Chapter VI: The First Battle of Manassas or Bull Run (2)

The summer months went by without further fighting on the Potomac; but the camps at Fairfax and at Centreville saw the army of Manassas thinned by furloughs and by sickness. The Southern youth had come out for battle, and the monotonous routine of the outpost line and the parade-ground was little to their taste. The Government dared not refuse the numberless applications for leave of absence, the more so that in the crowded camps the sultry heat of the Virginia woodlands bred disease of a virulent type. The First Brigade seems to have escaped from all these evils. Its commander found his health improved by his life in the open air. His wound had been painful. A finger was broken, but the hand was saved, and some temporary inconvenience alone resulted. As he claimed no furlough for himself, so he permitted no absence from duty among his troops. “I can’t be absent,” he wrote to his wife, “as my attention is necessary in preparing my troops for hard fighting, should it be required; and as my officers and soldiers are not permitted to visit their wives and families, I ought not to see mine. It might make the troops feel that they are badly treated, and that I consult my own comfort, regardless of theirs.”

In September his wife joined him for a few days at Centreville, and later came Dr. White, at his invitation, to preach to his command. Beyond a few fruitless marches to support the cavalry on the outposts, of active service there was none. But Jackson was not the man to let the time pass uselessly. He had his whole brigade under his hand, a force which wanted but one quality to make it an instrument worthy of the hand that wielded it, and that quality was discipline. Courage and enthusiasm it possessed in abundance; and when both were untrained the Confederate was a more useful soldier than the Northerner. In the South nearly every man was a hunter, accustomed from boyhood to the use of firearms. Game was abundant, and it was free to all. Sport in one form or another was the chief recreation of the people, and their pastoral pursuits left them much leisure for its indulgence. Every great plantation had its pack of hounds, and fox-hunting, an heirloom from the English colonists, still flourished. His stud was the pride of every Southern gentleman, and the love of horse-flesh was inherent in the whole population. No man walked when he could ride, and hundreds of fine horsemen, mounted on steeds of famous lineage, recruited the Confederate squadrons.

But, despite their skill with the rifle, their hunter’s craft, and their dashing horsemanship, the first great battle had been hardly won. The city-bred Northerners, unused to arms and uninured to hardship, had fought with extraordinary determination; and the same want of discipline that had driven them in rout to Washington had dissolved the victorious Confederates into a tumultuous mob.[16] If Jackson knew the worth of his volunteers, he was no stranger to their shortcomings. His thoughts might be crystallised in the words of Wellington, words which should never be forgotten by those nations which depend for their defence on the services of their citizen soldiery.

“They want,” said the great Duke, speaking of the Portuguese in 1809, “the habits and the spirit of soldiers,—the habits of command on one side, and of obedience on the other—mutual confidence between officers and men.”

In order that during the respite now offered he might instil these habits into his brigade, Jackson neither took furlough himself nor granted it to others. His regiments were constantly exercised on the parade-ground. Shoulder to shoulder they advanced and retired, marched and countermarched, massed in column, formed line to front or flank, until they learned to move as a machine, until the limbs obeyed before the order had passed from ear to brain, until obedience became an instinct and cohesion a necessity of their nature. They learned to listen for the word of the officer, to look to him before they moved hand or foot; and, in that subjection of their own individuality to the will of their superior, they acquired that steadiness in battle, that energy on the march, that discipline in quarters which made the First Brigade worthy of the name it had already won. “Every officer and soldier,” said their commander, “who is able to do duty ought to be busily engaged in military preparation by hard drilling, in order that, through the blessing of God, we may be victorious in the battles which in His all-wise providence may await us.”

Jackson’s tactical ideas, as regards the fire of infantry, expressed at this time, are worth recording. “I rather think,” he said, “that fire by file [independent firing] is best on the whole, for it gives the enemy an idea that the fire is heavier than if it was by company or battalion (volley firing). Sometimes, however, one may be best, sometimes the other, according to circumstances. But my opinion is that there ought not to be much firing at all. My idea is that the best mode of fighting is to reserve your fire till the enemy get—or you get them—to close quarters. Then deliver one deadly, deliberate fire—and charge!”

