Lee's Lieutenants

by Douglas Southall Freeman

  In the employment of these officers and of their commands, did Jackson display in the Valley campaign any eminent tactical ability? That is the fourth question to be answered. In his first independent battle, that of Kernstown, his aim was to demonstrate on his right, hold on the center, and, on his left, turn the enemy’s flank. The action at McDowell was, tactically, simple repulse and pursuit. At Front Royal, Jackson’s superiority of force was so overwhelming that his principal task was expediting the chase. In the Battle of Winchester he advanced his center and then turned the Federal flank as he vainly had attempted to do at Kernstown. At Cross Keys, Ewell’s position was so strong and the Federal advance so feeble that the affair was little more than a skirmish. Finally, at Port Republic, Jackson’s ambition to achieve a double victory led him to attack before he had sufficient force on the field. When he discovered the strength of the Federal position on the coaling, he repeated his flank tactics and, by Taylor’s successful attack, drove the enemy northward. This was, on Jackson’s part, a poorly managed battle. To lose approximately 800 men in driving an enemy who had 3,000 muskets, when Jackson himself had at least 8,000 troops close at hand, was not a distinguished achievement.

  Taken as a whole, Jackson’s infantry tactics in the Valley campaign have to be written down as commonplace. Tactically, the battles were lifted above the level of mediocrity by nothing save an intelligent effort to coordinate the three arms of the service. That effort did not always succeed, yet Jackson cannot be denied credit for a sound theory of coordination. At a time when many other commanders were fumbling with their artillery and using their cavalry for little more than outpost duty, he was striving to weld all three arms into an effective machine.

  Against these negatives must be set three superior qualities which, though perhaps not discernible at the moment or even developed, were the marks of a great captain. The first of these was Jackson’s quick and sure sense of position. For military geography in its larger aspects, for fashioning an accurate mental picture of ground he had not seen, Jackson had shown no special aptitude. His insistent demand for maps may have indicated a consciousness of special personal need. Once Jackson learned the geography of an area, his interpretation of it was strategical; and when he came to a field of battle, his sense of position was sure, unhesitating, and quickly displayed. The miserable night march of May 24 he imposed on exhausted troops because he knew the ground around Winchester and determined that Banks should not be allowed to hold the key ridge there. After the battle opened, one glance at the Federal column moving for the stone wall on his left sufficed: That position must be taken immediately. At Port Republic, he saw swiftly how the Lewiston coal hearth could be turned.

  Jackson demonstrated, secondly, a pronounced strategic sense, the components of which were secrecy and consequent surprise, superiority of force, and sound logistics. The interworking of the three was fascinating. First of all, he reasoned that his adversaries must not know what he intended to do. To make sure his opponents did not discover his plans, nobody must be aware of them. His lieutenants might grumble that Jackson was secretive, but the results justified the precautions. Never did he begin a march until he had stopped, as far as practicable, all communications between his lines and those of the Federals. When he started for Front Royal on May 21, Ewell was the only one beside himself who knew the objective. Jackson’s plan of striking Shields and Frémont the same day was not revealed until the night before. Even Winder did not know whither he was bound on the morning of June 9 until after his van had forded South River.

  Secrecy made surprise possible. In capitalizing surprise, Jackson sought always to employ superior force. Nothing suggested he relied primarily on the much-vaunted individual superiority of the Southern soldier, though he believed his men much the better fighters. The superiority Jackson sought always was that of numbers. When he took the offensive, it was in the determination that he would throw against Banks every man he could bring up. In the last phase of the operations, his maneuvers were designed, of course, to prevent the junction of Frémont and Shields in order that he might assail them separately with numbers they could not resist.

  In order to strike with more men than his adversary could assemble to oppose him, Jackson relied in large part on logistics. His appreciation of swift, well-timed movement was shown before the campaign opened. His regulations for the march were familiar in content but novel in rigid application. “Close up, men, close up” was almost the epitome of his system. On June 1, when Winder had to press his men to the absolute limit in order to reach Strasburg, the 2nd Virginia made thirty-six miles; the other regiments probably averaged thirty. What once had been done by his men, under immense strain, Jackson regarded as attainable again. Although on his later marches he seldom had a macadamized Valley Pike, he always marched as if the worst road presented no more difficulties than did the thoroughfare along the Shenandoah.

