The victory of Bull Run—or Manassas, as people from the North called it—proved to be the greatest misfortune that could have befallen the Confederacy.
The victory was taken by the Southern public as the end of the war—or at least its decisive event. This conviction was not only held by the man in the street, but after the battle even President Jefferson Davis assured his friends that the recognition of the Confederate states by the European countries was now certain. The newspapers declared that the question of manhood between North and South was settled forever, and the phrase “One Southerner equal to five Yankees” was used in all speeches about the war—although sometimes the rule moved up to one Southerner to seven Yankees.
On the whole, the unfortunate victory was followed by a period of fancied security and relaxed exertion. The best proof of this was to be found in the decrease of enlistments by volunteers. Then there actually arose a controversy between different Southern states as to the location of the capital of the government—which was strange, considering its existence was in peril.
Stonewall Jackson echoed the sentiments of a few wise leaders in the South when he said, “It would have been better if we had lost at Bull Run. Our people have been lulled into a sense of false security, and when the Yankees come back with the enormous army they are bound to raise, all of us will soon know the truth of what a hard war this will be.”
The North, although bitterly disappointed by the outcome of the battle, did not fold up and quit as Southerners expected. They gritted their teeth, settled down for a long war, and moved toward producing a war machine the like of which the world had never seen.
The leadership of the North’s military was in confusion, however. Those who commanded at Bull Run, especially General MacDowell, were considered ineffective, and President Lincoln began to search for a new commanding officer.
The soldiers themselves presented a rather gloomy front. Some of them were ready to go home, and one officer came to General Sherman and announced, “General, I’m going to take my group back to New York today.”
Sherman said, “I don’t remember signing a leave for you.”
When the officer argued with him, General Sherman said sharply, “Captain, if you attempt to leave without orders, I will shoot you like a dog!”
Later that same day, President Lincoln arrived. After he had addressed the troops, the officer who had attempted to leave forced his way to the president’s carriage. “Mr. President, I have a cause of grievance. This morning I went to General Sherman, and he threatened to shoot me.”
Mr. Lincoln looked at him and then at Sherman. Stooping his tall, spare form toward the officer, he said to him in a loud stage whisper, “Well, if I were you, and General Sherman threatened to shoot me—I would not trust him—I believe he would do it!”
Finally recognizing that the war against the Confederacy would not be a walkover, Lincoln cast around for the right man to put the army together. He chose George B. McClellan, only thirty-four years of age, former president of the Ohio and Mississippi Railroad. McClellan proved to be an excellent organizational man, and soon the Army of the Potomac began to swell with new volunteers and rapidly became a powerful weapon for the North.
In the South, the Confederate administration strove to bring order out of chaos. The Tredegar Works in Richmond glowed all night. Its tall chimneys belched out dense, luminous smoke. Huge trainloads of heavy guns and improved ordnance of every kind were shipped off to points threatened by the Federal troops.
The medical department, destined to play so important and needful a part in the coming days, was thoroughly reorganized. Surgeons of all ages, some of them with the highest reputation in the South, left their homes to take service with the army.
The Confederate soldiers knew the odds they confronted numerically. And they not only had to face overwhelming numbers, but the arms and the ammunition of the Federal soldiers were abundant and good.
The Confederate soldiers were deprived of chloroform and morphine—these were excluded from the Confederacy as contraband of war. Then, some actually opposed certain improvements that their government tried to bring about, such as a sanitary commission and even the newly equipped ambulances. They got few of these, while the Federals got many.
But of all this Jeff and Tom were only vaguely aware. After Bull Run, the Stonewall Brigade rapidly filled the gaps in its ranks with volunteers. The time would come when men would have to be drafted into the service, but at this point there was still enough excitement and glamour to the war to entice young men from all over the South to join up. The Stonewall Brigade easily was the most famous in the entire Confederate army. Stonewall’s gallant performance at the Battle of Bull Run had made his name a household word.
But if General Jackson was a famous man, he was also a hard-driving man. He pushed his troops into a training program that left them exhausted. Almost every day he led them on forced marches and again earned them the name of Jackson’s Foot Cavalry.
At first, Jeff nearly collapsed under the strain of the long marches. Many of the men did, simply walking themselves into the ground and falling to one side. Strangely enough, Jackson, who was a compassionate man in almost every other respect, seemed to have little thought for such men. He was a hard general, and one of his officers said, “I tremble every time General Jackson comes up. I always half expect him to give me an order to storm the North Pole!”
Slowly, however, as time passed after Bull Run, the army toughened up.
