127. CXXVII.
THE WING OF THE DEATH-ANGEL.
Every incident of that period is now engraved upon my
memory in characters which no lapse of time can efface. I had
reached the most tragic moment of a bloody epoch—the great
figure I had followed so long was about to disappear amid the
lurid smoke of battle—and, going back in memory to those hours,
I recall every event, every word, every glance, to be treasured
up forever in the depths of the heart.
It was the night preceding the great flank-march which was
to overthrow and break in pieces the strength of Hooker.
Jackson, weary with his hard day's fighting, and his long and
anxious consultation with General Lee, stretched himself flat
upon his breast, by a camp-fire, beneath a tree, and seemed about
to fall asleep.
Looking at him, I observed that he was lying upon the bare
ground, and I called his attention to the fact, telling him that
he would certainly take cold.
“I reckon not, Colonel!” was his reply. “I am used to it. I
am really tired out, and have left behind my oil-cloth and
blankets.”
“Then take my cloth and cape, General. I insist that you
shall use them.”
“No, I really cannot think of such a thing!” was his courteous
reply; but I insisted, declaring that my English saddle-cloth
was quite sufficient to protect me from the damp of the
ground—and at last the General yielded.
He lay down on my “Yankee oil-cloth,” and I threw over him
my gray cape. Then, spreading my felt saddle-cloth near the
fire, a few feet off, I lay down in my turn, and began to reflect
—chiefly, I think, upon May Beverley, though at times upon the
fate of poor Farley.
During this time, I thought that General Jackson was asleep,
and, in moving the logs on the fire to make the blaze brighter,
did so carefully, in order not to awake him. As I was thus
engaged, I heard him say in a tone of unusual softness:
“I am not asleep, Colonel—you do not disturb me.”
“I thought you were asleep, General.”
“No, I have been thinking—as you seem to have been—and
cannot close my eyes. Something tells me that we will have a
hard struggle to-morrow; and many of my brave fellows are
now sleeping their last sleep, I fear.”
He sighed, and gazed thoughtfully into the fire.
“This is a cruel war!” he said, in a low voice. “Why was
it ever forced upon us?—as it assuredly was.”
“Our Northern friends differ with you on that point, General.”
“Well, we won't discuss it—but I never should have taken
part in it, if I had not regarded it as just and holy in its aims.
God tries the heart, Colonel—I pray that He will try mine, and
yours, and the hearts of all, and, if there be any sin of ignorance
or evil intent, may He pardon us!”
“Amen, General.”
“We are very poor and weak,” continued the speaker; “very
hard and sinful. May he make pure our hearts within us, and
guide us in all life's journey! Without his favor, Colonel, we
are miserable indeed! What is fame, or riches, or glory, without
his favor? You have heard me called eccentric, I doubt not,
Colonel; and do you know, at Lexington the young men called
me `Fool Tom Jackson.' Yes, `Fool Tom Jackson,' ” he
added, in a soft, musing tone, “and all because I made prayer
and religious exercises my main occupation. I thought I was
right, and acting rationally. It was better, I believed, to secure
the favor of my Maker than to receive the plaudits of
men. So I prayed, Colonel, instead of laughing—thinking that
time was short and eternity long. I thought of heavenly things,
and the favor of my God, more than of what I wore, what
I ate, how I walked, or the opinion men had of me—and for this
I was called a fool!”
Again, the low voice paused—the speaker seemed to be reflecting.
“I went into this war,” he continued, “because God permits
us to defend our native land and protect it from outrage. He
had given me animal courage, and so directed my steps that I
had learned the art of war at West Point—thus my duty, I
thought, was plain. I have done what I could for my dear old
native State—if I was wrong, may He forgive me! But I do
not believe I erred. It was duty no less than pleasure to
fight for the land I loved. And how I have loved it! There is
not a foot of Virginia soil that is not dear to me—not a river,
a stream, or mountain that is not sacred—and more than all, I
have loved the town of Lexington, and the beautiful valley of
the Shenandoah! I had reason for that. Never had a man
better friends than I have there in the Valley of Virginia—
from Winchester, the centre of that warm-hearted, brave and
patriotic people, to Lexington, where I hope to rest when I die.
