Lee kept the papers and said nothing, hoping that the squabble would die.
Promotion of Jackson and Longstreet, and particularly of Jackson, was of greater interest. In a recommendation of Stonewall to President Davis, Lee declared: “My opinion of the merits of General Jackson has been greatly enhanced during this expedition. He is true, honest and brave; has a single eye to the good of the service and spares no exertion to accomplish that object.” Fortunately, this was not a public document. Only in later years did its publication bring puzzled comment as to whether Lee had taken Jackson’s abilities lightly after the Valley campaign and the Seven Days, or was simply being politic in seeking approval of Jackson’s promotion from Davis, a man who had never been able to warm to Old Jack.
After praising Jackson and Longstreet, Lee added, “Next to these two officers, I consider A. P. Hill the best commander with me. He fights his troops well and takes good care of them.”
A few days after he took over the official burden of the big new corps, Jackson had a letter from Anna suggesting that she take steps to publicize his career. His reply spoke volumes.
Don’t trouble yourself about representations that are made of your husband. These things are earthly and transitory. There are real and glorious blessings, I trust, in reserve for us beyond this life. It is best for us to keep our eyes fixed upon the throne of God and the realities of a more glorious existence.… It is gratifying to be beloved and to have our conduct approved by our fellow-men, but this is not worthy to be compared with the glory that is in reservation for us in the presence of our glorified Redeemer.
Let us endeavor to adorn the doctrine of Christ our Savior in all things, knowing that there awaits us “a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory”… It appears to me that it would be better for you not to have anything written about me. Let us follow the teaching of inspiration—“Let another man praise thee, and not thine own mouth: a stranger, and not thine own lips.” I appreciate the loving interest that prompted such a desire in my precious darling.
He ended by telling Anna he could not leave his post, and that it seemed impossible for them to meet in his camp. “If I only had you with me in my evenings, it would be such a comfort!”
Again, he wrote: “And so God, my exceeding great joy, is continually showering His blessings upon me, an unworthy creature.”
Old Jack demonstrated little of this humility in camp. One day Stuart, the tormentor he most enjoyed, set a new tradition for Jackson; he sent von Borcke to him with an elegant dress coat of Confederate gray made by an expensive Richmond tailor. The German found Old Jack in his weather-beaten coat:
“When … I produced General Stuart’s present, in all its magnificence of gilt buttons and sheeny facings and gold lace I was heartily amused at the modest confusion with which the hero of many battles regarded the fine uniform … scarcely daring to touch it, and at the quiet way in which, at last, he folded it up carefully, and deposited it in his portmanteau, saying to me, ‘Give Stuart my best thanks my dear Major—the coat is much too handsome for me, but I shall take the best care of it, and shall prize it highly as a souvenir. Now let us have some dinner.’
“But I protested energetically against this summary disposition of the matter of the coat, deeming my mission, indeed, but half executed, and remarked that Stuart would certainly ask me how the uniform fitted its owner, and that I should, therefore, take it as a personal favor if he would put it on.
“To this he readily assented with a smile, and having donned the garment, he escorted me outside the tent to the table where dinner had been served in the open air. The whole of his staff were in perfect ecstasy at their chief’s brilliant appearance, and the old Negro servant, who was bearing the roast turkey from the fire to the board, stopped in mid-career with a most bewildered expression, and gazed in wonderment at his master as if he had been transfigured before him.
“Meanwhile, the rumor of the change ran like electricity through the neighboring camps, and the soldiers came running by hundreds to the spot, desirous of seeing their beloved Stonewall in his new attire; and the first wearing of a fresh robe by Louis XIV, at whose morning toilet all the world was accustomed to assemble, never created half the sensation at Versailles that was made in the woods of Virginia by the investment of Jackson in his new regulation uniform.”
Stuart often visited Jackson from his luxurious quarters at The Bower, home of the Stephen Dandridge family, where he held court with Sweeny and his banjo, Mulatto Bob and his bones, a fiddle player, and assorted gay young women of the region. Once during the time of rest, Stuart and about six hundred of his troopers went on a second dash around the army of General McClellan (whose command was soon to be given to Ambrose Burnside), and when the dashing horseman returned, dragging a few prisoners and carrying information for Lee, Jackson greeted him with what he thought a paralyzing jest:
“Howdy do, General. Get off and tell us about your trip. They tell me that from the time you crossed the Potomac until you got back again you didn’t sing a song or crack a joke, but that as soon as you got on Virginia soil you began to whistle ‘Home, Sweet Home.’”
