Many of his officers were killed, Jackson himself was
sorely wounded and fell from his horse into the arms of one of his
officers.
"General," asked some one, anxiously, "are you much hurt?"
"I think I am," replied Jackson. "And all my wounds are from my
own men," he added sadly.
As tenderly as might be he was carried to the rear, and all that
could be done was done. But Stonewall Jackson had fought his last
victorious fight. Eight days later the Conqueror of all men laid
his hand upon him, and he passed to the land of perfect Peace.
During these days he seemed to forget the Great War. His wife and
children were with him, and thoughts of them filled his heart.
But at the end he was once more in imagination with his men on the
field of battle.
"Order A.P. Hill to prepare for action," he cried. "Pass the infantry
to the front. Tell Major Hawks-"
Then he stopped, leaving the sentence unfinished. A puzzled, troubled
look overspread his handsome, worn face. But in a few minutes it
passed away, and calm peace took its place.
"Let us cross over the river," he said, softly and clearly, "and
rest under the shade of the trees."
Then with a contented sight he entered into his rest.
Stonewall Jackson was a true Christian and a great soldier, and his
loss to the Confederate cause was one which could not be replaced.
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