CXXXI.
THE LAST GREETING BETWEEN STUART AND JACKSON.
HERE my memoirs might terminate—for the present, if not
forever. All the personages disappear, lost in the bloody gulf,
or have reached that crisis in their lives when we can leave
them.
But one scene remains to wind up the tragedy—another figure
is about to fall, as the mighty pine falls in the depths of the
forest, making the woods resound as it crashes to the earth.
The hours drew onward now when the form of him to whom all
the South looked in her day of peril was to disappear—when
the eagle eye was to flash no more, the voice to be hushed --
when the hero of a hundred battles was to leave the great arena
of his fame, and pass away amid the wailing of a nation.
Come with me, reader, and we will look upon this “last
scene of all.” Then the curtain falls.
At daylight, on the morning succeeding the events just narrated,
Jackson put his column in motion, and directed his march
over the same route which I had pursued on my way to find
Stuart. At the Catherine Furnace he was observed and attacked
by the advance force of the enemy, but, pushing on without
stopping—his flank covered by the cavalry—he reached the
Brock road, and, finally, the Orange plank-road.
Here I joined him at the moment when General Fitz Lee,
who commanded the cavalry under Stuart, informed him that,
by ascending a neighboring eminence, he could obtain a good
view of the enemy's works. Jackson immediately rode to the
point thus indicated, in company with Generals Fitz Lee and
Stuart; and the works of Hooker were plainly descried over
the tops of the trees.
The whole was seen at a glance, and, to attack to advantage,
it was obviously necessary to move further still around the
enemy's flank.
“Tell my column to cross that road,” Jackson said to one of
his aides; and the troops moved on steadily until they reached the
Old Turnpike, at a point between the Wilderness Tavern and
Chancellorsville.
Here instant preparations were made for attack. The force
which Jackson had consisted of Rodes's, Colston's, and A. P.
Hill's divisions—in all, somewhat less than twenty-two thousand
men—and line of battle was immediately formed for an advance
upon the enemy. Rodes moved in front, Colston followed
within two hundred yards, and Hill marched in column, with
the artillery as a reserve.
Jackson gave the order to advance at about six in the evening,
and, as the sinking sun began to throw its long shadows
over the Wilderness, the long line of bayonets was seen in
motion. Struggling on through the dense thickets on either side
of the turnpike, the troops reached the open ground near Melzi
Chancellor's—and there, before them, was the long line of the
enemy's works.
Jackson rode in front, and, as soon as his lines were formed
for the attack, ordered the works to be stormed with the
bayonet.
At the word, Rodes rushed forward—the men cheering wildly
-- and, in a few moments, they had swept over the Federal
earthworks, driving the Eleventh Corps in wild confusion before
them. The woods swarmed with panic-stricken infantry, in
utter confusion; artillery galloped off, and was overturned in
ditches, or by striking against the trees. At one blow the entire
army of Hooker, as events subsequently proved, was entirely
demoralized.
Jackson pressed straight on upon the track of the flying
enemy; and I soon discovered that he was straining every nerve
to extend his left, and so cut off their retreat to the Rappahanhock.
Unavoidable delays, however, ensued. The lines of
Rodes and Colston had been mingled in inextricable confusion in
the charge; officers could not find their commands: before advancing
further, it was absolutely necessary to halt and re-form
the line of battle.
Rodes and Colston were, accordingly, ordered to stop their
advance, re-form their divisions, and give way to Hill who
was directed to take the front with his fresh division, not yet
engaged.
Before these orders could be carried out, it was nearly nine
o'clock at night, and the weird scene was only lit up by the
struggling beams of a pallid moon. On all sides the scattered
troops were seen gathering around their colors again, and forming
a new tine of battle—and soon A.P. Hill was heard steadily
advancing to take his place in front, for the decisive attack on
Chancellorsville, about a mile distant.
Such was the condition of things, when General Jackson,
accompanied by his staff and escort, rode in advance of his
line down the road toward Chancellorsville, listening, at
every step, for some indications of a movement in the Federal
camps.
When nearly opposite an old wooden house, in the thicket by
the roadside, he checked his horse to listen; and the whole
cortege, General, staff, and couriers, remained for some moments
silent and motionless, gazing toward the enemy.
