The Long Roll
all swept the pine and the scrub oak, just varied by other trees and
blossoming shrubs. The ground was level, or only slightly rolling. Look
where one might there was tree and bush, tree and bush, a sense of
illimitable woodland, of far horizons, of a not unhappy sameness, of
stillness, of beauty far removed from picturesqueness, of vague,
diffused charm, of silence, of sadness not too sad, of mystery not too
baffling, of sunshine very still and golden. A man knew he was in the
Wilderness.
Mayday here was softly bright enough, pure sunshine and pine odours, sky
without clouds, gentle warmth, the wild azalea in bloom, here and there
white stars of the dogwood showing, red birds singing, pine martens
busy, too, with their courtship, pale butterflies flitting, the bee
haunting the honeysuckle, the snake awakening. Beauty was everywhere,
and in portions of the great forest, great as a principality, quiet. In
these regions, indeed, the stillness might seem doubled, reinforced, for
from other stretches of the Wilderness, specifically from those which
had for neighbour the roads, quiet had fled.
To right and left of the Tabernacle church were breastworks, Anderson
holding them against Hooker's advance. In the early morning, through the
dewy Wilderness, came from Fredericksburg way Stonewall Jackson and the
2d Corps, in addition Lafayette McLaws with his able Roman air and
troops in hand. At the church they rested until eleven o'clock, then,
gathering up Anderson, they plunged more deeply yet into the Wilderness.
They moved in two columns, McLaws leading by the turnpike, Anderson in
advance on the Plank Road, Jackson himself with the main body following
by the latter road.
Oh, bright-eyed, oh, bronzed and gaunt and ragged, oh, full of quips and
cranks, of jest and song and courage, oh, endowed with all quaint
humour, invested with all pathos, ennobled by vast struggle with vast
adversity, oh, sufferers of all things, hero-fibred, grim fighters, oh,
Army of Northern Virginia--all men and all women who have battled salute
you, going into the Wilderness this May day with the red birds singing!
On swing the two columns, long, easy, bayonets gleaming, accoutrements
jingling, colours deep glowing in the sunshine. To either hand swept the
Wilderness, great as a desert, green and jewelled. In the desert to-day
were other bands, great and hostile blue-clad bands. Grey and
blue,--there came presently a clash that shook the forest and sent
Quiet, a fugitive, to those deeper, distant haunts. Three bands of blue,
three grey attacks--the air rocked and swung, the pure sunlight changed
to murk, the birds and the beasts scampered far, the Wilderness filled
with shouting. The blue gave back--gave back somewhat too easily. The
grey followed--would have followed at height of speed, keen and
shouting, but there rode to the front a leader on a sorrel nag. "General
Anderson, halt your men. Throw out skirmishers and flanking parties and
advance with caution."
McLaws on the turnpike had like orders. Through the Wilderness, through the
gold afternoon, all went quietly. Sound of marching feet, beat of hoof,
creak of leather, rumble of wheel, low-pitched orders were there, but no
singing, laughing, talking. Skirmishers and flanking parties were alert,
but the men in the main column moved dreamily, the spell of the place upon
them. With flowering thorn and dogwood and the purple smear of the Judas
tree, with the faint gilt of the sunshine, and with wandering gracious
odours, with its tangled endlessness and feel as of old time, its taste of
sadness, its hint of patience, it was such a seven-leagues of woodland as
might have environed the hundred-years-asleep court, palace, and princess.
The great dome of the sky sprung cloudless; there was no wind; all things
seemed halted, as if they had been thus forever. The men almost nodded as
they marched.
Back, steadily, though slowly, gave the blue skirmishers before the grey
skirmishers. So thickly grew the Wilderness that it was somewhat like
Indian fighting, and no man saw a hundred yards in front of him.
Stonewall Jackson's eyes glinted under the forage cap; perhaps he saw
more than a hundred yards ahead of him, but if so he saw with the eyes
of the mind. He was moving very slowly, more like a tortoise than a
thunderbolt. The men said that Old Jack had spring fever.
Grey columns, grey artillery, grey flanking cavalry, all came under
slant sunrays to within a mile or two of that old house called
Chancellorsville set north of the pike, upon a low ridge in the
Wilderness. "Open ground in front--open ground in front--open ground in
front! Let Old Jack by--Let Old Jack by! Going to see--Going to see--"
_Halt_!
The beat of feet ceased. The column waited, sunken in the green and gold
and misty Wilderness where the shadows were lengthening and the birds
were at evensong. In a moment the evensong was hushed and the birds flew
away. The same instant brought explanation of that "Don't-care.
-On-the-whole-quite-ready-to-retreat.-Merely-following-instructions"
attitude for the past two hours of the blue skirmish line. From
Chancellorsville, from Hooker's great entrenchments on the high roll of
ground, along the road, and on the plateau of Hazel Grove, burst a
raking artillery fire. The shells shrieked across the open, plunged into
the wood, and exploded before every road-head. Hooker had guns a-many;
they commanded the Wilderness rolling on three sides of the formidable
position he had seized; they commanded in iron force the clearing along
his front. He had breastworks; he had abattis. He had the 12th Corps,
the 2d, the 3d, the 5th, the 7th, the 11th; he had in the Wilderness
seventy thousand men. His left almost touched the Rappahannock, his
right stretched two miles toward Germanna Ford. He was in great
strength.
