University of Virginia Library

XI.
JACKSON'S DEATH-WOUND.

1. I.

There is an event of the late war, the details of which are
known only to a few persons; and yet it is no exaggeration to
say that many thousands would feel an interest in the particulars.
I mean the death of Jackson. The minute circumstances
attending it have never been published, and they are here
recorded as matter of historical as well as personal interest.

A few words will describe the situation of affairs when this
tragic scene took place. The spring of 1862 saw a large Federal
army assembled on the north bank of the Rappahannock, and on
the first of May, General Hooker, its commander, had crossed,
and firmly established himself at Chancellorsville. General
Lee's forces were opposite Fredericksburg chiefly, a small body
of infantry only watching the upper fords. This latter was
compelled to fall back before General Hooker's army of about
one hundred and fifty thousand men, and Lee bastened by forced
marches from Fredericksburg toward Chancellorsville, with a
force of about thirty thousand men—Longstreet being absent at
Suffolk—to check the further advance of the enemy. This was
on May 1st, and the Confederate advance force under Jackson,
on the same evening, attacked General Hooker's intrenchments
facing toward Fredericksburg. They were found impregnable,
the dense thickets having been converted into abattis, and every
avenue of approach defended with artillery. General Lee therefore
directed the assault to cease, and consulted with his corps

commanders as to further operations. Jackson suggested a rapid
movement around the Federal front, and a determined attack
upon the right flank of General Hooker, west of Chancellorsville.
The ground on his left and in his front gave such enormous
advantages to the Federal troops that an assault there was
impossible, and the result of the consultation was the adoption
of Jackson's suggestion to attack the enemy's right. Every
preparation was made that night, and on the morning of May
second, Jackson set out with Hill's, Rodes's, and Colston's divisions,
in all about twenty-two thousand men, to accomplish his
undertaking.

Chancellorsville was a single brick house of large dimensions,
situated on the plank-road from Fredericksburg to Orange, and
all around it were the thickets of the country known as the
Wilderness. In this tangled undergrowth the Federal works
had been thrown up, and such was the denseness of the woods
that a column moving a mile or two to the south was not apt to
be seen. Jackson calculated upon this, but fortune seemed
against him. At the Catherine Furnace, a mile or two from the
Federal line, his march was discovered, and a hot attack was
made on his rear-guard as he moved past. All seemed now discovered,
but, strange to say, such was not the fact. The Federal
officers saw him plainly, but the winding road which he pursued
chanced here to bend toward the south, and it was afterward
discovered that General Hooker supposed him to be in full
retreat upon Richmond. Such at least was the statement of Federal
officers. Jackson repulsed the attack upon his rear, continued
his march, and striking into what is called the Brock
Road, turned the head of his column northward, and rapidly
advanced around General Hooker's right flank. A cavalry force
under General Stuart had moved in front and on the flanks of
the column, driving off scouting parties and other too inquisitive
wayfarers; and on reaching the junction of the Orange and
Germanna roads a heavy Federal picket was forced to retire.
General Fitz Lee then informed Jackson that from a hill near at
hand he could obtain a view of the Federal works, and proceeding
thither, Jackson reconnoitred. This reconnoissance showed

him that he was not far enough to the left, and he said briefly to
an aide, “Tell my column to cross that road,” pointing to the
plank-road. His object was to reach the “old turnpike,” which
ran straight down into the Federal right flank. It was reached
at about five in the evening, and without a moment's delay
Jackson formed his line of battle for an attack. Rodes's division
moved in front, supported at an interval of two hundred yards
by Colston's, and behind these A. P. Hill's division marched in
column like the artillery, on account of the almost impenetrable
character of the thickets on each side of the road.

Jackson's assault was sudden and terrible. It struck the
Eleventh corps, commanded on this occasion by General Howard,
and, completely surprised, they retreated in confusion upon
the heavy works around Chancellorsville. Rodes and Colston
followed them, took possession of the breastworks across the
road, and a little after eight o'clock the Confederate troops were
within less than a mile of Chancellorsville, preparing for a new
and more determined attack. Jackson's plan was worthy of being
the last military project conceived by that resolute and enterprising
intellect. He designed putting his entire force into action,
extending his left, and placing that wing between General
Hooker and the Rappahannock. Then, unless the Federal commander
could cut his way through, his army would be captured
or destroyed. Jackson commenced the execution of this plan
with vigour, and an obvious determination to strain every nerve,
and incur every hazard to accomplish so decisive a success.
Rodes and Colston were directed to retire a short distance, and
re-form their lines, now greatly mingled, and Hill was ordered
to move to the front and take their places. On fire with his
great design, Jackson then rode forward in front of the troops
toward Chancellorsville, and here and then the bullet struck him
which was to terminate his career.