From the narrative of what followed I shrink with a sort of
dread, and a throbbing heart. Again that sombre and lugubrious
Wilderness rises up before me, lit by the pallid moon; again the
sad whippoorwill's cry ; again I see the great soldier, motionless
upon his horse—and then I hear the fatal roar of the guns which
laid him low!
Jackson had halted thus, and remained motionless in the
middle of the road, listening intently, when, suddenly, for what
reason has never yet been discovered, one of his brigades in
rear, and on the right of the turnpike, opened a heavy fire upon
the party.
Did they take us for Federal cavalry, or were they firing at
random, under the excitement of the moment? I know not,
and it is probable that the truth will never be known. But the
fire had terrible results. Some of the staff were wounded;
others threw themselves from their horses, who were running
from the fire toward the Federal lines, not two hundred yards
distant; and Captain Boswell, engineer upon the General's staff,
was killed, and his body dragged by his maddened horse to
Chancellorsville.
As the bullets whistled around him, Jackson wheeled his horse
to the left, and galloped into the thicket. Then came the fatal
moment. The troops behind him, on the left of the road,
imagined that the Federal cavalry were charging; and, kneeling
on the right knee, with bayonets fixed, poured a volley upon the
General, at the distance of thirty yards.
Two balls passed through his left arm, shattering the bone,
and a third through his right hand, breaking the fingers.
Mad with terror, his horse wheeled round and ran off; and,
passing under a low bough, extending horizontally from a tree,
Jackson was struck in the forehead, his cap torn from his head,
and his form hurled back almost out of the saddle. He rose
erect again, however; grasped the bridle with his bleeding
fingers; and, regaining control of his horse, turned again into
the high road, near the spot which he had left.
The fire had ceased as suddenly as it began, and not a human
being was seen. Of the entire staff and escort, no one remained
but myself and a single courier. The rest had disappeared
before the terrible fire, as leaves disappear before the blasts of
winter.
Jackson reeled in the saddle, but no sound had issued from
his lips during the whole scene. He now declared, in faint
tones that his arm was broken: and, leaning forward, he fell
into my arms.
More bitter distress than I experienced at that moment I would
not wish to have inflicted upon my deadliest enemy. Nor was
my anxiety less terrible. The lines of the enemy were in sight
of the spot where the General lay. At any moment they might
advance, when he would fall into their hands.
No time was to he lost. I sent the courier for an ambulance;
and, taking off the General's military satchel and his arms,
endeavored to stanch his wound. While I was thus engaged, I
experienced a singular consciousness that other eyes than the
General's were intently watching me. I can only thus describe
the instinctive feeling which induced me to look up—and there,
in the edge of the thicket, within ten paces of me, was a dark
figure, motionless, on horseback, gazing at me.
“Who is that?” I called out.
But no reply greeted my address.
“Is that one of the couriers? If so, ride up there, and see
what troops those are that fired upon us.”
At the order, the dark figure moved; went slowly in the
direction which I indicated; and never again appeared. Who
was that silent horseman? I know not, nor ever expect to
know.
I had turned again to the General, and was trying to remove
his bloody gauntlets, when the sound of hoofs was heard in the
direction of our own lines, and soon General A. P. Hill appeared,
with his staff. Hastily dismounting, he expressed the
deepest regret at the fatal occurrence, and urged the General to
permit himself to be borne to the rear, as the enemy might, at
any moment, advance.
As he was speaking, an instant proof was afforded of the
justice of his fears.
“Halt! surrender! Fire on them, if they do not surrender!”
came from one of the staff in advance of the spot, toward the
enemy; and, in a moment, the speaker appeared, with two
Federal skirmishers, who expressed great astonishment at finding
themselves so near the Southern lines.
It was now obvious that no time was to be lost in bearing off
the General, and Lieutenant Morrison, one of the staff, exclaimed:
“Let us take the General up in our arms and carry him off!”
“No; if you can help me up, I can walk!” replied Jackson,
faintly.
And, as General Hill, who had drawn his pistol and mounted
his horse, hastened back to throw forward his line, Jackson rose
to his feet.