One night soon after, Jackson and Stuart spent an uncomfortable night together. Stuart arrived late in camp, when everyone was asleep, and lay down beside Jackson. In the cold night, Stuart pulled off Jackson’s blanket. He awoke to find himself in the middle of Old Jack’s cot, still with his sword and spurs on. When he greeted Jackson on the outside, he got a thin drawling reply.
“Stuart, I’m always glad to see you come. You might choose better hours sometimes, but I’m always glad to have you. But General”—Jackson stooped and rubbed his legs in mock pain—“you must not get into my bed with your boots and spurs on and ride me around like a cavalry horse all night.”
Jackson had planned a visit to Winchester for some time, and in November made the twelve-mile ride to see his old friends there. Mrs. Graham, the wife of the minister, wrote to Anna: “The General’s little visit to us was a perfect sunbeam. I never saw him look so fat and hearty, and he was as bright and happy as possible. He spent two evenings with us … I don’t remember ever experiencing more intense happiness than during that visit; and when I saw our dear General in his old place at the table, I could have screamed with delight.”
He paid the Grahams one more visit: “He is looking in such perfect health—far handsomer than I ever saw him—and is in such fine spirits, seemed so unreserved … that we did enjoy him to the full.… He certainly has had enough adulation to spoil him, but it seems not to affect or harm him at all. He is the same humble, dependent Christian … we sat and talked cosily, and the evening was concluded by bowing before the family altar again.… Now, was not this a charming evening, and don’t you wish you had been here?”
During one evening in Winchester, Jackson dined at the home of Dr. Hugh McGuire, father of his medical director. Betty McGuire, the fourteen-year-old daughter of the house, persuaded Jackson to go into the town and pose for photographs, though he insisted upon stopping en route for a haircut. Betty led him to a photographer’s gallery (it is uncertain whether it was Rontzahn’s or Lupton’s) and literally forced him before the camera.
The photographer settled him in a chair but, as he prepared the camera, noted that Jackson’s coat was untidy.
“One of your buttons is off, General.”
“Hm. Yes. And here it is.” He pulled a tarnished button from a pocket. “Do you have needle and thread?”
The cameraman passed the articles to him, and Jackson sat soberly, replacing the button without troubling to remove his coat. The ineptness of his handiwork was to be noticeable in the photograph. Several poses were taken, but the one destined to endure was a full-face picture, with the hint of a smile on the tiny lips and a glittering of strong light in the eyes.
Old Jack went to one of the revival meetings in camp, accompanied by Kyd Douglas. A runner hurried ahead of them, warning troops that Stonewall was coming. Candles went out
in hundreds of tents at his approach, as card players concealed their games. After the service, Jackson and Douglas walked back to headquarters under a full moon. Old Jack halted.
“Are you acquainted with the Man in the Moon?”
Douglas confessed his inability to picture that phenomenon and Jackson attempted to show him with his fingers, in vain. When they reached their tents and were retiring, a vast yell broke forth from the camp, one of the Rebel Yells often raised in the Stonewall Brigade. It swept through the army. Jackson leaned on a fence, listening. When the shouts faded, he went into his tent, speaking as if powerfully moved, “That’s the sweetest music I ever heard.”
The two were soon parted from such intimate relations. Douglas’s comrades from his old B Company, Second Virginia, asked him to take command of a unit reduced to nineteen men. He asked Jackson’s advice but was gently told to make his own decision. Douglas went back into the ranks, though Jackson agreed to hold open a place for him if he wanted to return.
