THOMAS JONATHAN (STONEWALL) JACKSON.
A Paper Read at the Twelfth Annual Meeting of the American-Irish Historical Society, January 8, 1910, at Hotel Plaza in New York, by John Louis Sheehan, LL. D. of Boston University School of Law.
In scanning the pages of American history, one pauses at the name of Stonewall Jackson. In imagination the reader goes back more than half a century, to fields of fierce conflict where a nation was drenched in human blood. He hears the cry of the torn and mangled, the roar and shriek of the bursting shell, and when for a moment the flash of cannon clears away the smoke of battle, there is seen the form of one admired by all, the ingenious, the courageous, the redoubtable Jackson.
Nerve and a spirit of independence appears in his great grandmother, Elizabeth Cummins, a woman over six feet tall, who quarreled with her father and left for America, after throwing a silver tankard at his head, while he was keeper of “The Bold Dragoon” in London. On her arrival she married John Jackson, a man of Irish birth. Later on, when young Jackson compared notes, he found that his ancestors came from the same parish in Londonderry as those of President Andrew Jackson. The married couple settled on a farm in northwestern Virginia. It was out of this stock that our hero was born about January 21, 1824.
Jonathan Jackson, the father of Thomas Jonathan, retained little of the mettle of the early pioneers. His health, credit, and fortune were gambled away, and he died leaving his widow and four children to the care of his relatives. Stonewall was three years old at this time. Four years later, called to the bedside of his mother, he witnessed all that was mortal of her pass out of this life.
The orphan went to live with his uncle, Cummins Jackson, who gave him complete freedom in the open air. The boy became a good rider and grew fond of all out door sports. These days spent among remote kin were looked upon by him as the saddest of his life; he never cared to talk about them for this reason. Yet his temper as a boy was cheerful and generous. He had a high regard for truth, and his sense of justice was very strong. He was quick to resent an insult, would never yield to defeat, but when fairly treated was always gentle and kind.
He was eighteen years old when he became a constable of Lewis County. This office he held for a time, though the age required by law was twenty-one. “But since a desire for knowledge had been the passion of his youth,” it is needless to say that he was glad to resign on receiving an appointment to the military academy at West Point. On his arrival at Washington, the congressman from his district, introduced him to the secretary of war, as a young man with a limited education, with “an honorable desire for improvement.” His conversation must have pleased the secretary, for he said: “Go to West Point; and the first man who insults you, knock him down, and have it charged to my account.” The term at the academy having already began, the youth had to hasten to West Point. Before leaving he climbed the roof of the Capitol, and looked out over Washington. Nobody noticed him there, nobody looked for him in that great city; but there came a time when folks did look for him, and when the inhabitants shook at the mere mention of his name; yes, when the mere threat of an attack caused the greatest fear at Washington, and disturbed the whole United States.
It is said that he was a “gawky” youth, with an ill-looking jaw, wearing homespun clothes, when he presented himself to the officers at West Point. His appearance led the cadets to attempt fun at his expense. In a measure they were disappointed. After many trials they decided that the young fellow had come to stay. But Jackson did not make great progress in his studies. He could do the necessary riding and running, but he was slow in his book learning, and always two or three lessons behind his class. He barely got through his mid-year examinations, yet this pass gave him courage, and he studied even after the taps “for lights out.” The end of the first year, however, found him on safer ground.
When his class was graduated at the end of four years, Jackson stood seventeenth among the seventy. The world was to hear of that class later, for in it were many destined for distinguished honors; among them were Generals A. P. Hill, Pickett, Maury, D. R. Jones, W. D. Smith, and Wilcox of the Confederate Army, and Generals McClellan, Foster, Reno, Stoneman, Couch, and Gibbon of the Federal Army. Jackson himself was no longer an awkward boy, for the training and system at West Point had wrought a change which clung to him through life. He was kind and courteous, but not altogether sociable and had only a few good friends.
He was now twenty-two years old, with the brevet rank of second lieutenant of artillery. Our country had already declared war against Mexico, and when his whole class was ordered to the front, Jackson went to New Orleans from whence he sailed to Mexico. General Winfield Scott was there, and Jackson joined his army at Vera Cruz. From this time on, fortune placed him in the centre of the stage. He took part in nearly all the great battles of this war. He was many times mentioned for bravery. At the storming of the Castle of Chapultepec, Captain Magruder recommended him for promotion in the following words: “I beg leave to call the attention of the Major General commanding, to the conduct of Lieutenant Jackson of the First Artillery. If devotion, industry, talent and gallantry are the highest qualities of a soldier, then is he entitled to the distinction which their possession confers.” At once he was brevetted a captain, and a little later made major. It is said “no other officer in the whole army in Mexico was promoted so often for meritorious conduct or made so great a stride in rank.”