The details which follow are given on the authority of Jackson's
staff officers, and one or two others who witnessed all that
occurred. In relation to the most tragic portion of the scene,
there remained, as will be seen, but a single witness.

Jackson had ridden forward on the turnpike to reconnoitre,

and ascertain, if possible, in spite of the darkness of the night,
the position of the Federal lines. The moon shone, but it was
struggling with a bank of clouds, and afforded but a dim light.
From the gloomy thickets on each side of the turnpike, looking
more weird and sombre in the half light, came the melancholy
notes of the whippoorwill. “I think there must have been ten
thousand,” said General Stuart afterwards. Such was the scene
amid which the events now about to be narrated took place.

Jackson had advanced with some members of his staff, considerably
beyond the building known as “Melzi Chancellor's,”
about a mile from Chancellorsville, and had reached a point
nearly opposite an old dismantled house in the woods near the
road, whose shell-torn roof may still be seen, when he reined in
his horse, and remaining perfectly quiet and motionless, listened
intently for any indications of a movement in the Federal lines.
They were scarcely two hundred yards in front of him, and seeing
the danger to which he exposed himself one of his staff officers
said, “General, don't you think this is the wrong place for
you?” He replied quickly, almost impatiently, “The danger is
all over! the enemy is routed—go back and tell A. P. Hill to
press right on!” The officer obeyed, but had scarcely disappeared
when a sudden volley was fired from the Confederate
infantry in Jackson's rear, and on the right of the road—evidently
directed upon him and his escort. The origin of this fire
has never been discovered, and after Jackson's death there was
little disposition to investigate an occurrence which occasioned
bitter distress to all who by any possibility could have taken
part in it. It is probable, however, that some movement of the
Federal skirmishers had provoked the fire; if this is an error,
the troops fired deliberately upon Jackson and his party, under
the impression that they were a body of Federal cavalry reconnoitring.
It is said that the men had orders to open upon any
object in front, “especially upon cavalry;” and the absence of
pickets or advance force of any kind on the Confederate side
explains the rest. The enemy were almost in contact with them;
the Federal artillery, fully commanding the position of the troops,
was expected to open every moment; and the men were just in

[ILLUSTRATION]

DEATH WOUND OF STONEWALL JACKSON.—Page 301.
“He was then carried to the side of the road, and laid under a tree.” His last words were, “Let us cross over
the river and rest under the shade.”

[Description: 521EAF. Illustration page, which depicts the death of Stonewall Jackson. He is shown lying under a large tree, dying, as groups of Confederate soldiers gather around. The background image is filled with Confederate soldiers running towards Jackson, some with swords aloft and one with flag raised and waving.]

that excited condition which induces troops to fire at any and
every object they see.

Whatever may have been the origin of this volley, it came,
and many of the staff and escort were shot, and fell from their
horses. Jackson wheeled to the left and galloped into the woods
to get out of range of the bullets; but he had not gone twenty
steps beyond the edge of the turnpike, in the thicket, when one
of his brigades drawn up within thirty yards of him fired a volley
in their turn, kneeling on the right knee, as the flash of the
guns showed, as though prepared to “guard against cavalry.”
By this fire Jackson was wounded in three places. He received
one ball in his left arm, two inches below the shoulder-joint, shattering
the bone and severing the chief artery; a second passed
through the same arm between the elbow and the wrist, making
its exit through the palm of the hand; and a third ball entered
the palm of his right hand, about the middle, and passing through
broke two of the bones. At the moment when he was struck,
he was holding his rein in his left hand, and his right was raised
either in the singular gesture habitual to him, at times of excitement,
or to protect his face from the boughs of the trees. His
left hand immediately dropped at his side, and his horse, no
longer controlled by the rein, and frightened at the firing,
wheeled suddenly and ran from the fire in the direction of the
Federal lines. Jackson's helpless condition now exposed him
to a distressing accident. His horse darted violently between
two trees, from one of which a horizontal bough extended,
at about the height of his head, to the other; and as he passed
between the trees, this bough struck him in the face, tore off his
cap, and threw him violently back on his horse. The blow was
so violent as nearly to unseat him, but it did not do so, and
rising erect again, he caught the bridle with the broken and
bleeding fingers of his right hand, and succeeded in turning his
horse back into the turnpike. Here Captain Wilbourn, of his
staff, succeeded in catching the reins and checking the animal,
who was almost frantic from terror, at the moment when, from
loss of blood and exhaustion, Jackson was about to fall from the
saddle.

