Neither the steadiness of the march nor the absence of any new threat led Jackson to relax. “Permit no straggling!” was his continued exhortation or, terser still, “Press on, press on!” Only one circumstance showed that he was satisfied with the advance: He talked somewhat freely. Conversing about the Federals and their reported great strength, Old Jack remarked in his quiet, half-muffled voice: “I hear it said that General Hooker has more men than he can handle. I should like to have half as many more men as I have today, and I should hurl him in the river!”19
By 1:00 P.M., after the men had eaten and rested briefly, the advance became more exciting. Not far ahead was the Orange Plank Road. Was it guarded? The 2nd Virginia cavalry had turned eastward into that road. Did the enemy’s flank rest there? Would battle be joined there?
Down the Brock Road toward the head of the column galloped Fitz Lee to meet Jackson. “General,” he said, “if you will ride with me, halting your column here, out of sight, I will show you the enemy’s right.” Into the Plank Road rode Jackson and the cavalryman, followed by a single courier. Fitz turned off to the north to follow a path through the woods, then climbed a hill to a cleared crest. There he drew rein and, with a broad gesture, bade Jackson see for himself. Spread out, near enough for the movement of individuals to be observed, were long lines of Federals. Arms were stacked. The men were at ease. The smoke of campfires already was rising. A few cannon were in position; some earthworks had been thrown up, but the enemy manifestly was not expecting attack.
Eagerly, carefully, Jackson measured the Federal line, trying to find exactly where, in the forest to his left, the right flank might be. On the left was open ground around a farmhouse near the Turnpike. Talley’s farm this was. Half a mile eastward was another farm-clearing, with some earth-works facing southward. This place was Melzi Chancellor’s. All the while Fitz Lee was talking, pointing out his observations. Jackson made no answer and scarcely seemed to regard what the cavalryman was saying. “In the air” the flank was, precisely as the Confederates had hoped, and vulnerable; but where stood the flank guards? How much farther must the Second Corps proceed before it would be beyond the Federal right?
Not five minutes after he had reached the hilltop, Jackson had seen enough to justify decision. Abruptly he turned to the courier. His words snapped like a drover’s whip: “Tell General Rodes to move across the old Plank Road, halt when he gets to the old Turnpike, and I will join him there.” The man touched his horse and rode off. Jackson’s eye swept once more the wide are before him and then, without a word to Lee, he started down the hill. Said Fitz Lee afterward, in amusing candor: “I expected to be told I had made a valuable personal reconnaissance—saving the lives of many soldiers, and that Jackson was indebted to me to that amount at least.”20
Was Rodes moving northward to the intersection of the Turnpike? He was—rapidly. A brigade must be sent to guard the Plank Road eastward; if this was secured and the Confederate cavalry was vigilant, the deployment of Jackson’s infantry could be masked. Send Paxton, then, with the Stonewall Brigade. As for the Confederate left, Munford of the 2nd Virginia cavalry was instructed to “seize the Ely’s Ford Road and hold it and keep me posted on that flank.” Now to notify the commanding general! Timing his dispatch “Near 3 P.M.,” he scrawled: “The enemy has made a stand at Chancellor’s which is about 2 miles from Chancellorsville. I hope as soon as practicable to attack. I trust that an ever kind Providence will bless us with great success.” In a postscript he added: “The leading division is up & the next two appear to be well closed.”21
Rodes’s brigades tramped northward through the brilliant May sunshine, and when they reached the Turnpike they headed eastward. Unop-posed, unobserved even, Rodes led them almost a mile to a long, low ridge. His skirmishers under Major Eugene Blackford were advanced 400 yards. The division quietly was deployed. Jackson’s instructions to Rodes were that when the bugles sounded the advance, the whole line was to sweep forward. The road was to be the guide. Talley’s farm was the first objective. If it found the Federals strong at Melzi Chancellor’s, the division was to seek shelter until the Confederate artillery got into action. Otherwise the line was to pursue the enemy as far as he could be driven.
Talley’s and Melzi Chancellor farms, battleground of Chancellorsville.
