Stonewall & Me
©2007 by LeeZard
It was just Stonewall and me, only he wasn’t saying much; Stonewall Jackson has been dead for 144 years. But there we were. Well, there I was, standing by myself at the Stonewall Jackson Shrine in the small rural town of Guinea Station, VA where General Thomas J. (Stonewall) Jackson died at the Chandler Plantation on May 10, 1863.
The great general himself, or most of him, is actually buried across the state in Lexington, VA. I say most of him because, believe it or not, the general’s chaplain took Jackson’s left arm, amputated eight days before his death, from the Chandler Plantation to a field hospital several miles away - and buried it.
That’s where the general was first treated after he was accidentally shot in the arm by his own troops during the Battle of Chancellorsville. So, if Stonewall Jackson wasn’t actually with me on that quiet southern morning, even in spirit, at least part of him was nearby.
Nonetheless, I stood transfixed, staring at a small, lonely marker near the plantation outbuilding in which Jackson died. Why, you might ask, would a nice Jewish boy from New York be standing – in awe no less – at the shrine honoring one of the Confederacy’s greatest generals? I don’t know, but I’m glad I stopped by. It’s one thing to learn about history. It is much more graphic when you can actually feel it.
I was driving a company car from Richmond to Washington, D.C. and decided to avoid the interstate and meander through the green rolling horse country of northern Virginia. Along Rt. 2, just outside of Fredericksburg, I saw a brown National Park Service sign pointing down a side road toward the Stonewall Jackson Shrine at Chandler Plantation. I’m certainly no Civil War buff but, I am innately curious and a mild student of history, so I took the left turn and followed a winding two-lane blacktop to the tiny village of Guinea Station.
I didn’t really know anything about Stonewall Jackson, other than the fact that he was a Confederate hero and had a great name. It turns out that, after Robert E. Lee, General Jackson was the most revered Southern commander. In fact, according to Wikipedia, “His Valley Campaign and his envelopment of the Union Army right wing at Chancellorsville are studied worldwide even today as examples of innovative and bold leadership.” But that is not what struck me silent on that cool cloudy day in Guinea Station, VA.
Maybe it was the early hour and the silence of a country morning broken only by the musical chirping of the nearby birds. There were no highway sounds – there wasn’t a highway within miles. Mine was the only vehicle in the small parking lot and I was surrounded by acres of green grass and a peaceful but eerie solitude. Was I really alone?
Off in the distance was a small building, the only remains of a once grand plantation. At my feet was the small stone marker noting the death of Stonewall Jackson. I snapped off several shots with my trusty digital Nikon and climbed back behind the wheel for the rest of my journey to D.C.
(General Stonewall Jackson's attack at the Battle of Chancellorsville, Virginia, May 2, 1863; colour lithograph.)
I’ve heard and read that for many folks below the Mason-Dixon Line, the Civil War never ended. I always thought it was merely old politics in the New South. Now, I’m not so sure. As I drove away from the Chandler Plantation, the eeriness I felt while standing at the shrine marker seemed to follow – no, stealthily creep into the car and settle in the passenger seat beside me. I slowed from the 40 MPH speed limit to 25 and let my eyes sweep the rolling fields on either side of the road. I could sense, more than see, tattered grey Confederate troops boldly and bravely surrounding the dusty blue Union Army.
In the spring of 1863, nearly 200,000 Americans fought each other here in the Battle of Chancellorsville. Despite outnumbering their Southern brethren by two-to-one, the seven-day struggle ended with another humiliation for the Northern forces and the ultimate death of the South’s Stonewall Jackson. Historians call it a “lesser battle,” but nearly 30,000 were either wounded or killed. If the Civil War still rages in the fields around Guinea Station, VA, it is a war fought by the ghosts whose acquaintance I made at the shrine of General Stonewall Jackson.
It was just Stonewall and me, only he wasn’t saying much; Stonewall Jackson has been dead for 144 years. But there we were. Well, there I was, standing by myself at the Stonewall Jackson Shrine in the small rural town of Guinea Station, VA where General Thomas J. (Stonewall) Jackson died at the Chandler Plantation on May 10, 1863.
The great general himself, or most of him, is actually buried across the state in Lexington, VA. I say most of him because, believe it or not, the general’s chaplain took Jackson’s left arm, amputated eight days before his death, from the Chandler Plantation to a field hospital several miles away - and buried it.
That’s where the general was first treated after he was accidentally shot in the arm by his own troops during the Battle of Chancellorsville. So, if Stonewall Jackson wasn’t actually with me on that quiet southern morning, even in spirit, at least part of him was nearby.
Nonetheless, I stood transfixed, staring at a small, lonely marker near the plantation outbuilding in which Jackson died. Why, you might ask, would a nice Jewish boy from New York be standing – in awe no less – at the shrine honoring one of the Confederacy’s greatest generals? I don’t know, but I’m glad I stopped by. It’s one thing to learn about history. It is much more graphic when you can actually feel it.
I was driving a company car from Richmond to Washington, D.C. and decided to avoid the interstate and meander through the green rolling horse country of northern Virginia. Along Rt. 2, just outside of Fredericksburg, I saw a brown National Park Service sign pointing down a side road toward the Stonewall Jackson Shrine at Chandler Plantation. I’m certainly no Civil War buff but, I am innately curious and a mild student of history, so I took the left turn and followed a winding two-lane blacktop to the tiny village of Guinea Station.
I didn’t really know anything about Stonewall Jackson, other than the fact that he was a Confederate hero and had a great name. It turns out that, after Robert E. Lee, General Jackson was the most revered Southern commander. In fact, according to Wikipedia, “His Valley Campaign and his envelopment of the Union Army right wing at Chancellorsville are studied worldwide even today as examples of innovative and bold leadership.” But that is not what struck me silent on that cool cloudy day in Guinea Station, VA.
Maybe it was the early hour and the silence of a country morning broken only by the musical chirping of the nearby birds. There were no highway sounds – there wasn’t a highway within miles. Mine was the only vehicle in the small parking lot and I was surrounded by acres of green grass and a peaceful but eerie solitude. Was I really alone?
Off in the distance was a small building, the only remains of a once grand plantation. At my feet was the small stone marker noting the death of Stonewall Jackson. I snapped off several shots with my trusty digital Nikon and climbed back behind the wheel for the rest of my journey to D.C.
(General Stonewall Jackson's attack at the Battle of Chancellorsville, Virginia, May 2, 1863; colour lithograph.)
I’ve heard and read that for many folks below the Mason-Dixon Line, the Civil War never ended. I always thought it was merely old politics in the New South. Now, I’m not so sure. As I drove away from the Chandler Plantation, the eeriness I felt while standing at the shrine marker seemed to follow – no, stealthily creep into the car and settle in the passenger seat beside me. I slowed from the 40 MPH speed limit to 25 and let my eyes sweep the rolling fields on either side of the road. I could sense, more than see, tattered grey Confederate troops boldly and bravely surrounding the dusty blue Union Army.
In the spring of 1863, nearly 200,000 Americans fought each other here in the Battle of Chancellorsville. Despite outnumbering their Southern brethren by two-to-one, the seven-day struggle ended with another humiliation for the Northern forces and the ultimate death of the South’s Stonewall Jackson. Historians call it a “lesser battle,” but nearly 30,000 were either wounded or killed. If the Civil War still rages in the fields around Guinea Station, VA, it is a war fought by the ghosts whose acquaintance I made at the shrine of General Stonewall Jackson.
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