Shields’
march on June 1, and the destruction of the bridges by which he could
communicate with Frémont, be omitted. It is true that the operations in
the Valley were not absolutely faultless. When Jackson was bent on an
effective blow his impatience to bring the enemy to bay robbed him more
than once of complete success. On the march to M’Dowell Johnson’s
brigade, the advanced guard, had been permitted to precede the main
body by seven miles, and, consequently, when Milroy attacked there was
not sufficient force at hand for a decisive counterstroke. Moreover,
with an ill-trained staff a careful supervision was most essential, and
the waggon bridge at Port Republic should have been inspected by a
trustworthy staff officer before Winder rushed across to fall on Tyler.
Errors of this nature, however instructive they may be to the student
of war, are but spots upon the sun; and in finding in his subordinate
such breadth of view and such vigour of execution, Lee was fortunate
indeed. Jackson was no less fortunate when Ashby came under his
command. That dashing captain of free-lances was undoubtedly a most
valuable colleague. It was something to have a
cavalry leader who could not only fight and reconnoitre, but who had
sagacity enough to divine the enemy’s intentions. But the ideas that
governed the employment of the cavalry were Jackson’s alone. He it was
who placed the squadrons across Frémont’s road from Wardensville, who
ordered the demonstrations against Banks, before both M’Dowell and
Front Royal, and those which caused Frémont to retreat after Port
Republic. More admirable still was the quickness with which he
recognised the use that might be made of mounted riflemen. From the
Potomac to Port Republic his horsemen covered his retreat, dismounting
behind every stream and along the borders of every wood, checking the
pursuers with their fire, compelling them to deploy their infantry, and
then retreating rapidly to the next position. Day after day were the
Federal advanced guards held in check, their columns delayed, and the
generals irritated by their slippery foe. Meanwhile, the Confederate
infantry, falling back at their leisure, were relieved of all
annoyance. And if the cavalry was suddenly driven in, support was
invariably at hand, and a compact brigade of infantry, supported by
artillery, sent the pursuing horsemen to the right-about. The retreat
of the Valley army was managed with the same skill as its advance, and
the rear-guard tactics of the campaign are no less remarkable than
those of the attack.
To judge from the Valley campaign, Jackson handled his horsemen with
more skill than any other commander, Confederate or Federal. A cavalry
that could defend itself on foot as well as charge in the saddle was