On September 14, the American Army occupied the city of Mexico. A garrison was finally left to guard the city, and Jackson spent pleasant days in this life of ease among the Mexican people. He learned their language, and took part in some of their pastimes. It was here that religion grew upon him. He began the study of the differing forms of creeds and service taught by soldier chaplains, Mexican priests, and citizen ministers. The Archbishop of Mexico explained to him the system of the Church of Rome, but Jackson was quite undecided when he had listened to them all, and left his selection to a later day.
In 1848 the army vacated the city. Major Jackson was sent to Fort Hamilton, on Long Island, where two uneventful years quickly passed. He was next ordered to Fort Meade, near Tampa Bay, Florida, where he stayed for six months. A pleasant change awaited him, for he was elected professor of Natural and Experimental Philosophy and Artillery Tactics at the Virginia Military Institute, where he went in March, 1851.
It was at Lexington, where the Shenandoah flows through the “Valley of Virginia,” that Jackson spent the next ten years, teaching the cadets, and very interesting work he found it. He loved every inch of the beautiful grounds, and enjoyed every hour of those days. It was here that he met Doctor White, a Presbyterian minister, in whom he found a congenial “spiritual commanding officer.” After examination of all the creeds, Jackson was baptized “a member of Doctor White’s congregation,” and began straightaway, with a zeal that was all his might, the business of leading a veritable “religious life,” and this life he lived to the letter, as far as it is possible for man to live it in this world. “Every act, it seemed to him, was fit occasion for a prayer,—prayer before he drank a glass of water, in the class-room, a blessing on his scholars, on mailing a letter, an appeal for the person to whom it was sent,—silent prayers in most cases; for there appeared little of the Roundhead in this simple man, who could speak out when he thought it necessary, but shrank from uncalled for show.”
In 1853 Jackson was married to Elinor, daughter of President Junkin, of Washington College. Less than one happy year were they together, for she died in childbirth, and Jackson sank in despair.
There have been many descriptions of this Major Jackson. He is described as being “tall, erect, muscular, with uncommonly large hands and feet, and with a diffident manner of meeting people that was exaggerated by his habitually awkward movements. He walked, it is said, like a dismounted horseman; in the saddle sat loosely, in a kind of slovenly ease, unless, as later, in battle, he was moved by excitement, when his whole body became rigid with martial lines, and he rode with a distinction as imposing, almost, as that of ‘the man on the horse himself.’ The heavy (bearded) jaw, however, was not square, but oval, and Jackson’s eyes, which were large and blue, had a trace of soft light in them not accounted for in this picture of an iron warrior.”
In 1856 Major Jackson visited Europe. He scanned every inch of the “beaten path,” and in gratifying his curiosity went to the Battlefield of Waterloo. While he felt that Napoleon was the greatest of commanders, he was sure that he made an error in choosing the Chateau of Hugomont as the vital point of attack on the British line; it should have been the village of Mont St. Jean.
In this far away land, his thoughts wandered back to the country of his birth, and to a dear little girl he had known before his marriage. He made her his wife a year after his return. They led a plain, simple, Christian life.
Jackson, a keen observer, saw at last the dark clouds of rebellion on the horizon. These signs meant much to him, and, like many another, he was greatly concerned.
Though Jackson took no active part in the secession arguments, he nevertheless came to the definite conclusion that the northern states were using the power of the Washington government for the private advantage of their section, and were seeking to oppress the south. He believed that the Lord had ordained slavery, but apart from this he stood for “the right of the sovereign state.” Said he: “The South ought to take its stand on the outer verge of its just rights, and then resist aggression, if necessary, by the sword,” and when the war came at last, there was no question in his mind on which side he was to fight. He thought of the days under the “Old Flag,” and what those days had been to him; yet after all, he felt that the “act of his state” absolved him,—Virginia was with the Confederacy.
The feeling was now running high in the South. At a meeting of the military academy, where Jackson was called upon to speak, he arose during the cheers of those present, and said: “Soldiers, the time may come when your state will need your services, and, if that time does come, then draw your swords and throw away the scabbards.”
