While I can write about it, I cannot speak of it to old soldiers without more emotion than I wish to show. The result of that great battle the world knows. Except for the unsurpassed—the wonderful campaign of 1864— this is perhaps the finest illustration of General Lee's genius for war, and yet, in writing to Jackson he says: "I have just received your note, informing me that you were wounded. I cannot express my regret at its occurrence. Could I have directed events, I would have chosen, for the good of the country, to have been disabled in your stead, I congratulate you on the victory, which is due to your skill and energy."
See the noble spirit of our great commander! Not further removed is pole from pole than was any mean jealousy or thought of self in his great soul. He obeyed the hard command that
"In honor ye prefer one another." This note displays his greatness, yet it is also history, in that we know, on his testimony, that Jackson shared with him the glory of that battle. These great soldiers loved and trusted one another, and in death they are not divided. How sacred is the soil of Lexington! for here they rest side by side.
I have already told the story of Jackson's death; it is so familiar to you all, that, though intimately associated with its scenes, I will not narrate it again. I will only declare that he met this great enemy as he had met all others, calmly and steadily, expecting as always to conquer, but now trusting, not in his own strength—not as heretofore in the prowess of mortal arms, nor in the splendid fibre of mortal courage, but in the unseen strength upon which he had always relied—the strength that never failed him—and so, foreseeing the rest that awaited him on the other side, he crossed over tHe river. "My hand is on my mouth, and my mouth is in the dust."
Already I have told you much that you already knew. In this I beg you to observe I have but fulfilled my promise. My apology is that my thoughts are in Lexington, and that I stand by the grave of Jackson. Under such circumstances love does not seek new stories to tell, new incidents to relate. Just to its own heart
