Little by little the hospitals thinned; the slightly wounded went back to duty and the badly hurt began to hobble about. But on every hand were the gaunt, sad forms stretched on the narrow cots over which Life and Death wrestled for the mastery. And still the tireless love of woman watched by them—and still unworded prayers went up that the Destroyer might not prevail.
The stillness that followed "Seven Pines" was not unbroken. The armies were so near together that the least movement of either brought on a collision, and constant skirmishing went on. Not a day but had its miniature battle; and scarce an hour but added to the occupants of the hospitals. As these conflicts most frequently resulted in a Confederate success, they only served to encourage the people, and to bring them to the high pitch necessary for the prolonged note of war that was soon to sound so near them.
Just a month after the repulse of the iron-clads from Drewry's Bluff, the bold and daring "Pamunkey Raid" still further aided in this effect. General J. E. B. Stuart had by his successful conduct of the cavalry, no less than by his personal gallantry, worked his way from the colonelcy he held at Manassas to a major-generalcy of all that arm of the Virginia army. He had gained the confidence of General Lee and the greatest popularity in and out of the army; and, ably seconded by his brigadiers, "Jeb Stuart" was expected to do great deeds in the coming campaign.
Information being desired of the enemy on certain points, he volunteered to obtain it. With the advice and direction of the commanding-general, Stuart started from Richmond; made his reconnaissance; penetrated to the White House on the Pamunkey and burned the depot there; whipped the enemy's cavalry wherever he met them; and, making a complete circuit of the Federal rear, with all his captured men and horses, rode back into the city in triumph.
Whatever may be said of raids in the abstract, this was certainly a most dashing one; and was received with loud acclamation by army and people. The latter were by this time in better spirit to receive encouragement; and, dazzled by its brilliance, rather than weighing its solid advantages, placed this achievement perhaps above the more useful success at Williamsburg.
Then came the news from the Valley.
That wonderful campaign—which far exceeds in strategic power, brilliant dash and great results any other combination of the war—had been fought and won! It has been justly compared, by a competent and eloquent critic, to Napoleon's campaign in Italy; and—paling all his other deeds—it clearly spoke Stonewall Jackson the Napoleon of the South.
Coolly looking back at its details, the thinker even now is struck with respectful wonder.
Hurling his little force against Front Royal; flashing to Winchester and routing Banks; slipping between the close converging lines of Fremont and Shields—just in time to avoid being crushed between them—and bearing with him miles of wagon train and spoils; turning on the pursuing columns of Fremont, driving him back, and then sweeping Shields from his path like chaff—Jackson clears his way and marches on for Richmond!
Still onward, scarcely halting for food or rest—ever on to strike new terror when thought far away; weary, footsore—with scarcely one-half its former number, but flushed with victory and panting for further fame—the little band toils on, passes around Richmond and, just as the opposing cannon begin their last grim argument for her possession, hurl themselves like an Alpine torrent on the flank of the enemy!