It was on a Sunday morning that Governor Letcher sent the order for Jackson to march his cadets to Richmond. Then he turned them over to his superior officer. Promotions were taking place, commands were given out to some who had had no war experience. He was now getting anxious, when he was about to be sent to the engineers’ department. Friends from his district interfered with such effect that he was given a commission as colonel of Virginia troops, and the command of Harper’s Ferry.
General Beauregard held a position about sixty miles away across the Blue Ridge Mountains. Near Manassas Junction and the Bull Run water, was the Union General McDowell. President Davis received on July 17 Beauregard’s telegram: “The enemy has assaulted my outposts in heavy force—send forward any reinforcements at the earliest possible instant, and by every possible means.” The first Virginia Brigade of Johnson’s army marching with Jackson were reserved in the woods at Bull Run to support the left. McClellan made his first attack on the twenty-first at this point. The battle had waged but a short time, when it looked bad for the Confederate side. Federal troops were rapidly moving to the front of the stream, and the Confederate line gave way. Jackson steadied his men as the Carolina and Georgia troops rushed into the ravine. They listened not to the shouting of their generals, Johnson and Beauregard. The enemy turned to destroy Jackson’s line, and complete their victory, when General Bee cried, “General, they are beating us back.” The deep lines stood out on Jackson’s firm face as he replied, “Well, we will give them the bayonet.” Bee rode up to his men and shouted, “Look, there is Jackson standing like a stonewall.” This rallying cry went through the lines, the men turned and advanced, and Jackson gave the order to charge,—“and yell like fury.” The Federal troops fell back, and this, the first great Confederate victory, was won.
Contrary to custom Jackson did not go into winter quarters at Winchester. He wanted to go ahead. He felt that the duty of a soldier was to seek out the enemy and fight him. This, he said, was the only way to shorten the war. Accordingly he prepared to attack the Federal forces at Bath and at Romney, up in the northwest. But the winter was a severe one, and his men suffered greatly. The way was covered with ice and snow. Thy had to cut through the untraveled roads; the horses could not get a footing on the ice, and two miles a day were all they could make. His men were dissatisfied; others spread the news in Winchester of Jackson’s ill luck, and he was criticised severely. General Loring wrote to Richmond of the danger of an attack on Winchester, and the secretary of war telegraphed Jackson to recall his general. Jackson was displeased at this. He felt on the whole that his campaign was successful. He was indignant at the action of the war department, and, ordering General Loring to return to Winchester, resigned from the army. General Johnson delayed the letter, and wrote to Jackson, approving of the Romney and Bath expeditions. Private citizens petitioned him not to resign, for the Confederacy needed him. The “Governor of Virginia sent a kind of ambassador to treat” with him, and later President Davis refused to consider the acceptance of the resignation, and the governor personally withdrew it. Jackson, with “views unchanged,” remained with his command.
General McClellan had now made up his mind to capture the Confederate capital. General Banks commanded the right wing at Harper’s Ferry. His plan was for Banks to force out all the southern troops from the valley, then fall in with the army before Richmond. McClellan, thinking that Jackson had fled from the valley, drew some of the Banks forces to him. Jackson immediately returned and attacked the enemy at Kernstown, near Winchester. The firing was hot and bloody, and the Confederate troops, under Gannett in the centre, retired from the field, and the whole army fled after them. One-fourth of Jackson’s command was lost, but he was satisfied that the Federal loss was greater than his own, and that the object of the attack had been gained. Banks had to stay in the valley, the regiments which started to join McClellan were recalled, and in the following April, President Lincoln withdrew McDowell’s whole corps to defend the Capitol at Washington.
Jackson’s successful operation had gained much for the cause of secession, and the Confederate government, to help him carry out his plans, determined to let him have all the troops it could spare from the defense of Richmond.
In May, 1862, Jackson found himself at Bull Pasture. On the eighth day Milroy hit the “Stonewall Brigade,” and brought on the battle of McDowell. During the three hours of fighting Jackson lost heavily in killed and wounded. When night came on, the enemy lighting misleading camp fires, retreated under the protection of Freemont. The Federals reported a victory in this battle, and “God blessed our armies at McDowell yesterday,” was the despatch Jackson sent to President Davis. Ewell was immediately sent for, and Jackson started out for General Banks.