While Rodes was instructing his brigadiers, Colston was forming Trimble’s division. Colston’s orders were to follow Rodes and support him. A commander in the front line who needed help would send back to the officer of the second line, who would move up without waiting to refer the call to his division chief. Heth and Pender of Hill’s division were placed on the left of the road as a third line. Lane and McGowen, in column, were instructed to move forward by the flank, on the Turnpike, as the lines advanced.22
About this time Jackson learned that Archer and Thomas had turned back to repulse an attack on the wagon train. Their absence would not be fatal to the plan. In the three lines were ten brigades. Jim Lane and Sam McGowan would be a reserve. Frank Paxton could advance the Stonewall Brigade when his front was cleared. Moorman’s battery of the horse artillery was waiting on the Turnpike, and other batteries would come up quickly. The Federals still had given no evidence that they even dimly apprehended danger. Every command that could be glimpsed from any lookout seemed to have concluded that the day would end in a good supper by the campfire, a leisured smoke, gossip and banter, and then the warmth of a blanket and the quiet companionship of the stars.
Amid the underbrush and in the thick woods the Confederate deployment was slow. Five o’clock it was now. By 7:30 darkness would fall. What was done that afternoon had to be done with the speed and force of a hurricane. Jackson was in the high excitement of conflict. Under his cap brim his eyes were blazing. Robert Rodes, as full of fight as Jackson, rode up and drew rein. With a bugler, Major Blackford followed presently to report the skirmish line waiting to go forward. Jackson could look left and right to veteran regiments. With these troops ready, their morale perfect and their ears straining for the first notes of the advance, what man worthy of the name of leader would fail that day to destroy the Amelekites? From his pocket Jackson took his watch and opened it. The hands were at 5:15. “Are you ready, General Rodes?” the commander asked.
“Yes, sir!” answered Rodes decisively.
“You can go forward then,” Jackson said in even tones.23
Rodes with his long blond mustache and his penetrating blue eyes looked as if he were Wotan still young. A glance and a nod to Blackford were all the orders he need give. Through the forest rang the notes that set every soldier’s heart to racing. To right and left from each brigade sounded the advance. Now—forward all and no stop, no pause! The gray line crashed through the woods. Ahead, terrorized, dashed deer and rabbits. Challenging shots came presently from the Federals, next some pretense of a volley, a few cannon shots. Instantly, as excited graycoats realized that they had flushed the enemy, they raised the rebel yell. It rose and swelled and echoed through the forest. Soon a break was visible in the Federal front. It widened. Within ten minutes the Federals were being driven back toward Talley’s.
Vigorously Doles pursued on the right center. North of the road the other brigades pressed on. Trimble’s men were on their heels. Only on the extreme right did the line lag. There, in confusion, Colquitt thought his right was threatened. In defiance of orders he halted. That blocked Ramseur and immobilized the Stonewall Brigade on the Plank Road. Furious, Dodson Ramseur reconnoitered and found nothing. To Colquitt he crashed his way: Go on, continue the advance; leave to us any Federal forces on the flank! Colquitt caught his breath and, at length, ordered his brigade to push on. Few who made the assault knew the right was lagging and that the three divisions had in the column of attack no more than half their strength. Old Jack’s boys were fighting, not ciphering!24
Now for the pursuit to Melzi Chancellor’s. Boldly, immediately, Rodes pressed on. With a fiendish yell that froze blood in the gathering twilight,
the Second Corps stormed up the elevation. A wild volley was all the resistance encountered. As Rodes’s brigadiers straightened their line for the next onslaught, Trimble’s troops came rolling into the works behind them. With two lines now united and the enemy on the run, Rodes hurriedly prepared to push on toward Chancellorsville.
Deployment for Jackson’s attack against the XI Corps flank, May 2, 1863.
Close to the front Jackson had ridden; again and again he shouted, “Press on, press on!” The ecstasy of conflict appeared to have seized him. Never had he been so transformed—never in such sure reliance upon the God of Battle. Every time the wild yell of victory swept across the fields or through the wood, he would lift his head and give thanks. Said Jackson’s principal companion on the advance, “I have never seen him so well pleased with the progress and results of a fight.”