Although the newspapers did scant justice to the part played by the brigade in the battle of Bull Run, Bee’s epithet survived, and Jackson became known as Stonewall throughout the army. To one of his acquaintances the general revealed the source of his composure under fire. “Three days after the battle, hearing that Jackson was suffering from his wound, I rode,” writes Imboden, “to his quarters near Centreville. Of course the battle was the only topic discussed during breakfast. ‘General,’ I remarked, ‘how is it that you can keep so cool, and appear so utterly insensible to danger in such a storm of shell and bullets as rained about you when your hand was hit?’ He instantly became grave and reverential in his manner, and answered, in a low tone of great earnestness: ‘Captain, my religious belief teaches me to feel as safe in battle as in bed. God has fixed the time for my death. I do not concern myself about that, but to be always ready, no matter when it may overtake me.’ He added, after a pause, looking me full in the face: ‘That is the way all men should live, and then all would be equally brave.’”[17]

Although the war upon the borders had not yet touched the cities of the South, the patriotism of Virginia saw with uneasiness the inroads of the enemy in that portion of the State which lies beyond the Alleghenies, especially the north-west. The country was overrun with Federal soldiers, and part of the population of the district had declared openly for the Union. In that district was Jackson’s birth-place, the home of his childhood, and his mother’s grave. His interest and his affections were bound by many ties to the country and the people, and in the autumn of 1861 he had not yet come to believe that they were at heart disloyal to their native State. A vigorous effort, he believed, might still restore to the Confederacy a splendid recruiting-ground, and he made no secret of his desire for employment in that region. The strategical advantages of this corner of Virginia were clearly apparent, as will be seen hereafter, to his perception. Along its western border runs the Ohio, a river navigable to its junction with the Mississippi, and giving an easy line of communication into the heart of Kentucky. Through its northern counties passed the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, the main line of communication between Washington and the West; and alongside the railway ran the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal, a second and most important line of supply. Above all, projecting as it did towards the great lakes of the North, the north-western angle, or Virginia Panhandle, narrowed the passage between East and West to an isthmus not more than a hundred miles in breadth. With this territory in the possession of the Confederates, the Federal dominions would be practically cut in two; and in North-western Virginia, traversed by many ranges of well-nigh pathless mountains, with few towns and still fewer roads, a small army might defy a large one with impunity.

Nov. 4 On November 4 Jackson’s wish was partially granted. He was assigned to the command of the Shenandoah Valley District, embracing the northern part of the area between the Alleghenies and the Blue Ridge. The order was received with gratitude, but dashed by the fact that he had to depart alone. “Had this communication,” he said to Dr. White, “not come as an order, I should instantly have declined it, and continued in command of my brave old brigade.”

Whether he or his soldiers felt the parting most it is hard to say. Certain it is that the men had a warm regard for their leader. There was no more about him at Centreville to attract the popular fancy than there had been at Harper’s Ferry. When the troops passed in review the eye of the spectator turned at once to the trim carriage of Johnston and of Beauregard, to the glittering uniform of Stuart, to the superb chargers and the martial bearing of young officers fresh from the Indian frontier. The silent professor, absent and unsmiling, who dressed as plainly as he lived, had little in common with those dashing soldiers. The tent where every night the general and his staff gathered together for their evening devotions, where the conversation ran not on the merits of horse and hound, on strategy and tactics, but on the power of faith and the mysteries of the redemption, seemed out of place in an army of high-spirited youths. But, while they smiled at his peculiarities, the Confederate soldiers remembered the fierce counterstroke on the heights above Bull Run. If the Presbyterian general was earnest in prayer, they knew that he was prompt in battle and indefatigable in quarters. He had the respect of all men, and from his own brigade he had something more. Very early in their service, away by the rippling Shenandoah, they had heard the stories of his daring in Mexico. They had experienced his skill and coolness at Falling Waters; they had seen at Bull Run, while the shells burst in never-ending succession among the pines, the quiet figure riding slowly to and fro on the crest above them; they had heard the stern command, “Wait till they come within fifty yards and then give them the bayonet,” and they had followed him far in that victorious rush into the receding ranks of their astonished foe.

Little wonder that these enthusiastic youths, new to the soldier’s trade, should have been captivated by a nature so strong and fearless. The Stonewall Brigade had made Jackson a hero, and he had won more from them than their admiration. His incessant watchfulness for their comfort and well-being; the patient care with which he instructed them; his courtesy to the youngest private; the tact and thoughtfulness he showed in all his relations with them, had won their affection. His very peculiarities endeared him to them. Old Jack or Stonewall were his nicknames in the lines of his own command, and stories went round the camp fire of how he had been seen walking in the woods round Centreville absorbed in prayer, or lifting his left hand with that peculiar gesture which the men believed was an appeal to Heaven, but which, in reality, was made to relieve the pain of his wounded finger. But while they discussed his oddities, not a man in the brigade but acknowledged his ability, and when the time came not a man but regretted his departure.