Jackson had for some time expected news of importance from Anna—a baby. He was so secretive about it that none of his staff knew of the coming event and were not to be told for long afterward. At last, on November twenty-third, Anna gave birth to a daughter. Her sister, Mrs. Harriet Irwin, notified Jackson from the home in Charlotte, North Carolina, writing as if the child herself held the pen:
My Own Dear Father—… I know that you are rejoiced to hear of my coming, and I hope that God has sent me to radiate your pathway through life. I am a very tiny little thing. I weigh only eight and a half pounds, and Aunt Harriet says I am the express image of my darling papa … and this greatly delights my mother. My aunts both say that I am a little beauty. My hair is dark and long, my eyes are blue, my nose straight just like papa’s, and my complexion not at all red like most young ladies of my age, but a beautiful blending of the lily and the rose.…
I was born on Sunday, just after the morning services at your church.… Your dear little wee Daughter.
Jackson replied on December fourth:
Oh! How thankful I am to our kind Heavenly Father for having spared my precious wife and given us a little daughter!… Now don’t exert yourself to write to me, for to know that you were taxing yourself to write would give me more pain than the letter would pleasure, so you must not do it. But you must love your esposo in the meantime.
I expect you are just made up now with that baby. Don’t you wish your husband wouldn’t claim any part of it, but let you have sole ownership? Don’t you regard it as the most precious little treasure in the world? Do not spoil it, and don’t let anybody tease it. Don’t permit it to have a bad temper. How I would love to see the darling little thing! Give her many kisses for her father.
A day or so later: “Give the baby-daughter a shower of kisses from her father, and tell her that he loves her better than all the baby-boys in the world, and more than all the other babies in the world.”
He wrote to Mrs. Irwin in gratitude, ending, “I fear I am not grateful enough for unnumbered blessings.… I trust God will answer the prayers offered for peace.… Not much comfort is to be expected until this cruel war terminates. I haven’t seen my wife since last March, and, never having seen my child, you can imagine with what interest I look to North Carolina.”
Now Jackson was forced to look north of the Rappahannock, where the big columns of the Federals were moving, onto Stafford Heights opposite Fredericksburg. General Burnside, abandoning earlier concentrations, seemed ready to challenge Lee’s army here on the river and force his way to Richmond. His guns were placed all over the hills, dominating the town. The Confederates chose even more favorable ground, a series of heights overlooking the river bottoms which, when fortified, would be impregnable to attack.
As December wore on, assault loomed as more probable, with stirrings over the river. One afternoon, as his lines quietly watched the far fires of the enemy, Jackson lay behind a battery of artillery, wrapped in a cloak and reading a Bible. A strange chaplain passed and asked, “Of what regiment are you chaplain?” He could scarcely be brought to believe that the pious Bible student was Stonewall Jackson.
On December tenth, a day which was to be the last of peace for a time, Jackson wrote Anna: “This morning I received a charming letter from my darling little daughter, Julia [he had named her for his mother, when Anna offered the opportunity]. Do not set your affections upon her, except as a gift from God. If she absorbs too much of our hearts, God may remove her from us.”
That night, music swept the cold, moist fields above the river. In the Confederate camp, men sang old songs, often returning to “Annie Laurie.” On the river front a fine Federal band blared patriotic tunes, and Rebel pickets called through the dark: “Now give us some of ours, and there rolled up the strains of “Dixie,” and “Bonnie Blue Flag.”
Jackson was ready for the campaign, if it was to come. As one last detail, his guns were ready. He had engaged in a strange controversy over them, jealously defending them from the grasp of D. H. Hill, when it was suggested that five of Old Jack’s surplus Napoleons be transferred to his brother-in-law.
Stonewall wrote to Lee in restrained anger, guarding his battle spoils: “I hope that none of the guns which belonged to the Army of The Valley, before it became part of the Army of Northern Virginia … will be taken from it.”
He had won; and tonight, on the hills above the singing boys, the brass barrels sweated in the fog, waiting.
20
MASSACRE IN DECEMBER
The night of December 10, 1862, was bitter cold. Fogs rolled up from the river. There was half-inch ice at the river’s edge.
Moonrise was at eleven forty-one, but the puny sliver it brought forth was rarely visible in the mists and cast no light. Fires died in the hill trenches on either side of the Rappahannock, and the voice of the river grew louder.
There was no longer even the fugitive laughter of early evening which had rolled from the island where men of both armies had gone to drink and gamble in a mingling of enemies.
