The Sword (44 page)

Every once in a while, Jeb would throw up a hand for the column to stop, and then he would listen, his head cocked as if he were waiting for something. Then he would nod with satisfaction and move quietly on.

They were in a wilderness, with rough tracks for roads that seemed to begin out of nowhere and then end abruptly. Finally Stuart called for the column to halt, though he didn’t dismount, so neither did Clay. Stuart took a map out of his jacket and called for
a lantern. An aide brought him one, and Stuart studied the map, his right leg thrown over the saddle horn in a negligent gesture, one that Clay had seen many times.

“I think that Reverend Lacy lives around here somewhere,” Jeb said quietly to Clay, who had lingered close to him. “If we can find him, I’ll send word with him back to General Jackson and General Lee.”

Finally they found the Reverend B. T. Lacy’s small cabin. He was Stonewall Jackson’s chief chaplain. Jeb roused him and said, “Go back to camp, just east of here, close to the old Wellford railroad yard. Tell General Lee that I have found the end of their line, in a clearing about eight miles from them, and it looks to me like they’re up in the air.”

In Stuart’s absence, the two generals had made a momentous decision, and some audacious plans.

It was indeed a daring move, one that could have been an utter catastrophe. Robert E. Lee had asked Jackson to find a way to get at Hooker’s army, and he had decided, when he got word from General Stuart, to try and flank them at the weakness in the line that Stuart had found. Stonewall had asked Lee if he could take his whole corps, leaving only two stripped-down divisions with Lee. Robert E. Lee had about 14,000 men left with him as Jackson made his flank sweep. Joe Hooker had about 100,000 men. All Hooker had to do was to drive straight at him, hard and fast, and the Army of Northern Virginia would be destroyed, and the Civil War would be over.

It never happened.

Fighting Joe Hooker talked a good game. Once he called the Army of the Potomac “the finest army on the planet.” Before the battle had even begun, in his headquarters he boasted, “Robert E. Lee and the Confederate Army are now the legitimate property of the United States.”

At the beginning of the battle, he was cocksure, filled with
confidence, but he had never tackled the likes of Robert E. Lee and Stonewall Jackson. As events unfolded, he grew unsure, indecisive. Instead of rushing his men into the fray and taking Lee head-on and running over the inferior force, which he easily could have done, he lingered, he made excuses, he stalled.

Then Stonewall Jackson and his corps appeared, apparently out of nowhere, shielded by Jeb Stuart’s fearless cavalry, and struck his flank. Hooker completely lost himself and ended up helplessly frittering away every chance he had to effectively fight back. He never had control of the battle, and finally, in the end, he met the fate of others who had run up against Robert E. Lee and Stonewall Jackson.

Jackson’s corps had, in effect, cowed Joe Hooker, and as a result, the Army of the Potomac was like a loaded cannon, but one that no one would aim and shoot. Still, Stonewall Jackson was never a man to be satisfied. Even as the darkness fell, he was leading some of his officers, looking for a way to strike Hooker another blow.

They were in the deep woods, with the lines so close and entangled that from one foot to the next they couldn’t tell if they were closer to Federal troops or to Confederates. An overeager, keyed-up North Carolina infantry regiment fired a volley that knocked Jackson out of the saddle, wounded in the left shoulder, the left arm, and his palm. Jackson was carried away from the battlefield. His war was finally over.

“General Stuart,” the messenger said, “I have terrible news.”

“What is it, Lieutenant?”

“General Jackson has been shot. He’s not expected to live. General Lee orders you to take command of the army.”

What could have been the proudest moment of Jeb Stuart’s life turned out to be one of the most bitter. He had admired Jackson all of his military career; in fact, the two men, polar opposites though
they were, had made fast friends. It was said that Jeb Stuart was the only man in the world who could make Stonewall Jackson laugh out loud.

Now his great head dropped, and he said, “I will assume command.”

Jeb Stuart was a cavalryman. But he took command of an entire army, infantry, artillery, and all, and he did a fine job. He managed to send Hooker back to Washington in disgrace. But there was no joy in Stuart’s heart nor in the heart of any Southerner. In losing Jackson, they had lost so much, and they had loved him well. General Lee, when he heard that Jackson’s left arm was shattered, had sent word, “You’re losing your left arm, but I am losing my right arm.” A pall fell over the Confederacy. It seemed that the army would never be the same again.

I
f Jeb Stuart had expected to be promoted after serving so well and salvaging the Battle at Chancellorsville, he soon found out that this was not to be. There were mentions of his bravery, the excellence of his command during this battle, but he remained in charge of the cavalry. No doubt both General Lee and President Davis were convinced that this was his most valuable contribution. And though Stuart might have felt some twinges of regret at being passed over, in his heart he likely agreed with them. He loved the cavalry above all.

In midsummer he arranged for a review of the cavalry at Brandy Station. There had been little action, so the troops were all available, and by the time the review was set in motion, ten thousand cavalrymen sat their horses in lines almost two miles long, and Stuart galloped onto the field.

One of his gunners, George Neese, said of Stuart:

In those few golden days of summer, it seemed as if the enemy was a world away.

Stuart’s officers were gathered together, and he explained that there was a drive to invade the North. “Our job,” he said, addressing his men, “is to cover the Union Army, to find out their dispositions, to see if we can find a weakness in their flank. They are just over that ridge.” He pointed east, to the Blue Ridge Mountains. “That will be an easy enough task. We’ll have no trouble.”

Afterward Clay was talking with several of the other officers. Clay had noticed some difference in General Stuart’s manner, and he was worried. “He doesn’t seem to be as alert or as focused as he usually is.”

“General Stuart knows what he’s doing,” a major scoffed. “He’s never let the army down.”

Clay could argue no more against his superior officers, and so he kept his mouth shut and followed Jeb Stuart, as always. But Clay had been right. Instead of watching the Union Army and sending reports to Lee on the western side of the Blue Ridge, Stuart led his army on side trails and in ineffective and meaningless skirmishes. Once they captured a huge wagon train.

Clay was worried, and Corporal Tyron could see it clearly. “Lieutenant, won’t this train slow us down?”

Clay shrugged. “General Stuart says he’s ordered to interfere with their supply lines. This is interfering.”

On the other side of the mountains, Robert E. Lee worried
as the Union forces began to move against him. Without Stuart’s intelligence, he was blind.

And Jeb Stuart’s mistakes were going to haunt him.