He had no sooner done so, than a roar like thunder came from
the direction of Chancellorsville, and a hurricane of shell swept
the road in which we stood. A fragment struck the horse of
Captain Leigh, of Hill's staff, who had just ridden up with a
litter, and his rider had only time to leap to the ground when
the animal fell. This brave officer did not think of himself,
however; he Hastened to Jackson, who leaned his arm upon his
shoulder; and, slowly dragging himself along, his arm bleeding
profusely, the General approached his own lines again.
Hill was now in motion, steadily advancing to the attack, and
the troops evidently suspected, from the number and rank of
the wounded man's escort, that he was a superior officer.
“Who is that?” was the incessant question of the men; but
the reply came is regularly, “Oh, only a friend of ours.”
“When asked, just say it is a Confederate officer!” murmured
Jackson.
And he continued to walk on, leaning heavily upon the shoulders
of the two officers at his side. The horses were led along
between him and the passing troops; but many of the soldiers
peered curiously around them, to discover who the wounded
officer was.
At last one of them recognized him as he walked, bareheaded,
in the moonlight, and exclaimed, in the most piteous tone I ever
heard:
“Great God! that is General Jackson!”
“You are mistaken, my friend,” was the reply of one of the
staff; and, as he heard this denial of Jackson's identity, the man
looked utterly bewildered. He said nothing more, however, and
moved on, shaking his head. Jackson then continued to drag
his feet along—slowly and with obvious pain.
At last his strength was exhausted, and it was plain that he
could go no further. The litter, brought by Captain Leigh, was
put in requisition, the General laid upon it, and four of the
party grasped the handles and bore it on toward the rear.
Such, up to this moment, had been the harrowing scenes of
the great soldier's suffering; but the gloomiest and most tragic
portion was yet to come.
No sooner had the litter begun to move, than the enemy, who
had, doubtless, divined the advance of Hill, opened a frightful
fire of artillery from the epaulments near Chancellorsville. The
turnpike was swept by a veritable hurricane of shell and canister
-- men and horses fell before it, mowed clown like grass—and
where a moment before had been seen the serried ranks of Hill,
the eye could now discern only riderless horses, men writhing in
the death agony, and others seeking the shelter of the woods.
That sudden and furious fire did not spare the small party
who were bearing off the great soldier. Two of the litter-bearers
were shot, and dropped the handles to the ground. Of
all present, none remained but myself and another; and we
were forced to lower the litter to the earth, and lie beside it, to
escape the terrific storm of canister tearing over us. It struck
millions of sparks from the flint of the turnpike, and every
instant I expected would be our last.
The General attempted, during the hottest portion of the fire,
to rise from the litter; but this he was prevented from doing;
and the hurricane soon ceased. He then rose erect, and, leaning
upon our shoulders, while another officer brought on the litter,
made his way into the woods, where the troops were lying down
in line of battle.
As we passed on in the moonlight, I recognized General
Pender, in front of his brigade, and he also recognized rue.F
“Who is wounded, Colonel?” he said.
“Only a Confederate officer, General.”
But, all at once, he caught a sight of General Jackson's face.
“Oh! General!” he exclaimed, “I am truly sorry to see you
are wounded. The lines here are so much broken that I fear
we will be obliged to fall back!”
The words brought a fiery flush to the pale face of Jackson.
Raising his drooping head, his eyes flashed, and he replied:
“You must hold your ground, General Pender! You must
hold your ground, sir!”
Pender bowed, and Jackson continued his slow progress to
the rear.
He had given his last order on the field.
Fifty steps further, his head sank upon his bosom, his shoulders
bent forward, and he seemed about to fall from exhaustion.
In a tone so faint that it sounded like a murmur, he asked to be
permitted to lie down and die.
Instead of yielding to this prayer, we placed him again upon
the litter—some bearers were procured—and, amid bursting
shell, which filled the moonlit sky above with their dazzling corruscations,
we slowly bore the wounded General on, through
the tangled thicket, toward the rear.