It was hours since the shivering Confederate water-front pickets had heard the last bantering call from Yankees on the north bank, just two hundred yards over the water.
Now there was another call. The voice of a woman shrilled:
“Hellloooo … Johnny Reb!… Are … you … there?”
An answering whoop echoed.
“Yanks … cooooking … big … rations … today … March … tomorrow!… Yanks … moving … Do you … hear … meeeeee?”
The pickets listened in silence, but there was only the surging of tidal water, and the rising wind cuffing the alders, rattling the reeds like bones. A picket slipped back to company headquarters. Before daylight it was a story they told in the Rebel trenches, and men made their profane speculations about the daring woman on the north bank and the coming of the Union army. The tale passed along the breastworks on the crescent of hills where Lee’s army waited.
By two o’clock, at any rate, it was certain that fighting was near. Pickets in the Fredericksburg streets glimpsed dim figures opposite and heard crashing timbers and the ring of tools. Word went up from the Mississippi brigade holding the town: The Yanks were putting out pontoon bridges. General McLaws was shaken from sleep at four thirty, and sent out a messenger. Lee left his bed and rode toward the lines.
At four forty-five two cannon broke the stillness—the signal that the Yankees were coming. Riflemen were ready in Fredericksburg but withheld their fire. There were still civilians to be evacuated from the town. Major Robert Stiles saw them:
“I never saw a more pitiful procession than they made trudging through the deep snow as the hour drew near. I saw little children tugging along with their doll babies, holding their feet up carefully above the snow, and women so old and feeble that they could carry nothing and could barely hobble themselves. There were women carrying a baby in one arm and its bottle, clothes and covering in the other. Some had a Bible and a toothbrush in one hand, a picked chicken
and a bag of flour in the other. Most of them had to cross a creek swollen with winter rains.… We took the battery horses down and ferried them over.… Where they were going we could not tell.”
General Burnside served notice that he would bombard the town despite the presence of some civilians who remained, because it was occupied by soldiers. At midmorning the Federal guns burst out. The shells tore the town to pieces, street by street. It was a miracle that even small bodies of troops lived through the shelling. Three Union bridges were now under way, but progress was slow. Confederate snipers harried the workmen.
Lee’s anger flashed at the shelling of the town. “These people delight to destroy the weak and those who can make no defense. It just suits them!”
He got a message to match his mood from General William Barksdale, commanding the Mississippi boys in the town: “Tell General Lee that if he wants a bridge of dead Yankees, I can furnish him with one.” Barksdale thought he might try to fight some of the town’s raging fires with his troops and asked permission of General Longstreet, who replied, “You have enough to do to watch the Yankees.”
The Federals at last got over the stream by flinging regiments across in boats and losing many men, but opening a rapidly expanding bridgehead on the south bank of the river.
The fog lifted, but a screening woodland protected the advanced Federal troops from Lee’s guns. The Yankees stormed into Fredericksburg, and the first infantrymen went mad. Soldiers cavorted in women’s underwear from the abandoned houses. They dragged pianos into the streets and watered horses in them. One man stole thousands of canceled checks from an express office, under the impression he had a fortune in his arms. Francis Edwin Pierce, in the ranks of the invaders, was one who watched the goings on:
“Boys came into our place loaded with silver pitchers, silver spoons, silver lamps and castors … Great three story brick houses magnificently furnished were broken into … Splendid alabaster vases and pieces of statuary were thrown at 6 and 700 dollar mirrors. Closets of the very finest china … smashed onto the floor and stamped to pieces. Finest cut glass ware goblets were hurled at nice plate glass windows, beautifully embroidered curtains torn down, rosewood pianos piled in the street and burned, or soldiers would get on top of them and dance and kick the keyboard and internal machinery all to pieces … wine cellars broken into and the soldiers drinking all they could and then opening the faucets and let the rest run out—boys go to a barrel of flour and take a pailful and use enough to make a batch of pancakes and then pour the rest in the street—everything turned upside down. The soldiers seemed to delight in destroying everything. Libraries worth thousands … thrown on the floor and in the streets.… It was so throughout the city, and from its appearance very many wealthy families must have inhabited it.”
They Called Him Stonewall Page 37