103. CIII.
“IT IS WELL THIS IS SO TERRIBLE—WE WOULD GROW
TOO FOND OF IT!”
Before dawn on the morning of the great conflict, Jackson
was in the saddle, and, joining General Lee, rode to the right to
reconnoitre.
He was dressed, on this day, in an entirely new suit. His
overcoat was dark blue, lined with red; his cap blazing with
gold lace; his uniform-coat, which Stuart had given him in the
Valley, flaming with its new brass buttons.
The troops scarcely knew him, and, when he had passed one
of his regiments, a soldier was heard to say:
“That finely-dressed officer Old Jack? No, sir!”
Below the Crossing we met Stuart, and the three generals
rode down the “stage road,” to reconnoitre. The enemy
were already advancing through the fog, and very soon the whiz
of bullets indicated that the Federal sharpshooters had descried
the dusky figures.
Stuart gave an order, and a piece of artillery was seen moving
across the field to the right. Soon its thunders were heard, and
a Federal battery in front replied.
The three generals now rode to the top of the hill above
Hamilton's Crossing. From the right came the steady and continuous
roar of the single gun—under Pelham—sent thither by
Stuart. About three batteries, a few hundred yards in its front,
had opened upon it; and an enfilading fire was raking the field
from thirty-pound Parrotts across the river. But Pelham fought
on.
General Lee looked in the direction of the fire.
“It is glorious to see such courage in one so young,” he said.
And, in his official dispatch, he immortalized the young Alabamian
by speaking of him as “the gallant Pelham.” To be the
sole officer below the rank of Major-General mentioned by Lee
—and to be called “the gallant Pelham!”
That is better than a scrawl from any war department!
As the dense fog lifted, and the sun shone through it, the dark
Federal lines rushed forward across the plain, and charged
Jackson's front with desperation.
They were met with a murderous fire of musketry; the guns
on the crest above opened all at once their iron mouths, and
the battle began to rage with fury.
The column which assailed the right wing, under Jackson,
numbered fifty-five thousand men, under Generals Franklin
Hooker, and others—see their reports. At Sharpsburg, McClellan
decided to overwhelm Lee's left, and was met by Jackson.
At Fredericksburg, General Burnside decided to flank and drive
back Lee's right, and found Jackson in his way.
If that assault had succeeded, Lee's right would have been
turned, his line forced back, and the enemy would have stormed
his position.
It failed. Jackson met it with his first line. This was broken
through, and he met it with his second, which completely repulsed
the assault. D. H. Hill's reserve was not engaged.
Jackson's whole force in the fight was less than fifteen thousand.
This battle was a remarkable one. The Federal troops fought
hard, but apparently without heart. At one time they seemed
about to carry the hill—but those who had rushed up the slope
were driven back with the bayonet.
Meanwhile Stuart, in the great field beyond the Crossing, was
fighting about thirty pieces of artillery, with desperation. Pelham
commanded under him, and fought like a veteran of a hundred
battles. Behind the woods, near by, the long line of
cavalry waited to take part in the action if the right was
turned.
Jackson had just brought up his second line to repulse the
enemy, who had broken through his first, as I have said, when I
was sent to General Lee with a message.
I found him on the eminence in front of Longstreet's line, now
known as “Lee's Hill,” and was much impressed by his perfect
calmness, as I have everywhere been. As I turned away after
delivering my message, loud cheers came from the right, and,
looking across the plain, I saw the Federal line rapidly falling
back, hotly pursued by Jackson's troops, firing volleys as they
rushed forward.
General Lee's face filled with blood, and his eye flashed.
Turning to one of his generals, who stood near, he said, as he
drew his old riding-cape around his shoulders:
“It is well this is so terrible—we would grow too fond of
it!”[1]
Those deep-toned words still ring in my ears.
When I reached the crest above Hamilton's Crossing again, I
found Jackson directing the fire of his artillery on the slope of
the crest. I had never seen him more thoroughly aroused.
His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes glowed. The murderous
fire of shot and shell which swept the crest from the crowding
batteries of the enemy in front seemed to produce no
effect upon him, although men and horses were falling every
minute.
As I made my report, a shell crashed through a caisson, within
twenty yards, and it blew up with a noise like thunder.
Jackson did not move a muscle.
“Major,” he said, in his brief accents, “present my compliments
to General Stuart, and tell him I am going to advance and
attack with the bayonet precisely at sunset. I wish him to
advance his artillery as far as possible, and continue the fire.
Desire him not to fire too much to the left—he may injure my
men.”[2]
I found Stuart in the great field, swept by a tempest of shell,
superintending the fire of his artillery.
The ditches in his immediate front were full of Federal sharpshooters,
who kept up a galling fire upon the cannoneers, at close
and deadly range. A bullet had cut off a lock of Stuart's hair
and as I was speaking with him two others struck his saddle
and military satchel.
When I delivered my message his face glowed.
I was about to ride off when a courier galloped up from General
W. H. F. Lee, I think, and said something which I did not
hear.
Stuart's blue eyes flashed.
“Tell the General all's well,” he said, “and that I am going
to crowd 'em with artillery!”[3]
As I rode back, expecting at every instant to be hurled from
the saddle by the round-shot which swept the plain, I saw the
sun poised like a ball of fire upon the woods, and then to the
right and left, from Jackson and Stuart, came the redoubled
thunders of the charge. The artillery was charging as well as
the infantry, and the dusky plains, upon which the shades of
night began to descend, became the scene of a desperate and
sanguinary struggle.
It was soon decided. As night fell, the enemy retreated from
Jackson's front, and Stuart pushed forward, “crowding 'em
with artillery,” as he had promised. Soon only a sullen gun at
intervals replied—darkness descended, and the bloody fight had
ended.
In front of Marye's Hill, the Federal assault had been re
pulsed, as upon the right—and though for some reason which
I never could clearly understand, Jackson did not make his
intended charge with the bayonet and drive the enemy into the
river, the victory was none the less perfect.
General Lee had here thrown into action—counting the
forces fighting in every portion of the field—less than twenty-five
thousand men in all. Against his right alone, the enemy
had thrown a column of fifty-five thousand men, under one of their
ablest generals—as the testimony of General Burnside before the
Committee of Investigation shows.
Why was a force so considerable unable to drive Jackson from
his position? I know not—I only know that they did not.
When the sun went down upon the battle-field, General Lee
regarded the attack as only the prelude of a more determined
assault on the next morning—his repulse of the Federal forces a
mere incident of the drama.
He had achieved a complete victory.[4]