His farewell to his troops was a striking scene. The forest, already donning its gorgeous autumnal robes, shut in the grassy clearing where the troops were drawn up. There stood the grey columns of the five regiments, with the colours, already tattered, waving in the mild November air. The general rode up, their own general, and not a sound was heard. Motionless and silent they stood, a veritable stone wall, whilst his eye ran along the ranks and scanned the familiar faces. “I am not here to make a speech,” he said, “but simply to say farewell. I first met you at Harper’s Ferry, at the commencement of the war, and I cannot take leave of you without giving expression to my admiration of your conduct from that day to this, whether on the march, in the bivouac, or on the bloody plains of Manassas, where you gained the well-deserved reputation of having decided the fate of battle.

“Throughout the broad extent of country through which you have marched, by your respect for the rights and property of citizens, you have shown that you are soldiers not only to defend, but able and willing both to defend and protect. You have already won a brilliant reputation throughout the army of the whole Confederacy; and I trust, in the future, by your deeds in the field, and by the assistance of the same kind Providence who has hitherto favoured our cause, you will win more victories and add lustre to the reputation you now enjoy. You have already gained a proud position in the future history of this our second War of Independence. I shall look with great anxiety to your future movements, and I trust whenever I shall hear of the First Brigade on the field of battle, it will be of still nobler deeds achieved, and higher reputation won!” Then there was a pause; general and soldiers looked upon each other, and the heart of the leader went out to those who had followed him with such devotion. He had spoken his words of formal praise, but both he and they knew the bonds between them were too strong to be thus coldly severed. For once he gave way to impulse; his eye kindled, and rising in his stirrups and throwing the reins upon his horse’s neck, he spoke in tones which betrayed the proud memories that thronged upon him:—

“In the Army of the Shenandoah you were the First Brigade! In the Army of the Potomac you were the First Brigade! In the Second Corps of the army you are the First Brigade! You are the First Brigade in the affections of your general, and I hope by your future deeds and bearing you will be handed down to posterity as the First Brigade in this our second War of Independence. Farewell!”

For a moment there was silence; then the pent-up feeling found expression, and cheer upon cheer burst forth from the ranks of the Valley regiments. Waving his hand in token of farewell, Jackson galloped from the field.

NOTE I

THE TROOPS EMPLOYED ON THE HENRY HILL

FEDERAL

_First Division:_ TYLER

Brigade Keyes Brigade Sherman Brigade Shenck = 4,500

_Second Division:_ HUNTER

Brigade Porter Brigade Burnside = 6,000

_Third Division:_ HEINTZLEMAN

Brigade Franklin Brigade Wilcox Brigade Howard = 7,500

Total 18,000, and 30 guns.

CONFEDERATE

_Army of the Shenandoah_ [JOHNSTON]

Brigade Jackson Brigade Bee Brigade Bartow Brigade Kirby Smith = 8,700

_Army of the Potomac_ [BEAUREGARD]

Brigade Bonham Brigade Cocke Brigade Early 7th Louisiana Regiment 8th Louisiana Regiment Hampton’s Legion Cavalry = 9,300

Total 18,000, and 21 guns.

NOTE II

THE COST OF AN INADEQUATE ARMY

Lord Wolseley has been somewhat severely criticised for asserting
that in the Civil War, “from first to last, the co-operation of
even one army corps (35,000 men) of regular troops would have given
complete victory to whichever side it fought on.” Whatever may be
argued as to the latter period of the conflict, it is impossible
for anyone who understands the power of organisation, of
discipline, of training, and of a proper system of command, to
dispute the accuracy of this statement as regards the year 1861,
that is, for the first eight months.

It is far too often assumed that the number of able-bodied men is
the true criterion of national strength. In the Confederate States,
for instance, there were probably 750,000 citizens who were liable
for service in the militia, and yet had the United States possessed
a single regular army corps, with a trained staff, an efficient
commissariat, and a fully-organised system of transport, it is
difficult to see how these 750,000 Southerners could have done more
than wage a guerilla warfare. The army corps would have absorbed
into itself the best of the Northern militia and volunteers; the
staff and commissariat would have given them mobility, and 60,000
or 70,000 men, moving on Richmond directly Sumter fell, with the
speed and certainty which organisation gives, would have marched
from victory to victory. Their 750,000 enemies would never have had
time to arm, to assemble, to organise, to create an army, to train
a staff, or to arrange for their supplies. Each gathering of
volunteers would have been swept away before it had attained
consistency, and Virginia, at least, must have been conquered in
the first few months.

