49. XLIX
THE SECOND RETREAT.
Rejoining the Confederate column near Woodstock, I made my
report, with which the General seemed well satisfied, and then
informed him of the barricades erected in the enemy's rear.
He smiled grimly.
“Then we are not so badly defeated, after all, Major.”
“It seems they fear, at least, that you will return.”
“I accomplished my object. General Williams has come back,
with fifteen thousand men, to the Valley.”
“What force did you fight at Kernstown, General?”
“About eight thousand, I think. Scouts report eleven thousand
in all at Winchester before the action.”
“Well, that gives an aggregate of twenty-six thousand, kept
here by an attack from three thousand. I think it was worth
what it cost.”
And the conversation turned upon something else.
The army continued its retreat until it reached Rude's Hill, a
lofty elevation near Mount Jackson, and here it went into camp
and rested.
About the middle of April, information came developing the
Federal plan of campaign for the coming spring. Richmond was
to be attacked from every quarter. General MeClellan, with an
army of more than one hundred thousand men, was to advance
from the Peninsula, between the James and York; General McDowell
was to march from Fredericksburg, with forty thousand
men, and unite with McClellan's right on the Chickahominy; and
in the Valley, not less than three heavy columns were to assail
Jackson. General Milroy was to advance from the mountains
west of Staunton; General Fremont from the northwest; and,
General Banks, from Winchester, straight up the Valley.
Uniting near Harrisonburg or Staunton, these three columns
were to drive Jackson before them, pursue him to the low country,
and, joining General McDowell's right, as he had joined McClellan,
encircle the Confederate capital with a cordon of bayonets.
Then exit the Confederacy.
This plan became developed, as I have said, about the middle
of April, when Jackson received intelligence that Generals Milroy,
Fremont, and Banks were all in motion. The first was
approaching from Monterey; the second pressing toward Romney;
and General Banks was rapidly advancing with a heavy
force from Winchester.
“They seem determined to drive me from the Valley, Major,”
said Jackson, when this intelligence came; “but, with God's
blessing, I hope to hold my ground, if not drive them back.”
The hope seemed desperate to me—and yet it did not. I had
begun to believe in Jackson, like his men. In spite of the undoubted
defeat which he sustained at Kernstown, the troops had
conceived the very highest admiration for him. Whenever he
appeared on his old sorrel, in his dingy uniform, they cheered
him wildly; and an officer told me that, on the day after the
battle, the men “went crazy about him”[1]
From Kernstown dated that ardent personal attachment of
the troops to their leader—a fact which I never could explain.
Many among the officers who had been with General Loring continued
to sneer at him as “crack-brained;” but the men would
not be persuaded. They cheered him obstinately whenever he
appeared.
General Banks now pressed forward. His column reached the
little village of Edinburg; and Jackson broke up his camp at
Rude's Hill, and crossed into Elk Run Valley. Here he could
face all his enemies, and retreat, if necessary, upon Richmond.
But that I knew he intended to do only in the last resort.