On May 23, the Union forces held Fort Royal against him, then fled to Banks, who was on a quick run to beat Jackson into Winchester. Banks won, and planted his batteries on the outskirts of the town. Jackson shelled him, and Ewell’s brigade drove the Federals through the town. Jackson rested here for two days before marching on to Harper’s Ferry. He wanted to invade the North, but Lee insisted that he first help him drive the enemy away from Richmond. When Jackson received word to go back into the mountains where he would be safe he answered: “Give me fewer orders, and more men.” He evidently did not appreciate the danger, for Lincoln had already ordered Freemont to join McDowell and Shields and capture Jackson. A long march was ahead of him, and there was no time to lose. His infantry which was called “foot cavalry,” on account of its reputation for fast marching, had to travel forty miles to Strasburg. Freemont could not reach them in time to do harm. Shields took a wrong road, and could not repair bridges in time to overtake Jackson, who, after a few skirmishes, reached Port Republic for a two days’ rest.
On Sunday, June 8, Shields pierced his lines, and Jackson was almost taken prisoner. Ewell and Freemont began the fighting at Cross Keys. Jackson crossed the stream and joined them. Shields beat him back, and it was only the arrival of Confederate reinforcements that saved the day for Jackson. He made a flank attack, and Shields retreated. The “Stonewall Brigade” now got a much needed rest of five days.
On June 11, General Lee wrote Jackson: “Your recent successes have been the cause of the liveliest joy in this army as well as in the country.” There was no doubt now as to Jackson’s standing as a soldier, and he was admired and loved by his men. This confidence in him is expressed by a song written by one of his soldiers, which carried them many times into victory.
He’s in the saddle now! Fall in!
Steady, the whole Brigade!
Hill’s at the Ford, cut off!—we’ll win
His way out, ball and blade!
What matter if our shoes are worn?
What matter if our feet are torn?
Quick step, we’re with him before morn!
That’s Stonewall Jackson’s way.
On June 23, General Lee called to his headquarters for consultation, Generals A. P. Hill, D. H. Hill and Longstreet of the army before Richmond. Jackson was there, after fifty miles of continuous riding during the night. Lee told them of his plan to attack the Federal right wing, and left the details to them. At the end of the discussion Longstreet said to Jackson: “As you have the longest march to make and are likely to meet opposition, you had better fix the time for the attack to begin.”
Said Jackson: “Daylight of the 26th.”
Longstreet said: “You will encounter Federal cavalry, and roads blocked by felled timber, if nothing more formidable. Ought you not to give yourself more time?”
“No, daylight of the 26th,” and Jackson returned to his men. Blunders and mistakes delayed Jackson.
In two days he was at Ashland. He spent the nights following moving about his men, giving orders and praying for his success. Daylight of the 26th did not find him moving, and it was seven o’clock before his army got under way. The generals waited for him, and finally A. P. Hill opened his batteries on Mechanicsville “to hurry Stonewall Jackson on.” The Confederates made an attack on the enemy at Beaver Dam Creek; “but there was no Jackson to turn the Federal right.” The Confederates retreated with terrible loss. Night saw Jackson’s approach. At daybreak the enemy, learning of this, retreated down the Chickahominy toward Gaines Mill and Cold Harbor. Jackson was after them. The firing of the heavy guns told him that the fight was getting hotter. Jackson had gone out of his way, and it was feared that Hill’s command would be shattered before he could arrive, because Longstreet was held back to join with Jackson in the attack. Lee sent word to Longstreet that, unless he could move forward, the day would be lost. At this moment, two of Jackson’s brigades joined Longstreet. Jackson’s men did not seem to find their places. They were disorganized. Jackson, calling Captain Pendleton to him, said: “Go to the line and see all the commanders. Tell them this thing has hung in suspense too long. Sweep the field with the bayonet.”
McClellan, considering himself defeated, marched southeastward toward the James River, under the protection of gunboats. A. P. Hill and Longstreet were sent to head him off. Jackson was to attack the Federal rear. Hill and Longstreet attacked McClellan at Frayzer’s Farm, but Jackson was a day behind the battle, and when he reached White Oak Swamp, the roads were blocked, bridges were burned, and the guns of the enemy were trained upon the fords. He withdrew, and McClellan retreated again when the Frayzer’s Farm battle was over.