The scene at this time was gloomy and depressing. Horses
mad with fright at the close firing were seen running in every
direction, some of them riderless, others defying control; and
in the wood lay many wounded and dying men. Jackson's
whole party, except Captain Wilbourn and a member of the
signal corps, had been killed, wounded, or dispersed. The man
riding just behind Jackson had had his horse killed; a courier
near was wounded and his horse ran into the Federal lines;
Lieutenant Morrison, aide-de-camp, threw himself from the saddle,
and his horse fell dead a moment afterwards; Captain Howard
was wounded and carried by his horse into the Federal camps;
Captain Leigh had his horse shot under him; Captain Forbes
was killed; and Captain Boswell, Jackson's chief engineer, was
shot through the heart, and his dead body carried by his frightened
horse into the lines of the enemy near at hand.

2. II.

Such was the fatal result of this causeless fire. It had ceased
as suddenly as it began, and the position in the road which
Jackson now occupied was the same from which he had been
driven. Captain Wilbourn, who with Mr. Wynn, of the signal
corps, was all that was left of the party, notices a singular circumstance
which attracted his attention at this moment. The
turnpike was utterly deserted with the exception of himself, his
companion, and Jackson; but in the skirting of thicket on the
left he observed some one sitting on his horse, by the side of the
road, and coolly looking on, motionless and silent. The unknown
individual was clad in a dark dress which strongly resembled
the Federal uniform; but it seemed impossible that one
of the enemy could have penetrated to that spot without being
discovered, and what followed seemed to prove that he belonged
to the Confederates. Captain Wilbourn directed him to “ride
up there and see what troops those were”—the men who had
fired on Jackson—when the stranger slowly rode in the direction

pointed out, but never returned. Who this silent personage
was, is left to conjecture.

Captain Wilbourn, who was standing by Jackson, now said,
“They certainly must be our troops,” to which the General assented
with a nod of the head, but said nothing. He was looking
up the road toward his lines with apparent astonishment,
and continued for some time to look in that direction as if unable
to realize that he could have been fired upon and wounded by
his own men. His wound was bleeding profusely, the blood
streaming down so as to fill his gauntlets, and it was necessary
to secure assistance promptly. Captain Wilbourn asked him if
he was much injured, and urged him to make an effort to move
his fingers, as his ability to do this would prove that his arm was
not broken. He endeavoured to do so, looking down at his
hand during the attempt, but speedily gave it up, announcing
that his arm was broken. An effort which his companion made
to straighten it caused him great pain, and murmuring, “You
had better take me down,” he leaned forward and fell into Captain
Wilbourn's arms. He was so much exhausted by loss of
blood that he was unable to take his feet out of the stirrups, and
this was done by Mr. Wynn. He was then carried to the side
of the road and laid under a small tree, where Captain Wilbourn
supported his head while his companion went for a surgeon and
ambulance to carry him to the rear, receiving strict instructions,
however, not to mention the occurrence to any one but Dr.
McGuire, or other surgeon. Captain Wilbourn then made an
examination of the General's wounds. Removing his field-glasses
and haversack, which latter contained some paper and
envelopes for dispatches, and two religious tracts, he put these
on his own person for safety, and with a small pen-knife proceeded
to cut away the sleeves of the india-rubber overall, dresscoat,
and two shirts, from the bleeding arm.

While this duty was being performed, General Hill rode up
with his staff, and dismounting beside the general expressed his
great regret at the accident. To the question whether his wound
was painful, Jackson replied, “Very painful,” and added that
“his arm was broken.” General Hill pulled off his gauntlets,

which were full of blood, and his sabre and belt were also removed.
He then seemed easier, and having swallowed a mouthful
of whiskey, which was held to his lips, appeared much refreshed.
It seemed impossible to move him without making his
wounds bleed afresh, but it was absolutely necessary to do so,
as the enemy were not more than a hundred and fifty yards distant,
and might advance at any moment—and all at once a proof
was given of the dangerous position which he occupied. Captain
Adams, of General Hill's staff, had ridden ten or fifteen
yards ahead of the group, and was now heard calling out, “Halt!
surrender! fire on them if they don't surrender!” At the next
moment he came up with two Federal skirmishers who had at
once surrendered, with an air of astonishment, declaring that
they were not aware they were in the Confederate lines.

