Stonewall Jackson and the American Civil War
brigade at Bull Run, Jackson’s division in the Valley, Jackson’s army
corps later in the war, were all imbued with the characteristics of
their leader. The exertions that he demanded of them seemed beyond the
powers of mortal men, but with Jackson leading them the troops felt
themselves able to accomplish impossibilities. “I never saw one of
Jackson’s couriers approach,” said Ewell, “without expecting an order
to assault the North Pole!” But had the order been given neither Ewell
nor the Valley troops would have questioned it.
With the senior officers of his little army Jackson’s relations were in
some instances less cordial than with the men. His staff was devoted to
him, for they had learned to know him. At the beginning of the Valley
campaign some of them thought him mad; before it was over they believed
him to be a genius. He lived with his military family on the most
intimate terms, and his unfailing courtesy, his utter absence of
self-assertion, his sweet temper, and his tactful consideration for
others, no matter how humble their rank, were irresistible. On duty,
indeed, his staff officers fared badly. Tireless himself, regardless of
all personal comforts, he seemed to think that others were fashioned in
the same mould. After
a weary day’s marching or fighting, it was no unusual thing for him to
send them for a ride of thirty or forty miles through the night. And he
gave the order with no more thought than if he were sending them with a
message to the next tent. But off duty he was simply a personal friend,
bent on making all things pleasant. “Never,” says Dr. Hunter McGuire,
“can I forget his kindness and gentleness to me when I was in great
sorrow and trouble. He came to my tent and spent hours with me,
comforting me in his simple, kindly, Christian way, showing a depth of
friendship and affection which can never be forgotten. There is no
measuring the intensity with which the very soul of Jackson burned in
battle. Out of it he was very gentle. Indeed, as I look back on the two
years that I was daily, indeed hourly, with him, his gentleness as a
man, his tenderness to those in trouble or affliction—the tenderness
indeed of a woman—impress me more than his wonderful prowess as a
warrior.”
It was with his generals and colonels that there was sometimes a lack
of sympathy. Many of these were older than himself. Ewell and Whiting
were his seniors in point of service, and there can be little doubt
that it was sometimes a little hard to receive peremptory orders from a
younger man. Jackson’s secrecy was often irritating. Men who were
over-sensitive thought it implied a want of confidence. Those
overburdened with dignity objected to being treated like the private
soldiers; and those over-conscious of superior wisdom were injured
because their advice was not asked. Before the march to Richmond there
was much discontent. General Whiting, on reaching Staunton with his
division, rode at once to Port Republic to report. “The distance,” says
General Imboden, “was twenty miles, and Whiting returned after
midnight. He was in a towering passion, and declared that Jackson had
treated him outrageously. I asked, ‘How is that possible, General?—he
is very polite to everyone.’
“‘Oh, hang him! he was polite enough. But he didn’t say one word about
his plans. I finally asked him for orders, telling him what troops I
had. He
simply told me to go back to Staunton, and he would send me orders
to-morrow. I haven’t the slightest idea what they will be. I believe he
has no more sense than my horse.’”[27]
The orders, when they came, simply directed him to take his troops by
railway to Gordonsville, through which they had passed two days before,
and gave no reason whatever for the movement.
General Whiting was not the only Confederate officer who was mystified.
When the troops left the Valley not a single soul in the army, save
Jackson alone, knew the object of their march. He had even gone out of
his way to blind his most trusted subordinates.
“During the preceding afternoon,” says Major Hotchkiss, “he sent for me
to his tent, and asked me to bring maps of the country from Port
Republic to Lexington (at the head of the Valley), as he wished to
examine them. I took the map to his tent, and for about half an hour we
talked concerning the roads and streams, and points of offence and
defence of that region, just as though he had in mind a march in that
direction. After this interval had passed he thanked me and said that
that would do. About half an hour later he sent for me again, and
remarked that there had been some fighting down about Richmond,
referring, of course, to the battle of Seven Pines, and that he would
like to see the map of the field of the operations. I brought the maps
of the district round Richmond, and we spent nearly twice as much time
over those, talking about the streams, the roads, the condition of the
country, and so forth. On retiring to my tent I said to myself, “Old
Jack” is going to Richmond.”[28]
Even the faithful Dabney was left in the dark till the troops had
reached Mechum’s Station. There, calling him into a room in the hotel,
the general locked the door and explained the object of his march. But
it was under seal of secrecy; and Ewell, the second in command,
complained to the chief of the staff that Jackson had gone off by
train, leaving him without orders, or even a hint of what was in
the wind. In fact, a few days after the battle of Port Republic, Ewell
had sent some of his staff on leave of absence, telling them that large
reinforcements were coming up, and that the next move would be “to beat
up Banks’ quarters about Strasburg.”
When Jackson was informed of the irritation of his generals he merely
smiled, and said, “If I can deceive my own friends I can make certain
of deceiving the enemy.” Nothing shook his faith in Frederick the
Great’s maxim, which he was fond of quoting: “If I thought my coat knew
my plans, I would take it off and burn it.” An anecdote told by one of
his brigadiers illustrates his reluctance to say more than necessary.
