Port Republic, Va., site of Stonewall Jackson's great escape

With Yankees in hot pursuit on June 8, 1862, at Port Republic, Va., Stonewall Jackson (right) galloped down a street on “Little Sorrel” and across a covered bridge spanning the North River. Despite Union artillery crashing into its timbers, Jackson reached the relative safety of the opposite shore. Then he came under fire from an Ohio battery. But Jackson escaped and whipped the Federals at Port Republic the next day.

Where 'bleeding warrior' fell: A visit to Chancellorsville in 1881

A circa-1900 view of the old Chancellor family house, which burned down in 1927. The structure suffered
significant damage during the Battle of Chancellorsville in May 1863.
(Photo courtesy Pat Sullivan | Click on all images to enlarge.)

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In 1881 and 1882, George Morgan of the Philadelphia Times lived what many of us today would consider a charmed life. Traveling throughout the South, the 27-year-old reporter visited Civil War battlegrounds from Franklin in Tennessee to Kennesaw Mountain in Georgia to report a series of lengthy stories for the Philadelphia newspaper.

George Morgan's story about his Chancellorsville
battlefield visit was published on Page 1
of the Philadelphia Times on Aug. 9, 1881.

A little less than two decades after the war, the battlefields looked much as the soldiers who fought there saw them. On his excursions, Morgan examined parapets, viewed soldiers' skulls in the woods, discovered war relics and chatted with locals who lived on hallowed ground.

In the summer of 1881, accompanied by a black man named Cato, Morgan rode about 10 miles from Fredericksburg, Va., to visit the old Chancellorsville battleground, (in)famous for where Stonewall Jackson was mortally wounded May 2, 1863. A pilgrimage to the Jackson wounding site, marked by a large stone, obviously made an impression on Morgan.

"The stone is as still as though the bones of the man of fame were beneath," wrote Morgan, a gifted writer, in his Page 1 story in the Philadelphia Times. "Squirrels skip over it. Bucks and does rub lazily against it and acorns dropping from the boughs above lose their cups as they crack against its brown sides."

On his Chancellorsville journey, the reporter also visited "a church full of bullets," saw the "towering pine" under which Robert E. Lee and Jackson may have sat to plot strategy and examined "shrapnel bolts" embedded in the Chancellor house, vortex of the battle. And almost in passing, Morgan wrote about a grisly discovery by a local farmer.

Here's Morgan's Philadelphia Times account about his Chancellorsville visit, published Aug. 9, 1881.

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Special Correspondence of The Times

The Wilderness P. O., August 7

Coming within sight of Chancellorsville I tried to make close scrutiny of the one historic house that is the all in all of the settlement, but my own gaze, as well as the questioning stare of the driver, Cato, became fixed upon a much prettier picture in the yard. Under the shade of an elm sat a young couple who looked as though they were out for a picnic. The young woman was fair of face and of gentle manners, and the moustached youth who paid her such smiling attention evidently was something more than a brother. Both wore traveling costumes of the Northern cut and I was not surprised to learn that they hailed from Hartford, Connecticut.

''Who am dem people, Moss Oliver?" asked Cato, speaking in an undertone, as the sun browned tenant of the Chancellor House stepped out to the buggy with his hearty invitation to "light and walk in."

"Young married folkses"said Farmer Oliver.

 "On dere weddin'  skurshun, am dey ?"

"I 'low so, you 'quisitive niggah; you'd better take keer o' yo hosses," and turning to me Farmer Oliver continued: "The young lady says as how her father was killed on this heah battlefield the day she was bo'n. He was an officer with Gennul Sickles an' was killed over thah by Hazel Grove same time as Genuul Berry was. Do 'light and walk in, sir! Any marks about the old house? Well, I should say so! Come in. come in."