General Hill had drawn his pistol and mounted his horse;
and he now returned to take command of his line and advance,
promising Jackson to keep his accident from the knowledge of
the troops, for which the general thanked him. He had scarcely
gone when Lieutenant Morrison, who had come up, reported the
Federal line advancing rapidly, and then within about a hundred
yards of the spot, and exclaimed: “Let us take the General up
in our arms and carry him off.” But Jackson said faintly, “No,
if you can help me up, I can walk.” He was accordingly lifted
up and placed upon his feet, when the Federal batteries in front
opened with great violence, and Captain Leigh, who had just
arrived with a litter, had his horse killed under him by a shell.
He leaped to the ground, near Jackson, and the latter leaning
his right arm on Captain Leigh's shoulder, slowly dragged himself
along toward the Confederate lines, the blood from his
wounded arm flowing profusely over Captain Leigh's uniform.

Hill's lines were now in motion to meet the coming attack,
and as the men passed Jackson, they saw from the number and
rank of his escort that he must be a superior officer. “Who is
that—who have you there?” was asked, to which the reply was,
“Oh! it's only a friend of ours who is wounded.” These inquiries
became at last so frequent that Jackson said to his escort:
“When asked, just say it is a Confederate officer.”

It was with the utmost difficulty that the curiosity of the
troops was evaded. They seemed to suspect something, and
would go around the horses which were led along on each side
of the General to conceal him, to see if they could discover who
it was. At last one of them caught a glimpse of the general,
who had lost his cap, as we have seen, in the woods, and was
walking bareheaded in the moonlight—and suddenly the man
exclaimed “in the most pitiful tone,” says an eye-witness:
“Great God! that is General Jackson!” An evasive reply was
made, implying that this was a mistake, and the man looked
from the speaker to Jackson with a bewildered air, but passed
on without further comment. All this occurred before Jackson
had been able to drag himself more than twenty steps; but
Captain Leigh had the litter at hand, and his strength being
completely exhausted, the General was placed upon it, and borne
toward the rear.

The litter was carried by two officers and two men, the rest
of the escort walking beside it and leading the horses. They
had scarcely begun to move, however, when the Federal artillery
opened a furious fire upon the turnpike from the works in
front of Chancellorsville, and a hurricane of shell and canister
swept the road. What the eye then saw was a scene of disordered
troops, riderless horses, and utter confusion. The intended
advance of the Confederates had doubtless been discovered, and
the Federal fire was directed along the road over which they
would move. By this fire Generals Hill and Pender, with several
of their staff, were wounded, and one of the men carrying
the litter was shot through both arms and dropped his burden.
His companion did likewise, hastily flying from the dangerous
locality, and but for Captain Leigh, who caught the handle of
the litter, it would have fallen to the ground. Lieutenant Smith
had been leading his own and the General's horse, but the animals
now broke away, in uncontrollable terror, and the rest of
the party scattered to find shelter. Under these circumstances
the litter was lowered by Captain Leigh and Lieutenant Smith
into the road, and those officers lay down by it to protect themselves,
in some degree, from the heavy fire of artillery which

swept the turnpike and “struck millions of sparks from the
flinty stones of the roadside.” Jackson raised himself upon his
elbow and attempted to get up, but Lieutenant Smith threw his
arm across his breast and compelled him to desist. They lay in
this manner for some minutes without moving, the hurricane
still sweeping over them. “So far as I could see,” wrote one of
the officers, “men and horses were struggling with a most terrible
death.” The road was, otherwise, deserted. Jackson and
his two officers were the sole living occupants of the spot.

The fire of canister soon relaxed, though that of shot and
shell continued; and Jackson rose to his feet. Leaning on the
shoulders of the party who had rejoined him, he turned aside
from the road, which was again filling with infantry, and struck
into the woods—one of the officers following with the litter.
Here he moved with difficulty among the troops who were lying
down in line of battle, and the party encountered General Pender,
who had just been slightly wounded. He asked who it was
that was wounded, and the reply was, “A Confederate officer.”
General Pender, however, recognised Jackson, and exclaimed:
“Ah! General, I am sorry to see you have been wounded. The
lines here are so much broken that I fear we will have to fall
back.” These words seemed to affect Jackson strongly. He
raised his head, and said with a flash of the eye, “You must
hold your ground, General Pender! you must hold your ground,
sir!” This was the last order Jackson ever gave upon the
field.

3. III.

The General's strength was now completely exhausted, and he
asked to be permitted to lie down upon the ground. But to
this the officers would not consent. The hot fire of artillery
which still continued, and the expected advance of the Federal
infantry, made it necessary to move on, and the litter was again
put in requisition. The General, now nearly fainting, was laid
upon it, and some litter-bearers having been procured, the whole

party continued to move through the tangled woods, toward
Melzi Chancellor's.