Jeff and Tom stayed very close together, waiting anxiously for word to come from their father. One day after retreat had been sounded and the two were seated before a campfire, staring into it and saying little, Jeff broke the silence.
“Tom,” he said in a low voice, “I can’t help but think that—well, maybe Pa got killed.”
Tom shoved his forage cap back on his head, leaned back, and stared across the fire. The flickering yellow flames cast shadows on Jeff’s face, making it look angular and very young. “You don’t know that, Jeff. Lots of our men were wounded and got taken prisoner by the Yankees.”
“Why doesn’t he write us then?” Jeff argued. “If he’s alive, he must know that we’re worried about him.”
“Can’t answer that.” Tom picked up his bayonet and poked at the fire, sending a myriad sparks whirling into the upper air. He watched them until they faded out, then said, “He may be hurt too bad to write—and I don’t reckon the Yankees will be pampering our fellows too much.”
Tom suddenly felt tired and depressed. He knew that it was up to him to cheer his younger brother. However, he himself had had thoughts such as Jeff expressed. Nonetheless, he said as cheerfully as possible, “I think they would have told us if he had died. I just have to believe he’s wounded and not able to get a letter to us. It’s not easy to get a letter across the lines—no regular mail service, you know.”
A soldier named Jed Hawkins, a member of their squad, was sitting back from the fire. He was a fine musician and carried his guitar everywhere he could, except into battle. He would have carried it there, but the sergeant had sternly ordered him to leave it in the rear. “You can’t kill a Yankee with a guitar,” Sergeant Mapes said angrily. Then he added, “You play the thing so bad, that might hurt some of them a little bit. But leave that blasted thing behind.”
Jed began fingering the guitar, sending tinkling, melodious sounds over the night air. As the rest of the squad sat exhausted after their hard day’s march, he lifted his voice and began to sing. He sang a song called “Lorena,” a favorite with both Yankees and Rebels. The words were sad, and Hawkins’s fine tenor voice fell on the summer air:
“The years creep slowly by, Lorena,
The snow is on the grass again;
The sun’s low down the sky, Lorena,
The frost gleams where the flowers have been.
“But the heart throbs warmly now,
As when the summer days were nigh;
Oh, the sun can never dip so low,
Adown affection’s cloudless sky.”
Tom gave a disparaging look toward the singer. “Don’t you know any cheerful songs, Jed? All you do is sing those miserable, sad things!”
Hawkins, a small, lean man with black hair and dark eyes, grinned. “Sure I do. How about this one:
“There’s a spot that the soldiers all love,
The mess tent’s the place that we mean,
And the dish we best like to see there
Is the old-fashioned white army bean!
“Now the bean in its primitive state
Is a plant we have all often met,
And when cooked in the old army style
It has charms we can never forget!
“’Tis the bean that we mean,
And we’ll eat as we ne’er ate before;
The army bean, nice and clean—
We’ll stick to our beans evermore!”
The song had barely ended when Sergeant Mapes said, “You fellows better pile in. You’re going to be going on another little pleasure walk tomorrow.”
A groan went up.
One of the men said, “Don’t Old Blue Light ever take a rest? All he wants to do is hear preaching and kill us on forced marches!”
Jeff privately agreed but didn’t say much. Finally he got up. “I hope we hear from Pa soon, Tom. It’s going to drive me crazy if we don’t.” He left his brother with the squad and found Charlie Bowers already in their small tent.
“Hey, Jeff,” Bowers said. “You better get on to sleep. I heard we’re going on another march tomorrow.”
When Jeff only grunted and finally settled himself down on his blankets beside the smaller boy, Charlie asked tentatively, “I guess you didn’t hear nothing about your Pa yet, huh?”
“Not yet.”
Charlie studied the brief answer. “Well, I’m going to pray that he’s all right. I’ve been doing that anyhow.”
Jeff lifted his head, placed it on his palm, and stared at the dim figure beside him. “You really think praying does any good? My ma always said that it did—but I’ve asked for a few things, and sometimes I got ’em, and sometimes I didn’t.”
“Why, sure it does good!” Bowers seemed astonished at the question. “You ought to know better than that, Jeff. The Bible says we have to ask and we’ll receive.”
Jeff lay down in the darkness, thinking about what Charlie had said. The last thing he did before drifting off to sleep was to make a vow. Well, I don’t know if prayer does any good or not, but I’ve tried everything else, so I’ll try that.