A church full of bullets

When reporter George Morgan visited Salem Church in 1881, wartime damage was evident. Here is an
 early post-war view of the church, today located "amongst a virtual sea of shopping malls."
(Photo courtesy Pat Sullivan)

It needed some such pleasant introduction as this to Chancellorsville, because the morning sun had been hot, the horses slow, Cato sleepy and the ride from Fredericksburg barren of interest, except at one point -- the battle-scarred surroundings of Salem Church. Leaving Marye's Heights behind, a trot of a few miles over the Orange turnpike had brought us to the church around which [John] Sedgwick fought on the days that witnessed the death-grapple of [Joseph] Hooker and [Robert E.] Lee, a little further to the north. The church, which is a small brick building, stands in the corner of dense woods somewhat to the left of the road. Its grove of oaks differs from the adjoining forest trees in that they grow several yards apart and shelter a circular plot of pasture grass. A few feet in the rear of the church is a line of breastworks, now no higher than the knees and thickly overgrown with weeds.

The church walls contain shell-holes and countless bullet marks, while the overhanging oaks show many scars. Indeed, it may be said that as many minie balls have been put into the church as there have been prayers sent from it. Moving on by a red clay road bordered by pine and oak and poor cornfields, in which were negro cabins made of logs, we had at eleven o'clock reached the Furnace road. Along this road stretched the Confederate right and under a towering pine tree, plainly in sight, it is said that Lee and Jackson sat upon their cracker boxes on the evening of May 1 when they planned their daring attack upon Hooker's Eleventh Corps. But the pine and the guide's cracker-box story had proved very dry indeed and it was with the pleasure of a thirsty man approaching a well that I drove up to the Chancellor House, with its shady yard and happy bridal party.

A famous place of one house

Another early post-war view of the old Chancellor house, visited by reporter George Morgan in 1881.

Chancellorsville is a desolate clearing on the southern edge of the Wilderness. Time was when a hundred Virginians of the first families clinked glasses in the long dining hall of the hostelrie, and many a day did Jefferson, Madison and those who came after take noontide rest under the surrounding elms. But the planks of the Plank road are gone. Coaches and four no longer shake dust from the shallow ruts of the pike and lovers no longer seek the cross roads tavern as the half way to Gretna Green.

In the old days the Chancellor House was a massive brick building, shaped like a squat T. Around it on every side were level fields that stretched for a quarter of a mile or more, while three important stage roads came together in front of the yard. Now only one-third of the building -- the northern end --  stands, and even that had to be re-erected after battle, when fire left nothing but bare walls, shot shattered and bullet-pierced. From the northern end of this poor remnant of the ruined inn stick out five pieces of shrapnel bolts that, as Mr. Oliver fears, may yet play the mischief. Above these grim things is a ragged rent in the gable end near the roof, showing where shells knocked for admission as they paused in their screaming flight eighteen years ago. The porch pillar, near which Hooker had the misfortune to stand when it was shattered by a round shot, was destroyed by the fire and in the places of the pillars are wooden columns freshly painted and without a scratch. In the yard the visitor sees the outlines of the old house marked by shrubs, weeds and stray bricks, while a dozen sweet hollyhocks growing near the porch remain as sentinels of garden beauties long since gone.

The spot where Jackson fell

THEN & NOW: Approximate site of Stonewall Jackson's wounding on May 2, 1863. He died of complications of the wound eight days later. Use slider to toggle from 1866 to present-day view.

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The sun is overhead as the lazy horses, white with lather, jog along a level road between two cornfields and come once more to where trees grow thickly on either side. Thus moving in the midst of timber for somewhere near a half mile we come to a big stone planted steadfastly by the roadside. Cato is nodding and I hit him a smart crack with a soldier's skull which Farmer Oliver gave me and the points of which I had been studying since we left Hooker's shattered headquarters behind. Cato gave a grunt and a jerk and mumbling: "I'se mos' aseep," spied the stone.

Stonewall Jackson

Then it was amusing to watch the change come over the darkey's dull expanse of jaw and lip. He lifted his eyebrows, showed his teeth and said, with animation: "Bress my soul, sah, us am right heah."

 "What's ' heah ?'  What's that stone for ?"

"Doan yo kno, sah, whut dat ar' markable stone am tendin to memmorate?"

"No, what is it?"

"Dar's whar Genuul Stonewall was kilt. Moss Tucker  Lacey, do preacher up dar by Wilderness sto, he put stone dar, sah."