So dense was the undergrowth, and the ground so difficult,
that their progress was very slow. An accident now occasioned
Jackson untold agony. One of the men caught his foot in a
vine, and stumbling, let go the handle of the litter, which fell
heavily to the ground. Jackson fell upon his left shoulder,
where the bone had been shattered, and his agony must have
been extreme. “For the first time,” says one of the party, “he
groaned, and that most piteously.” He was quickly raised, however,
and a beam of moonlight passing through the foliage overhead,
revealed his pale face, closed eyes, and bleeding breast.
Those around him thought that he was dying. What a death
for such a man! All around him was the tangled wood, only
half illumined by the struggling moonbeams; above him burst
the shells of the enemy, exploding, says an officer, “like showers
of falling stars,” and in the pauses came the melancholy notes
of the whippoorwills, borne on the night air. In this strange
wilderness, the man of Port Republic and Manassas, who had
led so many desperate charges, seemed about to close his eyes
and die in the night.

But such was not to be the result then. When asked by one
of the officers whether he was much hurt, he opened his eyes
and said quietly without further exhibition of pain, “No, my
friend, don't trouble yourself about me.” The litter was then
raised upon the shoulders of the men, the party continued their
way, and reaching an ambulance near Melzi Chancellor's placed
the wounded General in it. He was then borne to the field hospital
at Wilderness Run, some five miles distant.

Here he lay throughout the next day, Sunday, listening to
the thunder of the artillery and the long roll of the musketry
from Chancellorsville, where Stuart, who had succeeded him in
command, was pressing General Hooker back toward the Rappahannock.
His soul must have thrilled at that sound, long so
familiar, but he could take no part in the conflict. Lying faint
and pale, in a tent in rear of the “Wilderness Tavern,” he
seemed to be perfectly resigned, and submitted to the painful

probing of his wounds with soldierly patience. It was obviously
necessary to amputate the arm, and one of his surgeons asked,
“If we find amputation necessary, General, shall it be done at
once?” to which he replied with alacrity, “Yes, certainly, Dr.
McGuire, do for me whatever you think right.” The arm was
then taken off, and he slept soundly after the operation, and on
waking, began to converse about the battle. “If I had not
been wounded,” he said, “or had had one hour more of daylight,
I would have cut off the enemy from the road to United States
ford; we would have had them entirely surrounded, and they
would have been obliged to surrender or cut their way out; they
had no other alternative. My troops may sometimes fail in
driving an enemy from a position, but the enemy always fails to
drive my men from a position.” It was about this time that we
received the following letter from General Lee: “I have just
received your note informing me that you were wounded. I
cannot express my regret at the occurrence. Could I have directed
events I should have chosen for the good of the country
to have been disabled in your stead. I congratulate you upon
the victory which is due to your skill and energy.”

The remaining details of Jackson's illness and death are
known. He was removed to Guinney's Depot, on the Richmond
and Fredericksburg Railroad, where he gradually sank, pneumonia
having attacked him. When told that his men on Sunday
had advanced upon the enemy shouting “Charge, and remember
Jackson!” he exclaimed, “It was just like them! it
was just like them! They are a noble body of men! The
men who live through this war,” he added, “will be proud to
say `I was one of the Stonewall brigade' to their children.”
Looking soon afterwards at the stump of his arm, he said,
“Many people would regard this as a great misfortune. I regard
it as one of the great blessings of my life.” He subsequently
said, “I consider these wounds a blessing; they were
given me for some good and wise purpose, and I would not part
with them if I could.”

His wife was now with him, and when she announced to him,
weeping, his approaching death, he replied with perfect calmness,

“Very good, very good; it is all right.” These were nearly his
last words. He soon afterwards became delirious, and was heard
to mutter “Order A. P. Hill to prepare for action!—Pass the
infantry to the front!—Tell Major Hawks to send forward provisions
for the men!” Then his martial ardor disappeared, a
smile diffused itself over his pale features, and he murmured:
“Let us cross over the river and rest under the shade of the
trees!” It was the river of death he was about to pass; and
soon after uttering these words, he expired.

Such were the circumstances attending the death-wound of
Jackson. I have detailed them with the conciseness—but the
accuracy, too—of a procès-verbal. The bare statement is all that
is necessary—comment may be spared the reader.

The character and career of the man who thus passed from
the arena of his glory, are the property of history.