Meantime people were asking: “What was the matter with Jackson?” His actions puzzled them. His delays had been costly to the Confederacy. He seemed to be not the same fighter of old. But, as General D. H. Hill said, “Jackson’s genius never shone when he was under the command of another.” He seemed then to be shrouded or paralyzed. The fact was that he was tired and worn out by the wet swamps; the fever and forced marches. Lee’s plans having miscarried, he was now forced to attack McClellan on Malvern Hill. His loss was terrible. When the Federal general withdrew, they were a little easier at the Confederate capitol.
Pope was now in command of the Federal Army of Virginia. It was one of the finest armies that ever faced a foe. Lee sent Jackson to fence with him. Jackson immediately called for reinforcements and rested his horses and men while awaiting a reply. In August, A. P. Hill came to his aid. Pope was now on the Rappahannock. When Jackson moved to attack him, Banks met him with all his strength in the Battle of Cedar Mountain, August 9. Banks seemed to be winning the battle, for the Confederate centre was broken, but Jackson’s supports turned the balance the other way. Jackson wrote to Lee: “On the evening of the 9th inst. God blessed our armies with another victory.” General Lee now joined Jackson at Gordonsville. The Federal Army was at Culpepper Court House. Pope took shelter across the river, and Lee conceived a plan to drive him out. Stonewall Jackson was selected for this work. On the 25th he began the move “in his old-time mystery” across the Rappahannock and marched away from the Federals, turning at right angles in the morning toward the line of the Federal communication with Washington. He passed Thoroughfare Gap, and fell on the enemy’s depot of supplies at Manassas Junction. One of Pope’s despatches, captured the next day, disclosed his plan to concentrate his forces at Manassas. Acting upon this, Jackson advanced and met the enemy on the old field of Bull Run. Jackson held his position in this bloody fight, and when the enemy fell back at midnight, he was content not to follow him.
Both sides were ready at dawn of day. Longstreet just reached the field as Pope with his whole army ploughed the Confederate lines. Lee, now Jackson’s superior, helped win another victory for the South.
The great leader of the Confederate army evidently understood General Jackson. He gave him something to accomplish, then let him alone. He had now something of importance in his mind. It was the capture of Harper’s Ferry. Lee was going to invade the North. The army crossed the Potomac and entered Frederick City. Stonewall Jackson was riding ahead. They occupied the city for several days. Meanwhile the Federal forces were gathering around Washington. The garrison at Harper’s Ferry did not move and Lee on September 10 sent Jackson to assault it. Four days later the white flag was raised over it. The men were taken prisoners, and their arms, ammunition, and supplies came to Jackson’s men. Immediately, he joined Lee at Sharpsburg; he was wanted, for McClellan was at Antietam Creek.
MOST REVEREND JOHN M. FARLEY, D. D., LL. D.,
Archbishop of New York.
At midnight of the 16th a part of Jackson’s men again became engaged; and when “at the dawn of the 17th, Hooker made his terrible attack on the left of the Confederate battle line, Stonewall Jackson stood in the way.”
The morning sun of this day looked down on a sight that was awful beyond conception. In the corn field at the Dunker Church the men fought and fell, cut down like the corn, in the order in which they were standing. “It was never my fortune to witness a more dismal battlefield,” Hooker wrote. “Terrible carnage,” said Jackson, and as he watched the deadly fire, planned a new attack.
He immediately formed his cavalry to turn the Federal right. “Move your divisions to the front, and attack the enemy as soon as you hear Stuart’s guns,” he said. “We’ll drive McClellan into the Potomac.” But Stuart’s guns were not heard, for the enemy was already on the river. The Federals next pressed A. P. Hill’s division; but he was helped in holding possession by the arrival of the remainder of the troops from Harper’s Ferry. Lee crossed the Potomac, and the final victory was with McClellan. The forces remained for three months in camp.
Jackson was made a lieutenant-general in October of this year. Lee now said of him: “Such an executive officer the sun never shone on. I have but to show him my design, and I know if it can be done, it will be done.”
In December, when Burnside moved toward Richmond, Lee went out to meet him. In the battle of Fredericksburg, Jackson commanded the Confederate right, and resisted every attack. Longstreet held the left in this last victory for the South, in this campaign.
Jackson’s wife and his child came to visit him at Hamilton’s Crossing. To Mrs. Jackson he felt disposed to talk of the war. “We must make this campaign an exceedingly active one,” he said. “Only thus can a weaker country cope with a stronger. It must make up in activity what it lacks in strength.”