He hesitated, then said, God, I don’t know how to pray except just to say I sure would appreciate it if You would take care of Pa. He may be beyond help, but if Ma and people like Charlie are right, then You’re able to do anything. So I’m asking You to take care of Pa and keep him safe.
A bugle sounded a sad tune far off in the distance, and then Jeff wearily closed his eyes and went to sleep.
* * *
When Jeff awakened the next morning, the first thing he thought was, Well, I’ve done the praying; now let’s see if God will come through. At once he was ashamed and shook his head. Can’t think about God like that!
As the sergeant had promised, they made a hard march that day. When they got back, Jeff was so tired he barely had enough strength to go down and wash off at the creek. Then he joined his squad in the supper they had thrown together. Though it was only hardtack and biscuit, he gobbled down his share.
Charlie Bowers came over to say, “Jeff, General Jackson’s asked everybody to come to a special service tonight. Let’s go over and hear the preaching.”
“Aw, I’m too tired,” Jeff protested. But as Charlie attempted to persuade him, he finally said, “Well, if I’m going to learn how to pray, I guess that’d be a good place to do it.” He nodded reluctantly. “All right, Charlie. I’m wore out and will probably go to sleep during the sermon, but I’ll go with you.”
They made their way over to the parade ground where they found hundreds of men already seated on the grass. There was a platform where the chaplain would stand. It was lit by two bonfires on each side.
“Look, there’s General Lee. See him standing right beside our general?” Charlie Bowers whispered. “He sure is a fine-looking man, ain’t he?”
The two boys sat down, and soon the singing began. After that, the chaplain preached. Jeff was so tired he could hardly sit up. Several times his head nodded, and he came to with a snap. Looking around, however, he saw that he wasn’t the only tired one.
Finally the sermon was over, and, as he expected, some of the soldiers went forward when the chaplain invited them.
A thought came to Jeff. He said, “Charlie, I’m going to go talk to General Jackson. This may be the only chance I’ll get.”
“About getting saved, you mean?”
“No, about my pa. You wait here, Charlie, or go on back to the camp.”
“I’ll wait,” Charlie said. “You go on and see the general.”
Jeff moved through the men, noticing that some of them were on their knees and had their eyes closed. Then he stood off on one side, close enough to see General Jackson go to one, then another, putting his hand on their shoulders at times, leaning over to whisper to them.
Jeff thought, He sure is different than on the battlefield. He’s a wild man out there, and now, why, he’s just as gentle as any woman I ever saw!
He waited patiently until the last soldier had left, then he went to the general and said, uncertainly, “General Jackson … uh … could I speak to you, sir?”
Jackson turned. “Why, it’s young Majors, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.” Jeff hesitated, then said, “I know you’re real busy, General, but I came to ask you to do me a favor.”
“What is it, my boy?”
“Well, Pa was captured after Bull Run, you know?”
Jackson nodded. Compassion was on his long face. “I know. I miss him greatly. But not as much as you do, of course. What is it you want me to do, my boy?”
Jeff said, “Well, last night I did something I haven’t done much of. My ma, she was a praying woman, but she’s dead. And I didn’t know anything to do, so last night I prayed that God would take care of my pa.”
Jackson’s face lit up. “Why, that’s exactly what you should have done, Jeff.”
“Well, there’s one more thing. I thought maybe you would see about getting my pa exchanged. I hear that we’ll swap some of the Yankee officers we took for some they took. So I was wondering if you couldn’t let my pa be one of those.”
Jackson studied the boy’s face. “Do you know the Lord, Jeff?”
Jeff was an honest young man. He shook his head. “No, sir, not very good. My ma did, though, and so does Pa, and my brother, Tom, too, I reckon.”
“Well,” Jackson said, “it would be easier for you to pray if you could go to God as a loving Father.” He talked with Jeff about becoming a Christian, until the boy felt nervous. He finally said, “Well, I will do what I can, but you must have faith in God.”
Jeff blurted out without thinking, “I’ve got faith in Stonewall Jackson!”
Jackson laughed but then shook his head. “‘Put not your trust in princes,’” he admonished. “The Bible says that. However, I will do what I can to see about getting your father exchanged.”
Jeff beamed. “Thank you, General Jackson.” Then he turned and left.
When he found Charlie waiting, he said, “Well, I talked to the general, and he’s going to try and get Pa exchanged.”
“I told you prayer would work.”
Jeff looked after General Jackson, who was disappearing into the darkness with his staff. “I don’t know,” he said doubtfully. “I’ve got a lot of faith in General Jackson, but I don’t guess I’ll believe it until I actually see my pa set free from the Yankees!”