Few leaders have ever equalled him in his
control of troops. His men had no questions to ask when "Old Jack"
led the way. They believed in him as did he in his star; and the
impossible only arrested the vigor of their onset, or put a term to
their arduous marches.
His campaign in the valley against Fremont and Shields requires no
praise. And his movement about McClellan's flank at Mechanicsville,
and his still more sterling manoeuvre in Pope's campaign, need only to
be called to mind.
In the field he was patient, hard-working, careless of self, and full of
forethought for his men; though no one could call for and get from
troops such excessive work, on the march or in action. No one could ask
them to forego rations, rest, often the barest necessaries of life,
and yet cheerfully yield him their utmost efforts, as could "Old Jack."
He habitually rode an old sorrel horse, leaning forward in a most
unmilitary seat, and wore a sun-browned cap, dingy gray uniform, and a
stock, into which he would settle his chin in a queer way, as he moved
along with abstracted look. He paid little heed to camp comforts,
and slept on the march, or by snatches under trees, as he might find
occasion; often begging a cup of bean-coffee and a bit of hard bread
from his men, as he passed them in their bivouacs, He was too uncertain
in his movements, and careless of self, for any of his military family
to be able to look after his physical welfare.
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