I remembered that Jackson clung to life for several days after he had been wounded, but by further questioning I learned that this was the spot where the bleeding warrior fell from his horse in the very hour of his crowning triumph The stone is a rough block of white flint, quarried here in the Wilderness. It stands three feet eight inches high and is two feet ten inches in breadth. Its surface shows dents and sears where from loving pilgrims have scaled bits of it as relics, and all around are smaller pieces of hard rock that have been used as hammers with which to crack it. Immediately around the stone the ground is in small undergrowth. Huckleberry bushes, chinkapins and the like, but at a few feet it is encompassed by pines and oaks of large growth.

Early post-war image of the Orange Plank Road and Mountain Road intersection.
Stonewall Jackson is believed to have been shot at the far right or farther down the road,
out of view of the camera. (Library of Congress | CLICK ON IMAGE TO ENLARGE.)

Bullet marks in a red oak

Between the stone and the road is a red oak of such size that it must have sprung up thirty years ago. I noticed a dozen or more bullet holes in this oak and asked Cato why they were there. His reply, that they came with the volley by which Jackson was killed, seemed to be disproved by the fresh appearance of the holes.

"How can that be?" I asked. "The holes look as though they were made within the last year."

"Easy 'nuff, sah, easy 'nuff," Cato said with a hearty he-haw of a laugh; "doan yo' see, sah, dat do volley come from do No'rf, where do rebels was? 'en doan yo' see dat do visiters heah hab bin pickin' wid dere pen-knives at dem bullet-holes lookin' fur relics?"

Then I understood: the bullet marks had been kept fresh for nearly a score of years by such of the great leader's admirers as hungered to bear away with them the fellow bits of lead of those that flew to their deadly work so long ago. And this is the place where [Stonewall] Jackson for the first time grew weak! The silent woods are around. The stone is as still as though the bones of the man of fame were beneath. Squirrels skip over it. Bucks and does rub lazily against it and acorns dropping from the boughs above lose their cups as they crack against its brown sides. But even here in the Wilderness romance may be spoiled. Nailed against the red oak is a broad board with the sign:

Willis & Grasty
Sowing Machine Agents,
Dry Goods, Shoes and Hats
Cheap for Cash

Thus within hand's reach of Stonewall's stone trade leaves its mark and enterprising dealers reap profit from the glances of the reverential passer-by. In this way sentiment is lost, and even Cato makes the droll suggestion that he let the kicking horse of his team use his hind hoofs to chip a bit of the flint as a memento for me.

Where Pleasonton took his stand

Union General Alfred Pleasonton
(Library of Congress)

Cato is asleep over by Jackson's stone as I come out upon one of the Hazel Grove clearings more than a half mile to the west. While I rest here alone among rank dock weeds that cover the ruins of a parapet, the flesh creeps to think of the mad thing that [Peter] Keenan started from this very spot to do. Daylight fades now as it did then. A red moon looks through the tree tops, and on that May evening eighteen years ago her light was no less reflective of fiery clouds down by the path of the sun.

Twelve thousand panic-stricken men are pressing down the road, through the woods and across the fields in utter rout, each eager to save himself and reckless of the fate of others. [Alfred] Pleasanton, riding wildly on a horse flecked with foam, strives to stem the tide of Howard's flight and to meet the terrific onslaught of Jackson's victorious men. He looks here and there for Keenan, and finding him says: " Major, yon must charge the enemy. Save me ten minutes, to get my guns ready; go, Keenan !" The young Philadelphian, in peace as soft-hearted as a girl, generous, chivalric, the pride of the cavalry, knows that it is certain death, but if Pleasanton is willing to sacrifice his right arm the right arm is ready, and Keenan, with a smile, says: " I will."

Riding down to death

In an early post-war image, a snake rail fence and the old Wilderness Church in the left background. 
(National Park Service via Pat Sullivan)

Then Keenan takes a grip upon his reins, says jocularly "good-by" and wheels his horse with such a touch as the beast never felt before. He nods as he passes [Pennock] Huey and a moment thereafter says: "Cavalry, charge!" and so quiet is his voice that the three hundred troopers barely hear it in the great uproar. But what terrible words to say! The men know the grit of them, and if any one of the three hundred pales at the awful thing about to be done there is no sign of it to Pleasonton, watching eagerly but in perfect confidence as they respond.

