A Stillness at Appomattox (126 page)

He
was
a
salty
and
a
picturesque
character,
this
Jubal Early,
and
a
very
dangerous
opponent
to
boot.
A
West Pointer
who
had
given
up
the
Army
for
the
law
some
years previously,
he
had
been
prosecuting
attorney
of
Rockingham County
before
the
war,
and
he
was
stooped
and
grizzled
and sardonic,
not
greatly
loved
by
other
ranking
Confederate
officers
because
of
his
habit
of
blunt,
sarcastic
speech;
an
exceedingly
capable
soldier,
grim
as
old
Stonewall
himself,
a driver
who
could
be
counted
on
to
get
the
last
ounce
of
advantage
out
of
the
baffling,
almost
incomprehensible
opportunity
which
faced
him
on
this
eleventh
of
July.

When
General
Lee
sent
him
north,
neither
he
nor
Early had
much
hope
that
Washington
could
actually
be
captured. The
idea
was
principally
to
make
trouble
and
to
joggle Grant's
elbow.
In
former
years
the
Lincoln
administration had
shown
itself
abnormally
sensitive
to
any
threat
to
the capital,
and
there
was
a
chance
that
this
thrust
might
force Grant
to
raise
the
siege
of
Petersburg
and
come
back
to
save Washington.

If
this
could
not
be
done
it
was
just
possible
that
Early could
slide
clear
around
Washington
on
the
northern
side, strike
down
southeast,
and
capture
the
prison
camp
at
Point Lookout
on
the
shore
of
Chesapeake
Bay,
releasing
some thousands
of
Confederate
prisoners
of
war.
Failing
that,
he could
at
least
make
a
great
nuisance
of
himself,
collect
supplies
in
Maryland,
and
in
general
disarrange
Federal
strategy. Early's
problem
this
morning
was
to
determine
exactly
how much
of
an
opening
was
in
front
of
him
now,
while
inexpert tacticians
were
assembling
third-rate
troops
in
the
lines
adjoining
Fort
Stevens.

The
balancing
of
risks
and
opportunities
was
delicate
and perplexing,
and
if
"Old
Jube"
swore
and
bit
off
another
chew of
tobacco—as
he
very
probably
did—it
could
hardly
be
wondered
at.
He
knew
that
the
trenches
before
him
were
too strong
to
be
taken
if
any
number
of
regular
troops
occupied them.
He
also
knew
that
even
if
he
broke
the
line
and
got
all the
way
to
downtown
Washington
he
could
not
hope
to
stay there
very
long,
since
the
country
in
his
rear
was
all
swarming
with
Federal
troops—Wallace's
men,
and
Sigel's,
and
Hunter's
dispirited
army
coming
back
from
West
Virginia—and in
time
the
Yankees
would
undoubtedly
form
these
into
a compact
mass
that
would
bar
the
way
home.
Early's
own army
was
small
and
very
tired,
and
a
hard
fight
might
cripple
it
so
badly
that
it
could
never
return
to
Virginia,
and
Lee was
so
pressed
for
manpower
that
he
simply
could
not
afford to
lose
these
men.
The
forces
that
made
for
caution
were strong.
⁷

But
the
possibilities
also
were
good.
No
hasty
collection
of convalescents,
casuals,
and
government
clerks
could
hope
to bar
the
way
for
the
lean
veterans
of
the
Army
of
Northern Virginia—the
prospect
of
looting
the
rich
depots
of
Washington
was
enough
to
make
these
men
fight
like
desperadoes— and
the
results
that
would
flow
from
even
a
temporary
occupation
of
the
Federal
capital
might
well
be
incalculable.
If, after
all
that
had
happened
this
spring,
a
wing
of
Lee's
army could
actually
seize
Washington,
the
whole
course
of
the
war might
be
different.
Anyway,
Early
was
a
slugger
who
never listened
to
the
voice
of
caution
unless
he
had
to,
and
at
last he
decided
to
make
the
assault.
He
put
sharpshooters
into farmhouses
to
pick
off
gunners
in
the
Yankee
forts,
and
he wheeled
his
artillery
forward
and
pressed
his
skirmishers
in closer,
and
he
began
to
get
ready
for
a
big
fight.

In
the
forts
and
the
trenches
there
were
pallid
men
from hospital
and
office—
"a
mild-mannered
set,"
as
one
observer felt,
who
looked
as
if
"they
would
never
hurt
anyone,
not even
in
self-defense,"
obviously
uncomfortable
in
their
un-weathered
uniforms,
uneasy
at
the
prospect
of
passing
the night
in
the
open
air.
Downtown
there
were
nervous
civilians in
the
streets,
wondering
what
was
going
to
happen
next, listening
to
the
fluttering,
pulsing
sound
of
the
distant
cannon,
contemplating
flight
but
not
certain
where
to
fly
to
or how
to
get
there.
⁸