The love of these good people is my greatest consolation in life
—and I love them much in return. I have fought for the
women and children of the Shenandoah Valley, Colonel, and
I am ready to die for them!”
“You know how they regard you, General—but I hope you
will not soon be called upon to give them so great a proof of
your affection as by dying for them.”
“Who knows, Colonel? War is uncertain—battle dangerous.
You or I may fall without an instant's warning.”
“That is true, General—all things may happen—even the
Confederacy be overthrown. We are now at the year 1863.
Who knows but that in 1864, or 1865, the Federal Government
will be able to bring such overwhelming numbers into the field,
that we shall be obliged to succumb to those numbers, in spite
of all our efforts.”
“God only knows the future,” was his reply; “and He
will direct.”
“I trust in his goodness, General, with all my heart, and believe,
as you do, that all He does is for the best. But it would
be hard to understand His almighty purpose, if our overthrow
is permitted. Think what the result will be—the loss of
all that precious blood—absolute poverty—perhaps military
domination! And worse—far worse than all!—we shall have
fought, and bled, and fallen, all for nothing! We shall have inaugurated
a Revolution—struggled for years—and all to hear, as
we return to our desolate homes, the bitter taunt, “You were
fools to have defied the enemy—you have gained nothing and
lost all”—
—“But honor!” exclaimed Jackson. “No, Colonel! you are
wrong—a thousand times wrong! Suppose we are conquered—
suppose the South does fail—I declare to you that, should I live,
I will not regret for one instant this struggle; not the blood,
the treasure, the failure—nothing! There may be persons who
fight for fame or success—I fight for my principles! I appeal to
God for the purity of my motives—and whether I live or die—
whether the South falls or conquers—I shall be able to say, `I
did my duty!' ”
The earnest words died away, and silence followed.
“Well, I keep you awake, Colonel,” said Jackson, after a long
pause; “and I expect we shall need all our energies for the
scenes of to-morrow. This country is terrible, and the enemy
are in a magnificent position—but we must fight them!”
“The disproportion of force is frightful.”
“Yes, truly discouraging; but God has blessed us, Colonel,
upon many similar occasions, and in Him I trust.”
“Take care of yourself in the battle, General. You expose
yourself terribly.”
“Not unnecessarily, I hope, Colonel; and, if I fall, there are
many brave souls to take my place. Let us not fear the enemy,
my friend; he can do us no harm. It is God we should love and
fear—if He is with us, man can do nothing to hurt us. I may
fall to-morrow—it is hidden from me—God knoweth—but, if I
raise my heart to Him, what are bullets and wounds? Beyond
this world of struggle, uproar, and passion, there is a `land of
calm delight,' where sorrow never comes, and the King of Kings
and Lord of Lords reigns in His majesty. Oh! to see His face!
to hear from His lips, `Well done!' May those words be heard
by both of us, my friend! Then, as we look back upon this
troubled life, wars and rumors of wars will appear like a dream,
from which we have awakened in heaven!”
The speaker ceased, and said no more. In half an hour I
heard his long, regular breathing. He was asleep.
For some time I lay awake, gazing at the recumbent figure of
this celebrated man, whose august words had just resounded in
my ears. It was hard to realize that the plainly-clad form before
me was that of a born hero and master of men. As I took in at
a glance the dusty cavalry boots, the dingy coat, the old battered
sabre which lay by his side, and the faded cap which had half-fallen
back from his broad brow, edged with its short dark hair,
it was only as a weary, hard-worked soldier that Jackson appeared
to me.
Now I know that I looked upon the one man raised up by God
in many centuries—upon one of the immortals!