On April 29, a messenger drew rein at his door. “General Early’s adjutant wishes to see General Jackson.” Jackson looked out and said: “That looks as if Hooker were crossing.” He was right. When Jackson’s aide notified Lee, the latter remarked: “Say to your good general that he knows what to do. I will join him at the front.” Jackson threw his army against the enemy, who fell back on Chancellorsville.
The war department at Washington had made up its mind that the only thing to be done was to march steadily on to Richmond. Hooker faced the Confederates, determined to smash through their divisions. Lines of telegraph were at his service, signal stations and captive balloons were ready for his use. In the green fields behind him was “the finest army on this planet,” as he himself said. There was no sleep in the Confederate camp on the night of the first of May. Lee and Jackson discussed plans of a circuit around Hooker’s right and an attack on his rear.
“General Jackson,” said Lee, “what do you propose to do?”
“Go around here.” Jackson’s finger moved on the map before them.
“What do you propose to make this movement with?”
“With my whole corps.”
“What will you leave me?” Lee asked.
“The divisions of Anderson and McLaws,” answered Jackson. Lee paused and then said: “Well, go on.”
Jackson saluted, saying: “My troops will move at once, sir.”
Everything was ready, every order was given, when Jackson looked at his watch. It was six o’clock in the evening,—“You may go forward, sir.”
This whole Southern force moved like an avalanche on the unsuspecting Federals, who received a deadly fire from behind.
They ran before the advancing foe. Here and there they took a stand to resist the attack, then on again. Jackson followed them with his pounding artillery. “Press right ahead, press them, press them,” cried Jackson, as he rode by his men.
“You should not expose yourself so much,” said a staff officer as he grabbed his rein.
“There is no danger, sir,” he replied; “the enemy is routed. Go back and tell General Hill to press on.” But Hooker appeared before the right of his men, ordered a stand to be taken, and Jackson was obliged to stop and collect his scattered troops.
But half a mile now divided the Confederate and Federal lines; Jackson’s men were scattered in the dark woods, and were running about, “disorderly as a city mob.” Divisions, brigades, companies, all were mixed. At nine o’clock the “rising moon lit dimly the broken, shadowed spaces of the battlefield.” Jackson and his staff were moving quietly about. He drew rein one hundred yards away and listened. To the North Carolina brigade, they looked like Federal cavalry. The skirmish line fired a few shots towards the staff, then a whole company turned a volley to the front; two officers fell. Jackson struck the spurs to his horse and advanced toward the lines, when a regiment blazed out upon him. His horse jumped and started in the direction of the enemy. The limbs of the trees whipped the face of the rider, and Jackson’s arms fell to his side. He was lifted from his saddle to the ground, and Hill bent over him. “General, are you much hurt?” “I think I am,” said Jackson, “and all the wounds are from my own men.”
The North Carolina soldiers stopped firing, but soon the battle began again. As Jackson was being removed to the rear, he said: “Tell them simply that you have a wounded officer.” But, as he passed, a soldier cried out: “Good God, it is General Jackson!”
When Mrs. Jackson arrived on Sunday morning, May 10, Jackson was very low. She told him he was going to die. He tossed about during the afternoon, and his mind began to be cloudy. In a restless sleep he muttered, “Order A. P. Hill to prepare for action. Pass the infantry to the front.” It was a little later, when he made his famous saying, “No, let us pass over the river, and rest under the shade of the trees.” He spoke no more, but fell into the sleep which knows no waking.
“Could I have dictated events,” wrote General Lee, “I should have chosen, for the good of the country, to have been disabled in your stead.”
It seemed strange that Jackson could die, he had survived danger so long. It was at the closing of his grave on the hill at Lexington that his deep loss was felt in the whole South. “The man was so much needed. He had the mark of victory upon him, and his presence in the fight lent faith to the cause everywhere.” A flower of the South had fallen, never to rise again.
At a dedication of a Jackson monument sometime afterwards in New Orleans, Father Hubert prayed, “God, when thou did’st decree that the Confederacy should not succeed, thou had’st first to take thy servant, Stonewall Jackson.”
Such was the brief career of a poor orphan boy,—of a Christian and patriotic soldier,—of a descendant of an Irish immigrant, “who achieved the last and greatest of his successes in dying for his country. He perished doubly a martyr, and in his last breath attested the righteousness of the cause which he sealed with his blood.”