So dense was the undergrowth that we penetrated it with
difficulty, and the vines which obstructed the way more than
once made the litter-bearers stumble. From this proceeded a
most distressing accident. One of the men, at last, caught his
foot in a grape-vine, and fell—and, in his fall, he dropped the
handle of the litter. It descended heavily, and then, as the
General's shattered arm struck the ground, and the blood gushed
forth, he uttered, for the first time, a low, piteous groan.
We raised him quickly, and at that moment, a ray of moonlight,
glimmering through the deep foliage overhead, fell upon
his pale face and his bleeding form. His eyes were closed, his
bosom heaved—I thought that he was about to die.
What a death for the man of Manassas and Port Republic
What an end to a career so wonderful! Here, lost in the tangled
and lugubrious depths of this weird Wilderness, with the wan
moon gliding like a ghost through the clouds—the sad notes of
the whippoorwill echoing from the thickets—the shell bursting
in the air, like showers of falling stars—here, alone, without
other witnesses than a few weeping officers, who held him in
their arms, the hero of a hundred battles, the idol of the Southern
people, seemed about to utter his last sigh! Never will the recollection
of that scene be obliterated. Again my pulses throb,
and my heart is oppressed with its bitter load of anguish, as I
go back in memory to that night in the Wilderness.
I could only mutter a few words, asking the General if his
fall had hurt him—and, at these words, his eyes slowly opened.
A faint smile came to the pale face, and in a low murmur he
said:
“No, my friend; do not trouble yourself about me!”
And again the eyes closed, his head fell back. With his grand
courage and patience, he had suppressed all evidences of suffering;
and, once more taking up the litter, we continued to bear
him toward the rear.
As we approached Melzi Chancellor's, a staff-officer of General
Hill recognized Jackson, and announced that Hill had been
wounded by the artillery fire which had swept down the turnpike.
Jackson rose on his bleeding right arm, and exclaimed:
“Where is Stuart!”
As though in answer to that question, we heard the quick
clatter of hoofs, and all at once the martial figure of the great
cavalier was seen rapidly approaching.
“Where is General Jackson?” exclaimed Stuart, in a voice
which I scarcely recognized.
And suddenly he checked his horse right in front of the group.
His drawn sabre was in his hand—his horse foaming. In the
moonlight I could see that his face was pale. and his eyes full
of gloomy emotion.
For an instant no one moved or spoke—and again I return in
memory to that scene. Stuart, clad in his “fighting jacket,”
with the dark plume floating from his looped-up hat, reining in
his foaming horse, while the moonlight poured on his martial
features; and before him, on the litter, the bleeding form of
Jackson, the face pale, the eyes half-closed, the bosom rising
and falling as the life of the great soldier ebbed away.
In an instant Stuart had recognized his friend, and had thrown
himself from his horse.
“You are dangerously wounded!”
“Yes,” came in a murmur from the pale lips of Jackson, as
he faintly tried to hold out his hand. Then his cheeks suddenly
filled with blood, his eyes flashed, and, half rising from the litter,
he exclaimed:
“Oh! for two hours of daylight! I would then cut off the
enemy from United States Ford, and they would be entirely
surrounded!”
Stuart bent over him, and their eyes met.
“Take command of my corps!” murmured Jackson, falling
back; “follow your own judgment—I have implicit confidence
in you!”
Stuart's face flushed hot at this supreme recognition of his
courage and capacity—and I saw a flash dart from the fiery blue
eyes.
“But you will be near, General! You will still send me
orders!” he exclaimed.
“You will not need them,” murmured Jackson; “to-night or
early to-morrow you will be in possession of Chancellorsville!
Tell my men that I am watching them—that I am with them in
spirit!”
“The watchword in the charge shall be, `Remember Jackson!'
”
And, with these fiery words, Stuart grasped the bleeding
hand; uttered a few words of farewell, and leaped upon his
horse. For a moment his sword gleamed, and his black plume
floated in the moonlight; then he disappeared, at full speed, toward
Chancellorsville.
At ten o'clock next morning he had stormed the intrenchments
around Chancellorsville; swept the enemy, with the
bayonet, back toward the Rappahannock; and as the troops,
mad with victory, rushed through the blazing forest, a thousand
voices were heard shouting:
“Remember Jackson!”