In a headlong drive the squadrons cut a swath from the mass of fugitives and come to the edge of the woods. The pause there is for a moment as then Keenan and Huey ride abreast into a narrow road and the cavalrymen follow two by two. Caps are raked off by the brushwood, faces are scratched and torn by the hanging briars, but Keenan rides fast and all come after. From the right now and then whistles up a handful of bullets and a dozen saddles are emptied, but no notice is taken of the skirmishers, and so Keenan, wheeling to the left, dashes into the plank road. And what a sight is before him!

Line upon line of Jackson's veterans -- great hosts of them -- are coming on the double quick straight up the road. Keenan throws aside his cap, shouts "Sabres!" and spurs his horse plumb into the wall of bayonets. The first battalions are blinded by one flash and another and nearly half of the three hundred fall, but Keenan. Huey, [Charles] Arrowsmith and [J. Hazelton] Haddock, backed by their comrades, gather their horses under them and strike such hot blows that they shock the oncoming line for a thousand yards on either side. It is tooth to tooth. Never before did three hundred men cast themselves with such true aim and so impetuously against twenty thousand victorious and advancing veterans. They struck the head and front of the moving mass and left it like a thunderbolt.

"And full in the midst rose Keenan, tall
in the gloom like a martyr, awaiting his fall,
While I lie circle-stroke of his sabre, swung
'round his head, like a halo there luminous hung."

Over Keenan's dead body

Major Peter Keenan of the
8th Pennsylvania was killed
at Chancellorsville
on May 3, 1863

But though Jackson recovers from the shock and pushes on over the prostrate bodies of Keenan, [Duncan] McVicar, Arrowsmith, Haddock and their comrades, ten full minutes have passed and not a moment has Pleasonton been idle. He gathers about him twenty-one guns, double-shotted, and set steadfastly to sweep the approach. He hides his time until the enemy shall appear. Here they come, fresh from the taking of Keenan's blood, wild with the news of Jackson's death wound, swarming in deep masses, waving a dozen battle-flags, keen, eager, thirsty. Pleasanton opens. Every gun speaks on the instant -- a lurid flash, a crash, a roar, live thunder voiced a hundred fold! Hooker, among the desperate fugitives of the Eleventh Corps, a mile away, hears and rejoices. A hundred and twenty thousand soldiers feel that some good is being done at last. [Hiram] Berry and [David] Birney, Sickles and [John] Geary see, from the burning sky, a new daylight spring up in the dusk and they place their legions at Pleasonton's back with the thought that once more the army is saved.

It is too dark to see the ruins of parapets, the old graveyard and the well full of war relics on Fairview crest, and I go back to Cato. That sleepy citizen puts his whip down with a meaning and we leave behind us Jackson's stone, the Dowdall clearing, the old Wilderness church, and come to the Wilderness store. In less than an hour the horses have taken us from one battle-field to another. Just down the road is the place where Lee whipped Hooker, and here in this upland forest is the place where, a year later, Lee tried so hard to throttle [Ulysses] Grant.

G.M.

An early post-war image of Wilderness Church. (Central Rappahannock Heritage Center via Pat Sullivan)

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Chancellorsville Then & Now: Stonewall Jackson wounding site

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Stonewall Jackson

On May 2, 1863, Confederate troops accidentally shot Stonewall Jackson at Chancellorsville, Va., site of the general's greatest triumph. Eight days later, he died from pneumonia and complications from the wounds. Nearly three years after the calamity that rocked the Confederacy, George Oscar Brown photographed the scene, part of an extensive series of photos of central Virginia battlefields he took during a U.S. Army medical expedition. 

The caption on the April 1866 stereoview,  the earliest known image of the Jackson wounding site, noted the general suffered his wounds to the left of the two men who appear at the center of the photo. Dr. Reed Bontecou, who led the expedition for the U.S. Army Medical Museum, is believed to be at the far left. (For more on Bontecou, see John Cummings' fine Spotsylvania Civil War blog here.)

In early November 2016, a private collector purchased this previously unknown Brown stereoview on eBay — the right half appears above.  (How did I miss this on eBay?!!!) Note the plank road at the far right of the 1866 image. 