And matters would have been no different if the army corps had been
directed against the Union. In the Northern States there were over
2,000,000 men who were liable for service; and yet the Union
States, notwithstanding their superior resources, were just as
vulnerable as the Confederacy. Numbers, even if they amount to
millions, are useless, and worse than useless, without training and
organisation; the more men that are collected on the battle-field,
the more crushing and far-reaching their defeat. Nor can the theory
be sustained that a small army, invading a rich and populous
country, would be “stung to death” by the numbers of its foes, even
if they dared not oppose it in the open field. Of what avail were
the stupendous efforts of the French Republic in 1870 and 1871?
Enormous armies were raised and equipped; the ranks were filled
with brave men; the generals were not unskilful; and yet time after
time they were defeated by the far inferior forces of their
seasoned enemies. Even in America itself, on two occasions, at
Sharpsburg in 1862, and at Gettysburg in 1863, it was admitted by
the North that the Southerners were “within a stone’s throw of
independence.” And yet hundreds of thousands of able-bodied
men had not yet joined the Federal armies. Nor can Spain be quoted as
an instance of an unconquerable nation. Throughout the war with
Napoleon the English armies, not only that under Wellington, but those
at Cadiz, Tarifa, and Gibraltar, afforded solid rallying-points for the
defeated Spaniards, and by a succession of victories inspired the whole
Peninsula with hope and courage.

The patriot with a rifle may be equal, or even superior, man for
man, to the professional soldier; but even patriots must be fed,
and to win victories they must be able to manœuvre, and to manœuvre
they must have leaders. If it could remain stationary, protected by
earthworks, and supplied by railways, with which the enemy did not
interfere, a host of hastily raised levies, if armed and equipped,
might hold its own against even a regular army. But against troops
which can manœuvre earthworks are useless, as the history of
Sherman’s brilliant operations in 1864 conclusively shows. To win
battles and to protect their country armies must be capable of
counter-manœuvre, and it is when troops are set in motion that the
real difficulty of supplying them begins.

If it is nothing else, the War of Secession, with its awful
expenditure of blood and treasure, is a most startling
object-lesson in National Insurance.

[1] Sherman’s _Memoirs,_ vol. i, p. 181.

[2] O.R., vol. ii, p. 324. McDowell’s Report.

[3] O.R., vol. ii, p. 324. McDowell’s Report.

[4] The rifles (muzzle-loaders) used throughout the war by both Federals and Confederates compare as follows with more modern weapons:—

_Sighted to_ _Effective range_ American Needle-gun (1866 and 1870) Chassepôt (1870) Martini-Henry Magazine 1,000 yards 660 yards 1,320 yards 2,100 yards 3,200 yards 250 yards 250 yards 350 yards 400 yards 600 yards

By effective range is meant the distance where, under ordinary conditions, the enemy’s losses are sufficient to stop his advance. The effective range of Brown Bess was about 60 yards. The American rifled artillery was effective, in clear weather, at 2,000 yards, the 12-pounder smooth-bore at 1,600, the 6-pounder at 1,200.

[5] O.R., vol. ii, p. 505.

[6] Hunter and Heintzleman had 13,200 officers and men; Tyler, 12,000. Bee and Barrow had 3200 officers and men; Hampton, 630; Jackson, 3,000.

[7] _Battles and Leaders,_ vol. i, p. 236.

[8] General Kirby Smith being severely wounded, the command of this brigade devolved upon Colonel Elzey.

[9] Report of Captain Woodbury, U.S. Engineers, O.R., vol. ii, p. 334.

[10] General J. B. Fry, _Battles and Leaders,_ vol. i, p. 191.

[11] _McClellan’s Own Story,_ pp. 66, 67.

[12] Both Johnston and Beauregard, in their official reports, did full justice to Jackson and his brigade.

[13] O.R., vol. ii, p. 482.

[14] For the strength of divisions and brigades, see the Note at the end of the chapter.

[15] “Had an attack,” said General Johnston, “been made in force, with double line of battle, such as any major-general in the United States service would now make, we could not have held [the position] for half an hour, for they would have enveloped us on both flanks.”—_Campaigns of the Army of the Potomac,_ W. Swinton, p. 58.

[16] Colonel Williams, of the 5th Virginia, writes that the Stonewall Brigade was a notable exception to the general disintegration, and that it was in good condition for immediate service on the morning after the battle.

[17] _Battles and Leaders,_ vol. i, pp. 122, 123.