This story is told by Major Henry Kyd Douglas and it happened at General Jackson headquarters at Bunker Hill. General JEB Stuart had ridden into camp along with Captain John Pelham. Pelham went off the get some sleep in Douglas's tent while Stuart went into the tent of Stonewall Jackson.
General Jackson was already asleep and as General Stuart was exhausted, he only removed his saber, keeping on the remainder of his clothes and threw himself down by Jackson's side and immediately fell asleep. The night was chilly, so Stuart began to tug for the blanket for warmth. When morning came, Stuart arises and joins Jackson by a blazing fire before the tent where he spent the night.
"Good Morning", he calls to General Jackson. After inquiring how he was doing Stonewall dragged his hands through his uncombed hair and with his "Jacksonian humor" said:
"General Stuart, I'm always glad to see you here. You might select better hours sometimes, but I'm always glad to have you. But, General, you must not get into my bed with your boots and spurs on and ride me around like a cavalry horse all night!"
* * *
Sadly for both General Jackson and Stuart they would not survive the war. On May 10, 1863, Jackson died from the wound he received from friendly fire on May 2nd and almost to the same day a year later Stuart died on May 12. The jovial mood on that day by the blazing fire, would pass away in tears and sorrows for their fellow soldiers and the grief that fell upon the Confederacy at their demise. No one would feel the sorrow as painfully or deeply as their beloved spouses and young children: Mary Ann and 5-month old Julia Jackson; Flora Stuart a mother with an almost 4 year old sonn, a month shy of 4 years old James Ewell Brown the II and 7-month old Virginia Stuart.
John Rueben Thompson (1823-1873) wrote a poem entitled "Obsequies of Stuart" dated May 12, 1864. I have included excerpts below in which he mentions the deaths of these 2 beloved generals.
The smoke, above the glimmering woodland wide
That skirts our southward border in its beauty,
Marked where our heroes stood and fought and died
For love and faith and duty.
With dirge and bell and minute-gun, we paid
Some few poor rites--an inexpressive token
Of a great people's pain--to Jackson's shade,
In agony unspoken.
No wailing trumpet and no tolling bell,
No cannon, save the battle's boom receding,
When Stuart to the grave we bore, might tell,
With hearts all crushed and bleeding.
And sometimes, when the silver bugles blow
That ghostly form, in battle reappearing,
Shall lead his horsemen headlong on the foe,
In victory careering!
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THE CIVIL WAR: THE TRUE STORY BOOK 1
SachbücherThe true story of the " civil war" and how it should be called Lincoln's War, War of Southern Independence, and War of Northern Aggression This book is loving memory President Jefferson Davis and his cabinet This is also in honor of each Confederate...