  This soldierly combination of secrecy, superiority of force, and excellent logistics contributed to the third notable characteristic of the campaign, namely, the employment of the initiative in such a fashion as to strip his adversary of alternatives. On unhappy May 24 it was impossible for Jackson to limit Banks to a single course that could be foreseen and countered. At every other stage of the campaign, Jackson’s strategic system so completely gave him the initiative that he could impose his will and dictate his opponent’s action. Jackson left Banks no alternative but to retreat and then, closely pursued, to give battle at Winchester. Even after the advantage shifted and Jackson himself had to retreat, he interposed where he could compel Frémont to attack. Shields’s choice, which was fight or run, was forced upon him. In the battle at Port Republic on June 9, Jackson left Frémont as helpless as if the action had been a hundred miles away. Jackson may have known—as he subsequently demonstrated—that he was not particularly apt in guessing what his antagonist would do. He carried the problem beyond the realm of guesswork to leave his opponent only one course of action, the course for which he was already prepared.

  For these three reasons—judgment of ground, a sound balance of strategy, and the employment of that strategy to impose his will on his adversary—the Valley campaign of Stonewall Jackson marked him as a soldier of the highest promise.

  With a force that never had exceeded, if indeed it reached, 17,000 men of all arms, he had cleared the enemy from the greater part of the Shenandoah. What was far more important, he had used this small force so effectively that he forced President Lincoln to change the entire plan for the capture of Richmond. At a time when the junction of McDowell with McClellan would have rendered the defense of the capital almost hopeless, Jackson temporarily had paralyzed the advance of close to 40,000 Federal troops. Rarely in war had so few infantry achieved such dazzling strategic results.

  Stonewalls victories had come, moreover, when they inspired a discouraged Confederacy. Press and people did not know that the larger strategic plan was Lee’s, not Jackson’s. What the South saw of the outcome was enough. Through a long and losing defensive, the Confederacy had seen its leaders killed and its territory overrun. Albert Sidney Johnston was dead; Beauregard’s star was low in the West; Joe Johnston lay wounded in Richmond after a battle that many knew to have been mismanaged; Lee was in the public eye an administrator, an engineer, not a field commander. None of these had undertaken the offensive for which editors and politicians had been pleading until Jackson had struck. Now men’s eyes lighted up when they mentioned him. He was a mystery, a phenomenon, perhaps a genius; he was the living vindication of the argument for the offensive; he was the hope of the South.

  So thought the men who crowded the trains that were rumbling down the Virginia Central toward Richmond. Jackson had marched them till their legs ached; Jackson had shown them no mercy; but Jackson had won battles! The soldiers did not cease to regard him as crazy, but they looked at him with wondering eye. They called him “Old Jack” in a strange, affectionate awe. His ranking officers were less warm toward him. In
colder estimation and larger knowledge of what had been done and what omitted, most of his brigadiers thought him, above all, lucky. The night before the army started for Richmond, four of Jackson’s general officers were talking of the campaign. Their conclusion a staff man thus reported: “… all were of the opinion that Jackson could not continue to take such risks without at some time meeting with a great disaster.”46

  Some of these officers were winning the right to speak with a measure of authority. Winder had been conspicuous for sound judgment and swift, courageous leading. His advancement seemed certain, though Stonewall himself made no move to procure the nomination of another major general. Taylor’record in the campaign fully equaled Winders. The performances of Trimble and Elzey at Cross Keys spoke for themselves. For both the generous Ewell had high praise in his report. Of Elzey he said: “I availed myself frequently during the action of that officer’s counsel, profiting largely by his known military skill and judgment.”47