Jeb Stuart with his cavalry, waiting impatiently near Catherine Furnace,
found beside him General Jackson on Little Sorrel. "General Stuart, I
wish you to ride with me to some point from which those guns can be
enfiladed. Order Major Beckham forward with a battery."
This was the heart of the Wilderness. Thick, thick grew the trees and
the all-entangling underbrush. Stuart and Stonewall Jackson, staff
behind them, pursued a span-wide bridle path, overarched by dogwood and
Judas tree. It led at last to a rise of ground, covered by matted
growth, towered above by a few pines. Four guns of the Horse Artillery
strove, too, to reach the place. They made it at last, over and through
the wild tangle, but so narrow was the clearing, made hurriedly to
either side of the path, that but one gun at a time could be brought
into position. Beckham, commanding now where Pelham had commanded, sent
a shell singing against the not distant line of smoke and flame. The
muzzle had hardly blazed when two masked batteries opened upon the rise
of ground, the four guns, the artillerymen and artillery horses, and
upon Stonewall Jackson, Stuart, and the staff.
The great blue guns were firing at short range. A howling storm of shot
and shell broke and continued. Through it came a curt order. "Major
Beckham, get your guns back. General Stuart, gentlemen of the staff,
push out of range through the underwood."
The guns with their maddened horses strove to turn, but the place was
narrow. Ere the movement could be made there was bitter loss. Horses
reared and fell, dreadfully hurt; men were mown down, falling beside
their pieces. It was a moment requiring action decisive, desperately
gallant, heroically intelligent. The Horse Artillery drew off their
guns, even got their wounded out of the intolerable zone of fire.
Stonewall Jackson, with Stuart, watched them do it. He nodded, "Good!
good!"
Out of the raking fire, back in the scrub and pine, there came to a halt
near him a gun, a Howitzer. He sat Little Sorrel in the last golden
light, a light that bathed also the piece and its gunners. The Federal
batteries were lessening fire. There was a sense of pause. The two foes
had seen each other; now--Army of Northern Virginia, Army of the
Potomac--they must draw breath a little before they struck, before they
clenched. The sun was setting; the cannonade ceased.
Jackson sat very still in the gold patch where, between two pines, the
west showed clear. The aureate light, streaming on, beat full upon the
howitzer and on the living and unwounded of its men. Stonewall Jackson
spoke to an aide. "Tell the captain of the battery that I should like to
speak to him."
The captain came. "Captain, what is the name of the gunner there? The
one by the limber with his head turned away."
The captain looked. "Deaderick, sir. Philip Deaderick."
"_Philip Deaderick._ When did he volunteer?"
The other considered. "I think, general, it was just before
Sharpsburg.--It was just after the battle of Groveton, sir."
"Sharpsburg!--I remember now. So he rejoined at Manassas."
"He hadn't been in earlier, sir. He had an accident, he said. He's a
fine soldier, but he's a silent kind of a man. He keeps to himself. He
won't take promotion."
"Tell him to come here."
Deaderick came. The gold in this open place, before the clear west, was
very light and fine. It illuminated. Also the place was a little
withdrawn, no one very near, and by comparison with the tornado which
had raged, the stillness seemed complete. The gunner stood before the
general, quiet, steady-eyed, broad-browed. Stonewall Jackson, his
gauntleted hands folded over the saddle bow, gazed upon him fully and
long. The gold light held, and the hush of the place; in the distance,
in the Wilderness, the birds began again their singing. At last Jackson
spoke. "The army will rest to-night. Headquarters will be yonder, by the
road. Report to me there at ten o'clock. I will listen to what you have
to say. That is all now."
Night stole over the Wilderness, a night of large, mild stars, of
vagrant airs, of balm and sweetness. Earth lay in a tender dream, all
about her her wild flowers and her fresh-clad trees. The grey and the
blue soldiers slept, too, and one dreamed of this and one dreamed of
that. Alike they dreamed of home and country and cause, of loved women
and loved children and of their comrades. Grey and blue, these two
armies fought each for an idea, and they fought well, as people fight
who fight for an idea. And that it was not a material thing for which
they fought, but a concept, lifted from them something of the grossness
of physical struggle, carried away as with a strong wind much of the
pettiness of war, brought their strife upon the plane of heroes. There
is a beauty and a strength in the thought of them, grey and blue,
sleeping in the Wilderness, under the gleam of far-away worlds.
The generals did not sleep. In the Chancellor house, north of the pike,
Fighting Joe Hooker held council with his commanders of corps, with
Meade and Sickles and Slocum and Howard and Couch. Out in the
Wilderness, near the Plank Road, with the light from a camp-fire turning
to bronze and wine-red the young oak leaves about them, there held
council Robert Edward Lee and Stonewall Jackson. Near them a war horse
neighed; there came the tramp of the sentry, then quiet stole upon the
scene. The staff was near at hand, but to-night staff and couriers held
themselves stiller than still. There was something in the air of the
Wilderness; they knew not what it was, but it was there.
Lee and Jackson sat opposite each other, the one on a box, the other on
a great fallen tree. On the earth between them lay an unrolled map, and
now one took it up and pondered it, and now the other, and now they
spoke together in quiet, low voices, their eyes on the map at their feet
in the red light. Lee spoke. "I went myself and looked upon their left.