University of Virginia Library

4. IV.

Jackson's religious opinions are unknown to the present writer.
He has been called a “fatalist.” All sensible men are fatalists
in one sense, in possessing a strong conviction that “what will
be, will be.” But men of deep piety like Jackson, are not Oriental
in their views. Fate was a mere word with Jackson, with
no meaning; his “star” was Providence. Love for and trust
in that Providence dwelt and beat in every vein and pulse of
his nature. His whole soul was absorbed in his religion—as
much as a merchant's is in his business, or a statesman's in public
affairs. He believed that life “meant intensely, and meant
good.” To find its meaning was “his meat and drink.” His
religion was his life, and the real world a mere phantasmagoria.
He seemed to have died rejoicing, preferring death to life.
Strange madness! This religious dreamer was the stern, practical,
mathematical calculator of chances; the obstinate, unyielding
fighter; the most prosaic of realists in all the commonplaces
of the dreadfully commonplace trade of war.

The world knocks down many people with that cry of “eccentric,”
by which is really meant “insane.” Any divergence from
the conventional is an evidence of mental unsoundness. Jackson
was seen, once in Lexington, walking up and down in a
heavy rain before the superintendent's quarters, waiting for the
clock to strike ten before he delivered his report. He wore
woollen clothes throughout the summer. He would never mail
a letter which to reach its destination must travel on Sunday.

All these things made him laughed at; and yet the good sense
seems all on his side, the folly on that of the laughers. The Institute
was a military school; military obedience was the great
important lesson to the student—rigid, unquestioning obedience.
Jackson set them the example. He was ordered to hand in his
report at ten, and did not feel himself at liberty to present it before
ten, in consequence of the rain. He was ordered to don a
woollen uniform in the winter, and having received no order
preseribing or permitting another, continued to wear it. He
considered it wrong to travel or carry mails on Sunday, and
would not take part in the commission of wrong. This appears
logical, however eccentric.

In truth, the great soldier was an altogether earnest man, with
little genius for the trivial pursuits of life, or its more trivial
processes of thought and opinion. His temper was matter-of-fact,
his logic straightforward; “nonsense” could not live in
his presence. The lighter graces were denied him, but not the
abiding charm. He had no eye for the “flower of the peas,” no
palate for the bubble on the champagne of life; but he was true,
kind, brave, and simple. Life with him was a hard, earnest
struggle; duty seems to have been his watchword. It is hard
to find in his character any actual blot—he was so true and
honest.

Jackson has probably excited more admiration in Europe
than any other personage in the late revolution. His opponents
even are said to have acknowledged the purity of his motives—
to have recognised the greatness of his character and the splendor
of his achievements. This sentiment springs naturally from
a review of his life. It is no part of my design to present a
critical analysis of his military movements. This must sooner
or later be done; but at present the atmosphere is not clear of
the battle-smoke, and figures are seen indistinctly. The time
will come when the campaigns of Jackson will become the study
of military men in the Old World and the New—the masterly advances
and retreats of the Valley; the descent against McClellan;
the expedition to Pope's rear, which terminated in the
second battle of Manassas; and the great flank movement at

Chancellorsville, which has made the tangled brakes of the
Spotsylvania wilderness famous for ever.

Under the grave exterior, the reserved demeanour, the old
faded costume of the famous soldier, the penetrating student of
human nature will discern “one of the immortals.” In the man
who holds aloft his hand in prayer while his veteran battalions
move by steadily to the charge, it will not be difficult to fancy
a reproduction of the stubborn Cromwell, sternest of Ironsides,
going forth to conquer in the name of the Lord. In the man
who led his broken lines back to the conflict, and charged in
front of them on many fields, there was all the dash and impetus
of Rupert. The inscrutable decree of Providence struck
down this great soldier in the prime of life and the bloom of his
faculties. His career extended over but two years, and he lives
only in memory. But history cannot avoid her landmarks; the
great proportions of Stonewall Jackson will sooner or later be
delineated.

The writer of these lines can only say how great this man
appeared to him, and wait with patience for the picture which
shall “denote him truly.”