CHAPTER XVIII.

STONEWALL JACKSON.

A few weeks before I left New York for the South, I drove out to Riverside avenue to the grave of General Grant. It was a beautiful autumn day. The leaves were falling from the trees; the woods were almost stripped and bare; and all things wore the sombre, funereal look which is the token of the change that comes alike on nature and on man. The spot is one of great natural beauty—a swelling mound, perhaps a hundred feet above the Hudson; commanding a view of great extent up and down the river; across to the Palisades and beyond to the mountains; and far down the bay to where the sheen of the waters fades into the distant gleam of the ocean. What a place for a warrior to rest after his stormy life! though it be so calm and still, it is within the limits of the great city in which he spent his last years; and thus he is recalled to us if it be only by his grave. As the Laureate of England says of Wellington, who sleeps in the very heart of London, under the dome of St. Paul's, so may we say of our honored dead:

"Let the sound of those he wrought for,

And the feet of those he fought for,

Echo round his bones forevermore."

And yet,

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From the grave of our beloved soldier it is, a natural transition to that of his great adversary, who sleeps far away among the hills of the old Commonwealth which he so much loved. The fact that he led the opposing armies, does not abate the interest with which we study his extraordinary career. The time has come when we can do justice to those who fought against us, and even claim their valor and self-devotion as a part of our national inheritance of glory. As I have somewhat of the instinct of an Old Mortality, I confess to a very great interest in visiting their homes and sepulchres. And so, as I returned from the South, I took my way across the mountairs, that I might spend a day in the retired and most beautiful spot where General Lee spent his last years; where he died and is buried; and where his "right arm" (as he called "Stonewall" Jackson) was buried before him.

I came an entire stranger, knowing no one; but as I stepped from the car, a gentleman called me by name, and "took me to his own home." It was Professor J. J. White of the College, who received me with as much kindness as if I had been an old friend. Perhaps it gives color to all my impressions both of the College and the town, that they are associated with such kindly hospitality.

Lexington is situated in that part of the Old Dominion, which, being between the Blue Ridge and the Alleghanies, is known as the Great Valley of Virginia. This is at a considerable elevation above the sea-it is, in fact, a genuine table-land, or plateau-but being walled in by ranges on both sides, it has the aspect of a broad and open valley, lying in the lap of its guardian mountains. The region is both picturesque and historical. Settled at an early day by a sturdy race from the North of Ireland, sons of the men who fought at the siege of "Derry," it has always had a remarkable population. A place of such

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"sightliness," and in the centre of such a people, seemed fitted for an Institution of Learning, and here, more than a hundred years ago, was set up on the hill-top one of the best Academies of the times before the Revolution, whose name of "Liberty Hall" showed that even then the spirit of independence was abroad-a name which gave way, after a few years, when the Academy had grown into a College, to that of Washington, to which it had a just title, as it received its first endowment from the Father of his Country, in a property valued at fifty thousand dollars, given to him by the State of Virginia, which he accepted only on condition that he might devote it to this object. And here, half a century later, rose, as a fit accompaniment to the College, a Military Academy, modelled after that at West Point, to furnish defenders to the country. But intensely Southern in its associations and sympathies (or it might be more accurate to say, intensely Virginian), it followed its State in the movement of Secession, and among the first recruits that went into the Confederate army were students from Washington College, and cadets from the Military Academy.

Indeed they had hardly need to go to the war, for the war came to them. From the very beginning the Valley of Virginia was a scene of conflict. As it is a rich agricultural region, it was the nearest and most convenient source of supplies to the Confederates in the field, and was called "the backbone of the Confederacy," and hence its possession became an object of contest for both armies.

Among the earliest of those who volunteered for service, was a professor in the "Military Institute," Thomas Jonathan Jackson. A Virginian by birth (born in 1824), he was educated at West Point, where he was in no wise conspicuous. He did not rank high in his class. His mind was not a brilliant one, at least in acquiring know

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THOMAS JEFFERSON JACKSON.

ledge, it was not dull, but it was slow; and whatever he learned came by the hardest. But he kept at it with a dogged persistency, so that each year he stood higher than before, particularly in mathematics, a study most necessary in war. Graduating in 1846, at the time of the Mexican War, he was immediately ordered to Mexico, where though but a lieutenant, he showed such courage and capacity, particularly at the storming of Chapultepec, that he was brevetted a Major. After his return to the United States, he became a Professor in the Military Institute at Lexington, a position in which he did fairly well; but he was not a great teacher, as he had not been a great scholar. In his class-room exercises, he was faithful and exact, and always showed that he had himself mastered the subject; but he had none of the personal magnetism which inspires young minds with enthusiasm. In short, there was nothing to indicate that this man was to prove himself one of the greatest soldiers of his time.

In external appearance there could not be a greater contrast than between this plain soldier and General Lee, who was the model of a military commander, graceful in person, and stately in manners, with a natural dignity that, while it did not repel, did not permit any familiarity. Jackson had not a particle of grace. Brave as a lion in battle, he was never at ease in society. One of his old friends here in Lexington, who met him often, tells me that his manner was so wanting in ease, that when he entered a room, he greeted the company with an awkward military salute, and sat down on the edge of a chair, bolt upright, as if eager to be off, asking a few abrupt questions, and answering "Yes" or "No"; and then, rising as abruptly as he came, with a bob of his head, and a short "Good morning," jerked himself out of the room! But Professor White, who knew him equally well,

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thinks this does not do him justice, and says, "There has been some disposition even among Southern writers to caricature Jackson as a man, in the effort to place Jackson the soldier in bolder relief"; and then he draws such a loving picture, that I cannot refrain from letting my readers enjoy it with me :

"A certain blunt, curt, and reticent habit, which marked the soldier, has been thought to characterize him in social intercourse. Such was not the case. I met him very often in society, and do not hesitate to say that he was modest, genial, courteous, and notably polite to every one. He was not graceful in figure or in movement, but in spirit was highly so. He had a peculiarly gentle expression of countenance, and moved easily in a social scene, making it a point to speak, at least for a few minutes, to every lady present, with no appearance of constraint or embarrassment, and had a smile and pleasant word for every acquaintance. His whole manner was so gentle and unobtrusive, his punctilious regard for the feelings of others so invariable, his unselfishness so striking, that if his reputation in the Mexican war had not been known, I do not think that the rough soldier would have been thought of in connection with him. My friends of both sexes concur with me in these views."

This is exquisite. Here are two pictures very unlike, and yet not incompatible: for they are the pendants of each other. The same man, who was shy even to bashfulness in general society and among strangers, might among his intimate friends lay aside all constraint and reserve, and be as simple and natural and delightful as he was in his own home.

But whatever lack of grace of manner there might be in him, one thing was always conspicuous-his prompt response to any call of duty. For his pastor, the late Dr. White (the father of my friend and host), he had a respect amounting to reverence, looking up to him as a superior, to whom he was to "report," and from whom he was to receive "orders." Once, when this faithful shepherd of