With all his gentleness
there was much of the old Berserker about Stonewall Jackson, not
indeed the lust for blood, but the longing to do doughtily and die
bravely, as best becomes a man. His nature was essentially
aggressive. He was never more to be feared than when he was
retreating, and where others thought only of strong defensive
positions he looked persistently for the opportunity to attack. He
was endowed, like Massena, "with that rare fortitude which seems to
increase as perils thicken. When conquered he was as ready to fight
again as if he had been conqueror." "L'audace, l'audace, et toujours
l'audace" was the mainspring of all his actions, and the very sights
and sounds of a stricken field were dear to his soul. Nothing had
such power to stir his pulses as the rebel yell. "I remember," says a
staff-officer, "one night, at tattoo, that this cry broke forth in
the camp of the Stonewall Brigade, and was taken up by brigades and
divisions until it rang out far over field and woods. The general
came hastily and bareheaded from his tent, and leaning on a fence
near by, listened in silence to the rise, the climax, and the fall of
that strange serenade, raising his head to catch the sound, as it
grew fainter and fainter and died away at last like an echo among the
mountains.
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