  He who thus bestowed praise was of all Jackson’s subordinates the man who most deserved it. Next to Jackson himself, Ewell stood out. Every act of Dick Ewell’s in the campaign had been at the standard of a competent, alert, and courageous lieutenant. Nor was Ewell above acknowledging his previous errors in appraising his comrades in arms. The night after Port Republic he had made the amende honorable in his piping voice. He reminded cavalryman Thomas Munford of a conversation of theirs one day at Conrad’s Store. “I take it all back,” said Ewell, “and will never prejudge another man. Old Jackson is no fool; he knows how to keep his own counsel, and does curious things; but he has method in his madness; he has disappointed me entirely.”48

  “Disappointed me entirely”… those were terms of high praise as Ewell jestingly used them. But as Richmond whispered “Jacksons coming” and waited expectantly for his lightning attack to flash, there was something ominous in Ewell’s choice of the word “disappointed.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Struggle for Richmond

  1

  JACKSON MARCHES TO A CONFUSING FIELD

  Jackson had done his utmost to keep his destination a complete secret. When Whiting had ridden to Port Republic and asked for orders, Jackson merely told him to go back to Staunton—twenty miles!—where instructions would be sent him the next day. Whiting had been furious. “I believe,” he stormed, “he hasn’t any more sense than my horse!” Whiting found orders there to retrace his steps to Gordonsville, and he broke out: “Didn’t I tell you he was a fool, and doesn’t this prove it? Why, I just came through Gordonsville day before yesterday!”

  Chief of staff Dabney himself had not been informed of the general’s plan until the head of the column reached Mechum River. Then Jackson took the major into a room in the hotel, locked the door, and explained that he intended to go to Richmond and that Dabney must march the army down the Virginia Central toward that city. Thereupon Jackson boarded the train and started eastward. “Here, now,” Dick Ewell complained bitterly, “the general has gone off on the railroad without intrusting to me, his senior major general, any order, or any hint whither we are going.”1

  Because the Virginia Central had been cut by the destruction of the long bridge over the South Anna River, Jackson had at his disposal only the rolling stock that chanced to be west of the stream when Federal raiders burned the crossing. Less than 200 small cars, most of them for freight, were available and congestion on the line was serious. The wagons, the artillery, and the cavalrymen had to make the best of the bad roads they traversed. Carelessness and inefficiency were frequent, and when Major Dabney finally caught up with Jackson at Gordonsville he was indignant. “Well, yes, these things are bad, of course, and my corps is not disciplined as I wish,” Jackson admitted, “but in the urgency of the campaign I have not had time to straighten out such people. My object now must be to get the corps at the place at the time for striking the blow….”2

  Jackson might have added that already he was losing time in accomplishing that object. Both he and much of his command had to wait at Gordonsville all of June 21 because of a rumor that a Federal force was advancing from the Rapidan. In the ranks arrival at Gordonsville fanned anew curiosity concerning their objective. From Gordonsville led the railway and the road to Rapidan, to Culpeper, and to Manassas: Did Jackson intend to follow that route and launch a movement against Washington? Was the journey to continue down the Virginia Central till within marching distance of Fredericksburg? Richmond often was ruled out as a possible objective, on the ground that there would have been no sense in dispatching Whiting to the Valley if the army were going to Richmond.3

  Sunday morning, June 22, found Jackson at Fredericks Hall, twenty-six miles by rail east of Gordonsville. To the general it seemed proper that he and the troops remain where they were until the Sabbath was ended. He intended to apply, when circumstances permitted, the principle he had explained to Major Dabney: “The Sabbath is written in the constitution of man and horses as really as in the Bible: I can march my men farther in a week, marching six days and resting the seventh, and get through with my men and horses in better condition than if I marched them all seven days.” He spent a quiet, meditative Sunday at Nathaniel Harris’s home and attended religious service in Hood’s brigade. That evening, when Mrs. Harris asked the general when he wished breakfast the next morning, he told her to have the meal at her usual time and to call him when it was ready. By that hour he and Major Harman and two guides were far on the way to Richmond.4