On a mid-March afternoon, a certain Civil War blogger dodged traffic on ridiculously busy Route 3 — the war-time Orange Plank Road — to shoot a present-day view of the scene. The result is a representative but not spot-on "Now" photo. The shooting site, marked in 1888 by a monument near the Chancellorsville Battlefield Visitors' Center, is no longer visible to motorists who pass by.

Bob Zeller, president and co-founder of the Center for Civil War Photography, first reported the existence of Brown's Jackson wounding site image in the organization's Battlefield Photographer magazine. (Consider joining the CCWP. Full disclosure: I am secretary-treasurer.) 

Grab the slider to travel from the "Then" to "Now." For a large-format version of this Then & Now, visit my Civil War photo blog here. Below are more images of the site. 

A cropped enlargement of Brown's image shows the planks on the old Orange Plank Road.

Post-war image by George Oscar Brown of the Orange Plank Road and Mountain Road intersection.
Jackson is believed to have been shot at the far right or farther down the road,
 out of view of the camera. (Library of Congress | CLICK ON IMAGE TO ENLARGE.)

An 1890 painting of the Jackson wounding site. The monument was added in 1888.
 (Library of Congress)

An early view of the Jackson wounding monument, date unknown. The monument is no longer 
surrounded by a fence. (Library of Congress)

                  GOOGLE STREET VIEW: Explore an August 2016 view of the scene.

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Interactive panorama: Wilderness Tavern hospital site

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Protected by a small shelter, a large pile of stones and bricks is nearly all that remains from the old Wilderness Tavern buildings, once a landmark along the Orange Turnpike near Chancellorsville, Va. During a recent afternoon visit, yellow buttercups dotted lush, green fields, and we were interrupted by the near-constant hum of traffic from nearby Route 3 -- the old Orange Turnpike and a well-traveled route by troops from both armies during the war.

Just imagine the sights, sounds and smells here 153 years ago.

Hospital tents for up to 3,000 wounded from the Confederate Second Corps filled these fields after the Battle of Chancellorsville, fought just four miles away in early May 1863. After he was accidentally shot by his own troops about 9 p.m. on May 2, the most famous Confederate patient of the war had his left arm amputated in a hospital tent nearby. (The exact site of Stonewall Jackson's operation is believed to be in what now is a strip of land in the middle of Route 3.)

A year later, thousands of Union troops marched through the same area during the Wilderness Campaign, and Federal field hospitals were set up near the Wilderness Tavern site. Union General Ambrose Burnside used the tavern as a headquarters. Edwin Forbes drew this sketch of the area on May 7, 1864, as Union troops and ambulances moved through. The cropped version of Forbes' sketch below shows the Wilderness Tavern buildings:

A cropped version of Edwin Forbes' drawing of Wilderness Tavern and surrounding  area.
 (Library of Congress collection)

From Antietam to The Wilderness, a memorable Power Tour

A backdrop of a field of buttercups at Ellwood Manor, where Stonewall Jackson's arm is buried.

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And so my week-long Civil War Power Tour has ended. The final tally shows three states visited, six battlefields toured, nearly 45 miles hiked and more than 1,000 road miles logged. The special moments? Ah, those were numerous.

I was moved by the deep-purple violets in front of the graves of Connecticut soldiers at Antietam National Cemetery and the seemingly endless fields of buttercups at Ellwood Manor, the final resting place of Stonewall Jackson's amputated left arm. I stuck my head through the trapdoor hatch at the Philip Pry House to see what Union commanders may have seen while fighting raged in the West Woods at Antietam, and listened to the crunch, crunch, crunch of gravel as I walked behind the infamous stone wall at Fredericksburg.

While trudging just after dawn through The Wilderness forest near Saunders Field, where fighting raged in early May 1864, I had the eerie feeling that I wasn't alone. I don't believe in ghosts, but there is something deeply spiritual about that place. I huffed and puffed my way to the Maryland Heights overlook for a spectacular view of  Harpers Ferry, W.Va., and felt like I was on top of the world. Do yourself a favor and make that trip.

Violets in front of the grave of a Connecticut soldier at Antietam National Cemetery.

The fabulous view of Harpers Ferry, W.Va.. from Maryland Heights.