Beyond Melzi Chancellor’s, which was on open ground, the advance units entered a thick wood where, in an instant, they seemed to pass from twilight to night. That changed everything. The right of the line became entangled in an abatis. Officers lost touch with their men. To Jackson came a report from Rodes that he had been compelled to call a halt but he begged the general to throw Hill ahead of him so that the original first line could re-form. Powell Hill was anticipating Rodes’s wishes. Pender was in support of Colston’s left; Heth’s men were directly behind J. R. Jones’s brigade. McGowan and Lane had their brigades in the road, behind the third line. The full moon was rising, as yet a dim red orb through the low-hanging smoke. A kindly Providence seemed to be lifting that lantern in the sky to light the Confederacy on its way to independence.
Jackson resolved that Hill should deploy and drive the enemy back to Chancellorsville. Perhaps more could be done. It might be possible to get between the Federals and United States Ford, to force the Federals to attack him there—and to slaughter them. Jackson touched his horse to ride still nearer to the front and see for himself what the field promised. Hill overtook him and Jackson turned abruptly. His order to his lieutenant sounded like picket fire: “Press them! Cut them off from the United States Ford, Hill! Press them!”25
3
A NIGHT IN THE WILDERNESS
Jackson, tense and resolute, resumed his ride eastward along the Plank Road.26 He drew rein by an old schoolhouse and ascertained from officers there the little they knew of conditions ahead. With a touch of the heel he set Little Sorrel toward the front again, riding through shadows and the uncertain light of a moon still low in the east. He passed Heth’s brigade and then Lane’s. In the belief that he could organize quickly a night attack, he sent one staff officer after another to assist in the deployment. The spirit of his speech, the sharpness of his commands, was that of a battle still raging. Every detail of preparation he directed. Lane came up to ask whether he should begin his advance. Would Jackson give the order? “Push right ahead, Lane,” the general answered earnestly, and extended his hand as if he were bodily pushing the Federals. Without another word he rode on. It was then about 9:00 P.M.27
His signal officer, Captain R. E. Wilbourn, came up and began to describe Hill’s deployment. Lieutenant Morrison returned from a mission. Captain Boswell was nearby. Jackson himself, impatient, excited, anxious to strike the final blow, determined to ride out to the skirmish line to get some further understanding, if he could, of the terrain. With staff officers and couriers and signalmen he now had a small cavalcade. Some of his companions began now to be solicitous for his safety. “General,” said one of his staff, “don’t you think this is the wrong place for you?”
“The danger is all over—the enemy is routed!—go back and tell A. P. Hill to press right on!”28
Except where the moonlight reached the empty road, nothing could be seen ahead. There was darkness, but ahead was the sound of axes, of trees being felled, of voices. Jackson listened. Was the enemy too strong to assail? Was a night attack too hazardous? Was it possible to follow impulse and boldly, instantly, drive the confused enemy? Jackson held to his plan. The attack must be pressed.
Suddenly from south of the dark road there was a shot. Several others were fired. A volley roared through the woods. “Cease firing, cease firing!” Powell Hill’s voice rang out. Jackson felt the sorrel swerve suddenly toward the north and dash into the woods. With his left hand he checked the horse. His right hand he lifted to hold his cap and protect his face from the low-hanging boughs. “Cease firing!” Morrison yelled as he ran toward the lines. “You are firing into your own men!” A voice shouted back, “Who gave that order? It’s a lie! Pour it into them, boys!”29
There was a long flash in front of Jackson—a volley by a kneeling line. His left arm fell limp; his grip on his bridle rein was lost; a bullet struck his uplifted right hand. Dazed, Jackson felt on his head a sudden blow from a bough that threw him back and almost off his horse. Somehow he contrived to find the bridle rein with his right hand and desperately began to pull in the frightened horse. A moment later he felt a strong hand jerk the rein. Captain Wilbourn had come to his aid. On the other side, signalman W. T Wynn dashed up and together the two halted Little Sorrel and steadied the rider. Quickly Wilbourn sprang to the ground. “They certainly must be our troops,” he exclaimed.
