Stonewall Jackson and the American Civil War
country, and the difficulties of supply and shelter were not the worst
obstacles to military operations. At this season of the year the
climate and the soil were persistent foes. The roads were mere tracks,
channels which served as drains for the interminable forest. The deep
meadows, fresh and green to the eye, were damp and unwholesome
camping-grounds. Turgid streams, like the Chickahominy and its
affluents, winding sluggishly through rank jungles, spread in swamp and
morass across the valleys, and the languid atmosphere, surcharged with
vapour, was redolent of decay.
June Through this malarious region the Federal army had been pushing
its slow way forward for more than six weeks, and 105,000 men,
accompanied by a large siege train, lay intrenched within sight of the
spires of Richmond. 30,000 were north of the Chickahominy, covering the
York River Railway and waiting the coming of McDowell. The remainder,
from Woodbury’s Bridge to the Charles City road, occupied the line of
breastworks which stood directly east of the beleaguered city. So
nearly was the prize within their grasp that the church bells, and even
the clocks striking the hour, were heard in the camps; and at
Mechanicsville Bridge, watched by a picket, stood a sign-post which
bore the legend: “To Richmond, 4½ miles.” The sentries who paced that
beat were fortunate. For the next two years they could boast that no
Federal soldier, except as a prisoner, had stood so close as they had
to the rebel stronghold. But during these weeks in June not a single
soul in McClellan’s army, and few in the Confederacy, suspected that
the flood of invasion had reached high-water mark. Richmond, gazing
night after night at the red glow which throbbed on the eastern vault,
the reflection of countless camp-fires, and, listening with strained
ears to the far-off call of hostile bugles, seemed in perilous case. No
formidable position protected the approaches. Earthworks, indeed, were
in process of construction; but, although the left flank at New Bridge
was covered by the
Chickahominy, the right was protected by no natural obstacle, as had
been the case at Yorktown; and the lines occupied no commanding site.
Nor had the Government been able to assemble an army of a strength
sufficient to man the whole front. Lee, until Jackson joined him,
commanded no more than 72,500 men. Of these a large portion were new
troops, and their numbers had been reduced by the 7,000 dispatched
under Whiting to the Valley.
June 11 But if the Federal army was far superior in numbers, it was not
animated by an energy in proportion to its strength. The march from the
White House was more sluggish than the current of the Chickahominy.
From May 17 to June 26 the Army of the Valley had covered four hundred
miles. Within the same period the Army of the Potomac had covered
twenty. It is true that the circumstances were widely different.
McClellan had in front of him the lines of Richmond, and his advance
had been delayed by the rising of the Chickahominy. He had fought a
hard fight at Seven Pines; and the constant interference of Jackson had
kept him waiting for McDowell. But, at the same time, he had displayed
an excess of caution which was perfectly apparent to his astute
opponent. He had made no attempt to use his superior numbers; and Lee
had come to the conclusion that the attack on Richmond would take the
same form as the attack on Yorktown,—the establishment of great
batteries, the massing of heavy ordnance, and all the tedious processes
of a siege. He read McClellan like an open book. He had personal
knowledge both of his capacity and character, for they had served
together on the same staff in the Mexican war. He knew that his young
adversary was a man of undoubted ability, of fascinating address, and
of courage that was never higher than when things were at their worst.
But these useful qualities were accompanied by marked defects. His will
was less powerful than his imagination. Bold in conception, he was
terribly slow in execution. When his good sense showed him the
opportunity, his imagination whispered, “Suppose the enemy has reserves
of which I know nothing! Is it not more prudent to wait until I receive
more accurate information?” And so “I dare not,”
inevitably waited on “I would.” He forgot that in war it is impossible
for a general to be absolutely certain. It is sufficient, according to
Napoleon, if the odds in his favour are three to two; and if he cannot
discover from the attitude of his enemy what the odds are, he is
unfitted for supreme command.
Before Yorktown McClellan’s five army corps had been held in check,
first by 15,000 men, then by 58,000, protected by earthworks of feeble
profile.[1] The fort at Gloucester Point was the key of the Confederate
lines.[2] McClellan, however, although a division was actually under
orders to move against it, appears to have been unwilling to risk a
failure.[3] The channel of the York was thus closed both to his
transports and the gunboats, and he did nothing whatever to interfere
with Johnston’s long line of communications, which passed at several
points within easy reach of the river bank. Nor had he been more active
since he had reached West Point. Except for a single expedition, which
had dispersed a Confederate division near Hanover Court House, north of
the Chickahominy, he had made no aggressive movement. He had never
attempted to test the strength of the fortifications of Richmond, to
hinder their construction, or to discover their weak points. His urgent
demands for reinforcements had appeared in the Northern newspapers, and
those newspapers had found their way to Richmond. From the same source
the Confederates were made aware that he believed himself confronted by
an army far larger than his own; and when, on the departure of
Whiting’s division for the Valley, he refused to take advantage of the
opportunity to attack Lee’s diminished force, it became abundantly
clear, if further proof were wanting, that much might be ventured
against so timid a commander.
