University of Virginia Library

2. II.

He was early in the lists as the advocate of resistance to the
North, and fought its opponents with persistent vehemence. To
“wait” was to sign the death-warrant of the State, he declared.
“God save the liberties of this brave old Commonwealth!” if
this was the course defined for her. What he preached he practised.
He sounded the onset, and the lines once in motion, he
took his place in the great army. At first as a private, with
musket on shoulder; eager, active, untiring; inspiring all with
his own brave spirit. Then, when his acknowledged capacity
for leadership placed him at the head of a command, he took the
post as his of right, and led his men as all who knew him expected.
How he led them on that disastrous day at Roanoke—
with what heroie nerve, and splendid gallantry, in the face of
the deadliest fire—let his old comrades in arms declare. There,
in the front of battle, he fell—giving his life without a single
regret to the cause he loved.

It was the phase of character, indicated above, which the
outer world chiefly considered, and estimated him by. Yet
this was by no means his most attractive phase. The dauntless
nerve, the stubborn and indomitable will, revealed themselves
on certain occasions only—the social virtues of the individual
were seen every day. It would be difficult to imagine
a human being more modest, kindly, and simple. His modesty
amounted almost to shyness; and it was doubtless this species
of reserve which led many to regard him as cold, and destitute
of feeling. Let it not be understood, however, that he was
subject to mauvaise honte—the diffidence of one who distrusts
his own powers, and shrinks from collision with other minds.

His peculiarity was rather the reverse, as his perfect self-possession
and control of every faculty in public speaking indicated.
Self-reliance, rather than self-distrust, marked the character of
his intellect—boldness to undertake, and unshrinking courage to
execute. But in this there was no arrogance—no hauteur. In
the combat he would contend with all his powers, and shrink
from no odds: but the contest once over, the hot blood cool, the
old modesty returned, and the kindly, gentle smile. The indulgence
of his affections was evidently one of his chief happinesses.
He was fond of children, and delighted to play with them, sharing
their gambols and amusements with the bonhomie and abandon
of a boy. In such scenes, the vehement young politician no
doubt took refuge from the strife of the public arena, where so
many hot passions met and clashed, and found in the playful
antics of children the antidote to the scorns and hatreds of those
grown-up children—men. It was in the society of the eminent
Virginian, his father, however, that he seemed to experience his
greatest happiness; and his devotion to him was the controlling
sentiment of his being. If this sentiment impelled him to a partisanship
too violent at times, the fault will not be regarded as a
mean or ignoble one, nor detract in any measure from the
character here attributed to him, of the kindest and simplest of
gentlemen.

The intellect which accompanied this courageous spirit and
kindly heart was eminently vigorous and original. It was rather
that of the actor than the thinker—rather, ready, acute, inventive
and fruitful in resources—quick to move and to strike, in
debate or reasoning with the pen—than deliberate, philosophic,
or reflective. It wanted the breadth and depth which result
from study and meditation, but as a sharp and tempered weapon
to accomplish direct tangible results, it was exceedingly forcible
and effective. As a writer in the larger acceptation of the term,
he was not conspicuously endowed; but his style as a journalist
was fluent, eloquent, and when his nature was strongly moved,
full of power and the fire of invective. Some of his editorial
writings deserve to be collected, and preserved in a permanent
form, as among the most forcible expositions of the great principles

involved in the struggle which absorbed the energies of the
South.

His most notable gift was unquestionably that of oratory. He
possessed native endowments which entitled him to very high
rank as a public speaker. In the columns of a daily journal his
powers were always more or less cramped, and did not assert
their full strength, but on “the stump” he was in his own element.
Here all the faculties of his intellect and nature had full
swing, and “ample room and verge enough” for their exercise.
The spectator saw at a glance that the young man with the thin
slight figure and quiet manner, was a born orator. His first
words justified the opinion, and stamped him as one born to
move, to sway, to direct the thoughts and the actions of men.
The crowd—that unfailing critic of a public speaker's ability—
always received him with acclamations, and hailed his appearance
on the rostrum with loud applause. They felt that, youth
as he was, and as yet untrained in the arts of the orator, he was
a match for the oldest opponents, and they were content to leave
the advocacy of great principles, at momentous crises, in the
hands of this young man—to accept and rely on him as their
champion.

He did not disappoint their expectations ever. A born politician,
and thrilling with the great party issues before the country,
he entered the arena with the bold and self-possessed demeanour
of one in his chosen element, and equal to the occasion. Political
history—the careers of public men—the principles underlying
the American frame of government—all were thoroughly
familiar to him, and his knowledge was available at a moment's
notice. His speeches were skilful combinations of philosophic
reasoning and hard-hitting illustrations. In the employment of
invective, his handling was that of a master; and when his scorn
of some unworthy action or character was fully aroused, his delivery
of the scathing sarcasm or the passionate defiance was
inexpressibly vehement and bitter. Those who have seen the
flashing eye and the scornful lip of the young orator at such
times, will not readily forget them, or wonder at the wild excitement
of the crowd as they listened to these outbursts. Even

the cool intellects of old men were taken captive with the rest,
and I think all who heard the youthful speaker, came away with
the impression that time and training only were needed, to make
him one of the most famous orators of the old Commonwealth
which has produced so many giants.

With the termination of his speeches disappeared all the passion,
vehemence, and ardour of the man. The handkerchief
passed over the damp brow, seemed to wipe away all excitement;
and the fiery gladiator, swaying all minds by his fierce
invective, or his vivid reasoning, subsided into the quiet, almost
shy young man. The old modesty and simplicity of demeanour
returned, and the forces of the vigorous intellect returned to
rest, until some other occasion should call them into exercise.

I could add many things relating to this eminent young man
in his personal and private character, but the subject may not
interest the general reader as much as it does him who writes.
Perhaps, too, they are better kept for other years, when time
shall have extinguished the few heart-burnings that remain, and
obliterated the scars of old contests. I have thought it right,
however, to put thus much concerning him on record, without
shaping my discourse to please either friend or foe. Foes, I
believe, he has no longer. Even those who most bitterly opposed
him while living, now acknowledge his great qualities,
and lament his untimely end.

If enmity exist toward him in any heart, however, no answering
defiance comes back. The weapon of the good knight will
never more be drawn—he has fought his last battle and yielded
up his soul. He sleeps now quietly, after all the turmoils of
life—after heart-burnings and triumphs, and loves and hatreds—
sleeps in the bosom of the land he loved, and toiled, and thought,
and fought, and died for. His is not the least worthy heart
which has poured out its blood for Virginia and the South; and
in the pages of our annals, among the names of our dead heroes
who surrendered youth, and coming fame, and friends, and home,
and life for their native land—surrendered them without a murmur
or a single regret—among these great souls the Genius of
History must inscribe the name of Jennings Wise.