Jackson nodded but said nothing. He was looking up the road, toward his own line, as if he scarcely could realize that his soldiers had fired on him. “How do you feel, General?” asked Wilbourn. “Can you move your fingers?” The general replied weakly that he could not; the arm was broken. “You had better take me down.” He nearly fainted as Wilbourn and Wynn eased him to the ground and laid him under a small tree by the roadside. Wynn was sent to find Dr. McGuire, the corps medical director, or some other skillful surgeon. As Wilbourn examined the wounded left arm, Jackson heard the voice of Powell Hill. “I have been trying to make the men cease firing,” cried Hill and, with words of deep regret, he knelt by Jackson. “Is the wound painful?” he inquired. “Very painful,” answered Jackson, “my arm is broken.”
Gently Hill took off Jackson’s blood-filled gauntlets and assisted Wilbourn and Lieutenant James Power Smith with a tourniquet and a sling for the general’s arm. Fortunately, the blood had begun to clot by this time. The assistant surgeon of Pender’s brigade now arrived with a litter and examined the major wound. Jackson whispered to Hill to inquire whether the surgeon was competent. Receiving a reassuring answer, he said, “Very good, very good.” Surgeon and attendants had to decide what next should be done. To move Jackson might be to start the flow of blood again; to leave him where he was, between the lines, would be to risk capture or death from new projectiles.30
Before a decision could be taken, a new alarm sent Powell Hill hurrying off to form the troops to meet an attack. Thoughtfully he added that he would do his utmost to keep from the men the fact that Jackson was wounded. “Thank you,” said Jackson faintly. Back at the lines, Hill with furious words prepared Lane’s men to repulse the expected assault. A sudden burst of fire, and a moment later Hill felt a sharp and stunning blow across his boot tops. A fragment of shell left both legs numbed and bruised. He found he could not walk otherwise than with an agonizing limp. So great did the pain become that Hill could not hope to ride a horse or to exercise command.
If Hill was disabled, who should command? In the whole of the Second Corps not another major general was present on the field. Rodes was the senior brigadier then with the corps. He must assume command. Should he keep it? That day for the first time he had exercised authority over a division. Hill debated the question and probably discussed it with Sandie Pendleton. The conclusion was to notify Rodes and, at the same time, to send for Jeb Stuart. To be sure, Stuart was not an infantryman, but he was known to the army as a leader. Rodes’s abilities, though high, had not yet been recognized outside the division he was leading. General Lee, of course, was to be notified as soon as he could be reached.
Rodes assumed temporary command of the corps. Neither he, Hill, nor anyone else believed that the tired troops, without
Jackson’s leadership, could press farther that night. All that Rodes could do was to direct Colston, who kept command of Trimble’s men, and Heth, who now succeeded to Powell Hill’s division, to prepare for a resumption of the attack when daylight returned.31
During these hours of confusion, of abrupt bursts of fire and of sudden silence, Jackson was having an experience that never had been his before on a field of battle—evading an enemy he could not combat. At the time of the alarm that sent Hill hurrying back to his command, Lieutenant Morrison had thought to reconnoiter the road ahead of them. In a few minutes he was back, on the run and in immense excitement. Jackson heard him shout, “The enemy is within fifty yards and is advancing; let us take the General away!” They debated carrying him, but Jackson said faintly, “No, if you can help me up, I can walk.”
Painfully, with help on either side, Jackson got on his legs and started slowly walking toward the line. The staff tried to shield him from inquisitive passing soldiers. One man, dodging among the horses, got close enough to stare at the pale, bearded man who was walking with uncertain step along the road. “Great God,” he cried in an agonized voice, “that is General Jackson!” Given a deceptive reply, he looked again at Jackson and turned away in silence.
Before Jackson had walked more than twenty paces he was exhausted. He was prevailed upon to let the litter bearers carry him. Hardly had they started when the road was swept with a new hurricane of fire. Quickly he was lowered to the ground. His lieutenants lay down alongside, forming an embankment of flesh around the general. Jackson struggled for a moment to get up. “Sir,” said Lieutenant Smith, “you must lie still; it will cost you your life if you rise!” Overhead the projectiles were shrieking; severed branches and smitten saplings tumbled to the ground. They could see again and again the spark of the canister that hit the stones of the road.32
Lee's Lieutenants Page 62