Previous to the march to Richmond this officer met Jackson riding
through Staunton. “Colonel,” said the general, “have you received the
order?” “No, sir.” “Want you to march.” “When, sir?” “Now.” “Which
way?” “Get in the cars—go with Lawton.” “How must I send my train and
the battery?” “By the road.” “Well, General, I hate to ask questions,
but it is impossible to send my waggons off without knowing which road
to send them.” “Oh!”—laughing—“send them by the road the others go.”
At last, when they saw how constant fortune was to their reticent
leader, his subordinates ceased to complain; but unfortunately there
was another source of trouble. Jackson had no regard whatever for
persons. Reversing the usual procedure, he held that the choleric word
of the soldier was rank blasphemy in the captain; the higher the rank
of the offender the more severe, in his opinion, should be the
punishment. Not only did he hold that he who would rule others must
himself set the example of punctiliousness, but that to whom much is
given, from him much is to be expected. Honour and promotion fall to
the lot of the officer. His name is associated in dispatches with the
valorous deeds of he command, while the private soldier fights on
unnoticed in the crowd. To his colonels, therefore, Jackson was a
strict master, and stricter to his generals. If he had reason to
believe that his subordinates were indolent or disobedient, he visited
their shortcomings with
a heavy hand. No excuse availed. Arrest and report followed immediately
on detection, and if the cure was rude, the plague of incompetency was
radically dealt with. Spirited young soldiers, proud of their high
rank, and in no way underrating their own capacity, rebelled against
such discipline; and the knowledge that they were closely watched, that
their omissions would be visited on their heads with unfaltering
severity, sometimes created a barrier between them and their commander.
But it was only wilful disobedience or actual insubordination that
roused Jackson’s wrath. “If he found in an officer,” says Dabney, “a
hearty and zealous purpose to do all his duty, he was the most tolerant
and gracious of superiors, overlooking blunders and mistakes with
unbounded patience, and repairing them through his own exertions,
without even a sign of vexation.” The delay at the bridge on the
morning of Port Republic, so fatal to his design of crushing Frémont,
caused no outburst of wrath. He received his adjutant-general’s report
with equanimity, regarding the accident as due to the will of
Providence, and therefore to be accepted without complaint.[29]
Whether the nobler side of Jackson’s character had a share in creating
the confidence which his soldiers already placed in him must be matter
of conjecture. It was well known in the ranks that he was superior to
the frailties of human nature; that he was as thorough a Christian as
he was a soldier; that he feared the world as little as he did the
enemy.[30] In all things he was consistent; his sincerity was as clear
as the noonday sun, and his faith as firmly rooted as the Massanuttons.
Publicly and privately, in official dispatches and in ordinary
conversation, the success of his army was ascribed to the Almighty.
Every victory, as
soon as opportunity offered, was followed by the order: “The chaplains
will hold divine service in their respective regiments.” “The General
Commanding,” ran the order after Winchester, “would warmly express to
the officers and men under his command his joy in their achievements,
and his thanks for their brilliant gallantry in action, and their
patient obedience under the hardships of forced marches, often more
painful to the brave soldier than the danger of battle. The explanation
of the severe exertions to which the commanding general called the
army, which were endured by them with such cheerful confidence in him,
is now given in the victory of yesterday. He receives this proof of
their confidence in the past with pride and gratitude, and asks only a
similar confidence in the future.
“But his chief duty of to-day and that of the army is to recognise
devoutly the hand of a protecting Providence in the brilliant successes
of the last three days (which have given us the results of a great
victory without great losses), and to make the oblation of our thanks
to God for His service to us and our country in heartfelt acts of
religious worship. For this purpose the troops will remain in camp
to-day, suspending, as far as possible, all military exercises; and the
chaplains of regiments will hold divine service in their several
charges at 4 o’clock p.m.”[31]
Whenever it was possible Sunday was always set apart for a day of rest;
and the claims of the day were seldom altogether disregarded.[32] On
the morning of Cross Keys it is related that a large portion of Elzey’s
brigade were at service, and that the crash of the enemy’s artillery
interrupted the “thirdly” of the chaplain’s sermon.
It has been sometimes asserted that Jackson was of the same type as the
saints militant who followed Cromwell, who, when they were not
slaughtering their enemies, would expound the harsh tenets of their
unlovely creed to the grim circle of belted Ironsides. He has been
described
as taking the lead at religious meetings, as distributing tracts from
tent to tent, as acting as aide-de-camp to his chaplains, and as
consigning to perdition all those “whose doxy was not his doxy.”
Nothing is further from the truth. “His views of each denomination,”
says his wife, “had been obtained from itself, not from its opponents.
Hence he could see excellences in all. Even of the Roman Catholic
Church he had a much more favourable impression than most Protestants,