From his knowledge of his adversary’s character, and
still more from his attitude, Lee had little difficulty in discovering
his intentions. McClellan, on the other hand, failed to draw a single
correct inference. And yet the information at his disposal was
sufficient to enable him to form a fair estimate of how things stood in
the Confederate camp. He had been attacked at Seven Pines, but not by
superior numbers; and it was hardly likely that the enemy had not
employed their whole available strength in this battle; otherwise their
enterprise was insensate. Furthermore, it was clearly to the interests
of the Confederates to strike at his army before McDowell could join
him. They had not done so, and it was therefore probable that they did
not feel themselves strong enough to do so. It is true that he was
altogether misled by the intelligence supplied as to the garrison of
Richmond by his famous detective staff. 200,000 was the smallest number
which the chief agent would admit. But that McClellan should have
relied on the estimate of these untrained observers rather than on the
evidence furnished by the conduct of the enemy is but a further proof
that he lacked all power of deduction.[4]
It may well be questioned whether he was anxious at heart to measure
swords with Lee. His knowledge of his adversary, whose reputation for
daring, for ability, for strength of purpose, had been higher than any
other in the old army, must needs have had a disturbing influence on
his judgment. Against an enemy he did not know McClellan might have
acted with resolution. Face to face with Lee, it can hardly be doubted
that the weaker will was dominated by the stronger. Vastly different
were their methods of war. McClellan made no effort whatever either to
supplement or to corroborate the information supplied by his
detectives. Since he had reached West Point his cavalry had done
little.[5] Lee, on the other hand, had found
means to ascertain the disposition of his adversary’s troops, and had
acquired ample information of the measures which had been taken to
protect the right wing, north of the Chickahominy, the point he had
determined to attack.
June 12 Early on June 12, with 1,200 horsemen and a section of
artillery, Stuart rode out on an enterprise of a kind which at that
time was absolutely unique, and which will keep his memory green so
long as cavalry is used in war. Carefully concealing his march, be
encamped that night near Taylorsville, twenty-two miles north of
Richmond, and far beyond the flank of the Federal intrenchments.
June 13 The next morning he turned eastward towards Hanover Court
House. Here he drove back a picket, and his advanced guard, with the
loss of one officer, soon afterwards charged down a squadron of
regulars. A few miles to the south-east, near Old Church, the enemy’s
outposts were finally dispersed; and then, instead of halting, the
column pushed on into the very heart of the district occupied by the
Federals, and soon found itself in rear of their encampments. Stuart
had already gained important information. He had learned that
McClellan’s right flank extended but a short way north of the
Chickahominy, that it was not fortified, and that it rested on neither
swamp nor stream, and this was what Lee had instructed him to discover.
But it was one thing to obtain the information, another to bring it
back. If he returned by the road he had come, it was probable he would
be cut off, for the enemy was thoroughly roused, and the South Anna
River, unfordable from recent rains, rendered a _détour_ to the north
impracticable. To the mouth and west of him lay the Federal army, some
of the infantry camps not five miles distant. It was about
four o’clock in the afternoon. He could hardly reach Hanover Court
House before dark, and he might find it held by the enemy. To escape
from the dilemma he determined on a plan of extraordinary daring, which
involved nothing less than the passage of the Chickahominy in rear of
the enemy, and a circuit of the entire Federal army.
The audacity of the design proved the salvation of his command. The
enemy had assembled a strong force of both cavalry and infantry at
Hanover Court House, under Stuart’s father-in-law, General Cooke; but,
misled by the reports brought in, and doubtless perplexed by the
situation, the latter pursued but slowly and halted for the night at
Old Church. Stuart, meanwhile, had reached Tunstall’s Station on the
York River Railway, picking up prisoners at every step. Here, routing
the guard, he tore up the rails, destroyed a vast amount of stores and
many waggons, broke down the telegraph and burnt the railway bridge,
his men regaling themselves on the luxuries which were found in the
well-stored establishments of the sutlers. Two squadrons, dispatched to
Garlick’s Landing on the Pamunkey, set fire to two transports, and
rejoined with a large number of prisoners, horses, and mules. Then, led
by troopers who were natives of the country, the column marched
south-east by the Williamsburg road, moving further and still further
away from Richmond. The moon was full, and as the troops passed by the
forest farms, the women, running to the wayside, wept with delight at
the unexpected apparition of the grey jackets, and old men showered
blessings on the heads of their gallant countrymen. At Talleysville,
eight miles east, Stuart halted for three hours; and shortly after
midnight, just as a Federal infantry brigade reached Tunstall’s Station
in hot pursuit, he turned off by a country road to the Chickahominy.
June 14 At Forge Bridge, where he arrived at daylight, he should have
found a ford; but the river had overflowed its banks, and was full of