  Hard riding for fifty-two miles brought Jackson wearily in fourteen hours to Lee’s headquarters at High Meadows, the little home of the Dabb family, at the rear of the Confederate lines on the Nine Mile Road. He recognized Harvey Hill who ere long rode up the lane. Soon came also Longstreet and A. P Hill to discuss with Jackson and the commanding general the plan for the battle. Often at Manassas Jackson had been with Longstreet; with D. H. Hill he had many ties, the closest being the fact that they were married to sisters. Jackson and Lee had not seen each other for months; Jackson and A. P. Hill had not met since Hill had become a general. Magruder and Huger were not present. Lee’s only reference to their absence was the indirect one that he had chosen for the operation the divisions whose commanders sat with him.

  Lee briefly explained his plan, which was shaped by the fact that McClellan’s army was astride the Chickahominy on a line that ran from northwest to southeast. If the right flank, north of the river, could be turned and driven, two results could be expected: First, McClellan’s line of rail supply with White House on the Pamunkey could be threatened and perhaps broken. Second, if McClellan’s right were hurled back, his divisions south of the river would be compelled to retreat or to come out of their entrenchments and give battle. Excusing himself to transact some army business, Lee left his subordinates to agree on the details.

  General line of Jackson’s advance from the Shenandoah Valley to the Richmond front, June 1862.

  The four generals discussed first how the attack should be made. Their conclusion was that Jackson should proceed from Fredericks Hall to southeast of Ashland. Early on the morning of the day he passed Ashland, he was to notify General Branch, stationed at Half Sink on the Chickahominy and in liaison between Jackson and A. P. Hill. Branch would start south on the road paralleling the Chickahominy and east of it; Jackson was to be on the next road to the east, the second from the river. A. P. Hill would cross the Chickahominy at Meadow Bridge and proceed southeast to Mechanicsville, near which the Federal right flank was supposed to rest. The two columns, on different roads, were to make for Old Cold Harbor, whence the way was open to McClellan’s line of supply. Longstreet was to cross the Chickahominy at Mechanicsville Bridge, which the march of Jackson and A. P. Hill would clear of the enemy, and support the latter; by the same route D. H. Hill was to support Jackson. All this was clear to the officers who had been around Richmond long enough to understand directions and routes. The plan readily may have been confusing to Jackson, who was not quick to grasp the geography of co
untry he had not seen.

  If the details were acceptable, when should the attack be delivered? Inasmuch as the other divisions were within striking distance, the answer depended on Jackson. After some debate, it was agreed the battle could be opened on June 26. Soon thereafter Lee re-entered the room. His lieutenants told him of their decisions, which he approved. Written orders, he said, would be dispatched to each of them. About nightfall the conference adjourned.5

  Jackson left promptly and spent a second long and sleepless night on the road. When he reached his army during the morning of June 24 he found conditions there far from satisfactory; his faith in the versatility of ministers had not been vindicated in the case of Dr. Dabney. Not only was Dabney green at the work of directing a march, but he had been stricken with a violent intestinal malady. The column was extended over many miles of muddy roads, and prudence dictated a halt that day until it could be closed up. After two long nights in the saddle, Jackson did not possess his normal energy and probably failed to realize that he lacked drive and grasp of the situation; nothing indicates he regarded the delay as serious.6

  Late that night a courier arrived from Lee’s headquarters with the text of the order for the impending battle. It somewhat changed Jackson’s role. He was directed to proceed on the twenty-fifth from Ashland and encamp for the night “at some convenient point west of the Central Railroad.” Thence, at 3:00 A.M. on June 26, he was to begin his march and to communicate with Branch as previously understood. But, instead of following the second road east of the Chickahominy to the rear of Mechanicsville, he was to move farther to the east by a longer march. Then, en échelon with the divisions that were by that time to have crossed the Chickahominy, he was to turn at Beaver Dam Creek and to proceed, as agreed at the conference on the twenty-third, toward Old Cold Harbor.