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A. Lincoln
Published in the Tuesday, 12 May 1863 edition of the Daily
Republican at Lynchburg, Virginia. This paper will bear to the reading public to-day, by far the saddest piece of intelligence which its pages have chronicled since the commencement of this wicked war. The invincible, ever-glorious and immortal Stonewall Jackson is dead! A nation mourns his death even as Troy mourned when Hector fell and left the Trojans well nigh bereft of hope. The brilliant and dashing Jackson is a victim of the chances of war. He lives not to see the end of the struggle in which he was so prominent an actor. Who can write his praise? Who can tell the work of this imperturbable chieftain, and the depth of thought that kept his eyes from sleeping when his men lay wrapt in slumber on the eve of a mighty battle? 'Tis not in the power of the present generation to do aught more than to embalm his memory for the time to come when cycles have mellowed passion and prejudices, and he will stand on the pages of history as simply a hero whose example will inspire the yet unborn to perhaps seek a place in their country's history akin to his. Jackson is dead, will be glad tidings to the vandal foe; they will breathe easier. They feared Jackson, and his name was a terror to their Generals. But woe to the enemy when they meet our arms. Swords will then instinctively be drawn and guns pointed when the hour arrives to avenge his death, and his name will be a battle cry that will carry devastation and horror to the homes of the Yankee foe. A good man has fallen, and nerved be every arm to punish the enemy when next they are met in battle array. The history of his deeds and of his services are not now called for; they live in the breast of every man, woman and child in our country; for Stonewall Jackson is a household word with all. When the last trump shall sound, the Christian warrior shall rise, clad in the panoply of the blest, to take his place among those of whom it will be said -- "well done thou good and faithful servent, enter thou into the joys of the Lord." If we were competent to talk of writing a suitable eulogy to the illustrious character and distinguished and invaluable public services of this great and good man and warrior, our spirits are much too depressed this morning at the sad news of his death to permit us to indulge such a melancholy task. His best and most glorious and lasting tribute is already written in the hearts of his countrymen in language which will be immortal, and as the lightning shall flash his sad demise to the ends of the Confederacy, and the press shall speed it upon the wings of the wind, millions of tears will gush unbidden to the eyes of those who, amidst the clash of war, have long been strangers to the tender emotions, and not a heart in all this land will but mourn this event as the saddest in our infant though memorable history. His loss to our cause is perhaps irreparable. No one can fill his place in all its proportions. He was in himself an army with banners, and more terrible to the enemy than the frowning breastworks or thundering artillery. His name was magic among his own troops, and made them invincible in the hour of battle, and uncomplaining in the march and in the camp. But no more shall his clarion voice be heard amid embattled hosts cheering his gallant soldiers on to victory -- no more shall his manly form be seen in the thickest of the fight, striking terror to the hearts and unnerving the arms of the foes of Liberty. That voice is hushed in death -- that form lies cold and inanimate and ne'er again shall a Nation's gratitude break upon his ears or a Nation's praises cause that now pulseless heart to throb with emotions of pride. -- Nothing can disturb him now -- the rattle of musketry, the roar of artillery and the fierce clashing of glittering sabres alike fall unheeded upon the dull, cold ear of the honored dead. He heeds not, he hears not, he's free from all pain. He sleeps his last sleep, he has fought his last battle, No sound can awake him to glory again. |
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