THE LAST MEETING OF LEE AND JACKSON AT CHANCELLORSVILLE.
The party was now met by a litter, which someone had sent from the rear, and the general was placed upon it and borne along by two of his officers. Just then the enemy fired a volley of canister shot up the road, which passed over their heads, but they proceeded only a few steps before the charge was repeated with more accurate aim. One of the officers bearing the litter was struck down, when Maj. Leigh, who was walking by their side, prevented the general from being precipitated to the ground. Just then the roadway was swept by a hurricane of projectiles of every species, before which it seemed no living thing could survive. The bearers of the litter and all the attendants except Maj. Leigh and the general's two aids left him and fled into the woods on either side to escape the fearful tempest, while the sufferer lay along the road with his feet toward the foe, exposed to all its fury. It was now that his three faithful attendants displayed a heroic fidelity which deserves to go down with the immortal name of Jackson into future ages.
Disdaining to save their lives by deserting their chief, they lay down beside him in the causeway and sought to protect him as far as possible with their bodies. On one side was Maj. Leigh, and on the other Lieut. Smith. Again and again was the earth around them torn with volleys of canister, while shells and minie balls flew hissing over them, and the stroke of the iron hail raised sparkling flashes from the flinty gravel of the roadway. Gen. Jackson struggled violently to rise, as though to endeavor to leave the road, but Smith threw his arm over him and with friendly force held him to the earth, saying, "Sir, you must lie still; it will cost you your life if you rise." He speedily acquiesced, and lay quiet, but none of the four hoped to escape alive. Yet, almost by miracle, they were unharmed, and after a few moments the Federalists, having cleared the road of all except this little party, ceased to fire along it, and directed their aim to another quarter.
They now arose and resumed their retreat, the general walking and leaning upon two of his friends, proceeded along the gutter at the margin of the highway in order to avoid the troops, who were again hurrying to the front. Perceiving that he was recognized by some of them, they diverged still farther into the edge of the thicket. It was here that Gen. Pender of North Carolina, who had succeeded to the command of Hill's division upon the wounding of that officer, recognized Gen. Jackson, and said, "My men are thrown into such confusion by this fire that I fear I shall not be able to hold my ground." Almost fainting with anguish and loss of blood, he still replied, in a voice feeble but full of his old determination and authority, "Gen. Pender, you must keep your men together and hold your ground." This was the last military order ever given by Jackson.
Gen. Jackson now complained of faintness, and was again placed upon the litter, and after some difficulty, men were obtained to bear him. To avoid the enemy's fire, which was again sweeping the road, they made their way through the tangled brushwood, almost tearing his clothing from him, and lacerating his face in their hurried progress. The foot of one of the men bearing his head was here tangled in a vine, and he fell prostrate. The general was thus thrown heavily to the ground upon his wounded side, inflicting painful bruises on his body and intolerable agony on his mangled arm, and renewing the flow of blood from it. As they lifted him up he uttered one piteous groan, the only complaint which escaped his lips during the whole scene. Lieut. Smith raised his head upon his bosom, almost fearing to see him expiring in his arms, and asked, "General, are you much hurt?" He replied, "No, Mr. Smith, don't trouble yourself about me." He was then replaced a second time upon the litter, and under a continuous shower of shells and cannon balls, borne a half mile farther to the rear, when an ambulance was found, containing his chief of artillery, Col. Crutchfield, who was also wounded. In this he was placed and hurried toward the field hospital, near Wilderness Run. From there he was taken to a farmhouse, his left arm amputated, and a few days afterward he died. His wife and little child were with him. Thus ended the life of one of the world's greatest warriors and one of Christ's greatest soldiers.
The following ode to Stonewall Jackson was written by a Union officer (Miles O'Reiley), and is inserted here in preference to others that may have been quite as appropriate, because of the added beauty of sentiment it conveys from the fact that its author wore the blue:
He sleeps all quietly and cold
Beneath the soil that gave him birth;
Then break his battle brand in twain,
And lay it with him in the earth.
No more at midnight shall he urge
His toilsome march among the pines,
Nor hear upon the morning air
The war shout of his charging lines.
No more for him shall cannon park
Or tents gleam white upon the plain;
And where his camp fires blazed of yore,
Brown reapers laugh amid the grain!
No more above his narrow bed
Shall sound the tread of marching feet,
The rifle volley and the crash
Of sabres when the foeman meet.
Young April o'er his lowly mound
Shall shake the violets from her hair,
And glorious June with fervid kiss
Shall bid the roses blossom there.
And white-winged peace o'er all the land
Broods like a dove upon her nest,
While iron War, with slaughter gorged,
At length hath laid him down to rest.
And where we won our onward way,
With fire and steel through yonder wood,
The blackbird whistles and the quail
Gives answer to her timid brood.
And oft when white-haired grandsires tell
Of bloody struggles past and gone,
The children at their knees will hear
How Jackson led his columns on!
I have only referred incidentally to Jackson's Valley Campaign. It was short, but intensely dramatic. For bold maneuvering, rapid marching and brilliant strategy, I believe it has no parallel in history. As for results, without it Richmond doubtless would have been in the hands of McClellan in the spring of 1862.
Perhaps it is not extravagant to say that as the tidings reached the people all over the South that their idol was dead, more sorrow was expressed in tears than was ever known in the history of the world at the loss of any one man.