In the woods near Sudley Church at Manassas, a group of nearly 60 of us Civil War fanatics stared at unusual depressions in the ground. Those likely were once the temporary graves of Union soldiers, said tour leader John Hennessy of the National Park Service. One of John's favorite places, it was a poignant scene in a trip full of them. I want to go back there.

But this trip was especially about people. In a hotel in Hagerstown, Md., a tall, slender man and I laughed about the names Southerners and Northerners call a certain battle in western Maryland. Is it "Sharpsburg" or really "Antietam"? Don't laugh: More than 150 years later it's still debated. For our First Battle of Bull Run tour, a gentleman told me he left Connecticut at 3 in the morning to get there by 9 a.m. And when the seven-hour tour was over, he headed right back home. That's crazy... in a cool sort of way.

A landscaper named Joe and I trekked through the woods and a clearing to see where Jackson's arm had been amputated in 1863. Peaceful today, that scene near Wilderness Tavern was awful more than 150 years ago, when thousands of wounded Rebels were treated there after Chancellorsville. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine it.

Leaves mask depressions that likely were once graves for Union soldiers in the woods at Manassas.

The Wilderness, near where Confederate General Leroy Stafford was mortally wounded.

I drank beer and swapped war stories (literally) in Fredericksburg with Civil War photo expert John Cummings and his friend, James. Afterward, John pointed out the location just blocks away of a graveyard in 1864 for Union soldiers, many of whom were victims of the brutal fighting throughout that war-torn area. Long gone, the burial site today is partially in  the back yard of a house painted blue. There's a child's play set there now..

Unfortunately, I didn't get to speak with the man who sat in the grass at Fredericksburg National Cemetery. Deep in thought, he had just completed shooting close-ups of a grave of a Union soldier. More than 15,000 Union soldiers, most of them unknown, are buried in the terraced cemetery on Marye's Heights, which once was dotted with Rebel artillery.

Do yourself another favor: Visit there, too.

And most of all this trip was about Henry Pearson. Mortally wounded at the Battle of North Anna River in 1864, the lieutenant colonel in the 6th New Hampshire was only 24 years old, just three years older than our eldest daughter. I had goosebumps as I walked the pathway in the national cemetery in Fredericksburg to place a tintype of him next to his grave there. Let's not forget young Henry and thousands of others like him.

Henry Pearson "returned" to his gravesite at Fredericksburg (Va.) National Cemetery.

Battle of Kernstown, Virginia interactive panoramas

            Pritchard Hill: Union artillery was positioned here during both Kernstown battle                            (CLICK ON IMAGE FOR FULL-SCREEN INTERACTIVE PANORAMA.)

Two battles were fought at Kernstown, Va. -- a Union victory on March 23, 1862, and a defeat on July 24, 1864. The day after First Kernstown, considered Stonewall Jackson's only loss as commander, the Rebel general wrote his wife: "Our men fought bravely, but the enemy repulsed me. Many valuable lives were lost. Our God was my shield. His protecting care is an additional cause for gratitude." The Union commander at First Kernstown, Colonel Nathan Kimball, was the only field commander during the Civil War to defeat Robert E. Lee (Cheat Mountain in West Virginia) and Jackson.

If you count the battle preservationists have fought to protect the old Pritchard-Grim farm, make it three battles at Kernstown. Last Wednesday afternoon, after a frustrating attempt to understand the Third Battle of Winchester, I headed south down the Old Valley Pike to Kernstown, a battlefield bordered by housing subdivisions, a Better Beer Store, a business park, a nail salon and other urban schlock. Kernstown was technically closed, but I talked my way onto the field, took photos and walked alone on the chilly, overcast afternoon to the top of Pritchard Hill, from which Union artillery shelled the Rebs during both battles. If you look hard enough, you could even see where the Rebels were positioned along the Valley Pike. Just look for the car dealership.

                Stonewall Jackson suffered his only defeat at First Kernstown. Here's a view 
                   of the back and front (below) of the Pritchard House, used as a hospital
                                  during both battles, and the surrounding landscape. 
                 (CLICK ON IMAGES FOR FULL-SCREEN INTERACTIVE PANORAMA.)