University of Virginia Library

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.