Jackson As Martinet School Master

V. M. I. Cadets Laughed At His Campus Style
But Followed Him Into Battle

By Frank J. McArthur Jr.

It was rather a dismal afternoon and the clouds were hanging low over the Virginia Military Institute barracks, but Major Jackson's cadets drilled on. There were no horses, and the cadets pulled the heavy artillery carriages through movement after movement as Major Jackson put the full force of his deep voice into his commands. A cloud, blacker than the rest, appeared and released a torrent that seemed as if it would wash away the very guns and caissons themselves. But still Major Jackson's cadets drilled on.

Suddenly the major gave a command that brought the battery close to the barracks. With one accord the drenched cadets deserted their posts and made a rush for the central arch of the building, leaving guns, caissons, limbers and Jackson standing on the edge of the parade ground. Once inside the barracks, the cadets went to their windows to see what "Old Tom Jackson" would do. He stood at rigid attention, with sword drawn, until 5 o'clock, when the drill period officially ended; then he turned and marched off across the muddy parade with the long, awkward stride that was so familiar to his observers.

Cadets at the Virginia Military Institute, in Lexington, still go to those same windows and look out at Stonewall Jackson as he stands his post atop a stone pedestal flanked by the guns of one of his Confederate batteries. Perhaps on January 21, the birthday anniversary of their most famous leader, they looked more intently than usual--so intently that they can almost hear him repeat the remark which he made as he looked out over the battlefield at Chancellorsville, "The Virginia Military Institute will be heard from today."

When, in 1851, a professorship was vacated at the institute, many prominent army officers were considered--McClellan, Reno, Jackson, Gustavus Smith, Rosecrans. Because of his Virginia origin, an impressive Mexican War record, and a strong recommendation from Daniel Hill, an instructor at Washington College in Lexington, Jackson won the appointment.

His health was not good, and he believed that he could better prepare himself for military service through study than through the treadmill of the garrison.

"Though strong ties bind me to the army," he wrote, "yet I cannot decline so flattering an offer." At the age of 26 he became professor of natural and experimental philosophy and artillery tactics.

Jackson was a stern taskmaster. Although he was now a college professor, he knew that his calling was war, and he carried military procedure to extremes. He was "exact as a multiplication table and full of things military as an arsenal." The citizens of Lexington considered him eccentric, and the cadets even went so far as to dub him "Old Fool Jack."

As a teacher Jackson was hardly a success. Although he was instructing in advanced subjects, he said that he could "always keep a day or two ahead of the class," and he qualified the statement with, "I can do what I will do." There is no doubt that he always kept ahead of his students, but he mastered his subject in only one way, and the cadets were never allowed any interpretation except that which the major memorized the night before at his high desk. Jackson always stood when he studied so that discomfort would make him more attentive.

There was no humor in Jackson, the professor. The cadets took great pleasure in mimicing, behind his back, what they called his "West Point drawl." One day when Jackson gave a command, his artillery students repeated it aloud, satirically imitating their leader. His comment at the end of the drill was that the cadets' commands had never been better.

On another occasion "Old Fool Jack" asked a cadet why it was impossible to send a telegraphic communication from Lexington to Staunton. The cadet, surprised at being asked any question which deviated from the assigned lesson, replied that the large iron deposits in the mountains drew the current away from the wires. Jackson shook his head sternly. A second, a third cadet failed to give satisfactory answers. Finally one of the students, possibly in an attempt to be funny, suggested that there were no telegraph wires between Lexington and Staunton. "You are correct, sir; you may take your seat," replied Jackson without smiling. The lesson continued as if nothing had happened.

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All attempts to break down his reserve and his utter seriousness were unsucessful. One cadet, finding himself reported for "trotting" when he should have walked at artillery drill, answered by saying, "Sir, the report is incorrect; I am a natural pacer." But Jackson did not even smile. At one of the daily drills he was annoyed by the continuous tinkling of a bell which some of the cadets had suspended inside one of the caisson boxes. The major halted the battery several times and examined it, but he never found the bell, and probably he never suspected the plot. The drill was completed in spite of the phenomenon.

General Edward West Nichols, a cadet under Jackson and later third superintendent of V. M. I., tells of a note that he once saw in the major's grade book. By the name of a delinquent cadet was written , "Chewing tobacco in class--saw him spit!" Even as a college professor, Jackson was practical, terse and straightforward in expressing himself. He disliked to hear "you know's" used carelessly in conversation, and often he interrupted people who were talking to him by saying, "No, I do not know."

Although the citizens and cadets considered him odd, they also knew him to be fearless, decisive, and completely devoted to duty. When there was a report to be made to the superintendent at a specified time, Jackson might be seen pacing back and forth in front of the headquarters, rain or shine, waiting for the exact moment to arrive. One night he walked from his quarters in Lexington to the barracks through a deep snow in order to rectify an error he had made that morning in correcting a cadet's problem.

During his first year at V. M. I. Jackson wore his heavy winter uniform well into the spring season. Other officers turned to lighter garb, but when Jackson was questioned on the subject, he replied that he had received no order to change, and that he would not do so until instructed by the superintendent. His devotion to duty is further illustrated by the story that, ordered to await the superintendent in his office, Jackson remained all night. The superior officer forgot that he had given the order, but the junior obeyed it.

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Although he was laughed at for his eccentricities, especially his seriousness, his strong self discipline, his stiffness, awkwardness, and gauntness, Jackson loved V. M. I., the people, and his duties. "I wish you could see the buildings of the institute;" he wrote to his sister, Laura, "they are tastiest in the State," and again, "this morning I fired 10 guns from the battery of artillery in commemoration of the origin of the institute. This day 13 years ago it went into operation and is now in very flourishing condition; so much so that we cannot accommodate all applicants."

In 1861 when the shuffle of marching feet and the roar of artillery were heard throughout Virginia, Jackson received a high command. The chance for which he had been preparing himself had come at last, and he was placed in charge of the V. M. I. Corps when it was sent to Richmond to drill recruits. Already, in 1859, he had commanded a company of cadets sent to Charlestown to guard the jail in which John Brown was lodged. He and his charges had stood by at the execution of Brown.

The authorities at V. M. I. felt that Jackson was the man to lead the corps to Richmond because his 10 years at the institute had proved him first, last and always a soldier. One of his cadets said of him, "As soon as the sound guns would fall upon his ears, a change would seem to come over Major Jackson. He would grow more erect; the grasp upon his sabre would tighten; the quiet eyes would flash; the large nostrils would dilate; and the calm, grave face would glow with the proud spirit of the warrior."

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In war Jackson really found himself, but as he became more important and more famous, his contacts with his students and the institute grew stronger rather than weaker. Of the 818 officers supplied to the Confederacy by
V. M. I., many worked under their former professor. All of his cavalry regiments and two of his three divisions were commanded by former cadets.

Small wonder, then, that at Chancellorsville, after all plans had been made, all orders given, he looked out at his troops and said, "The Virginia Military Insitute will be heard from today."

Not long after he made this statement, which is graven at the base of his V. M. I. statue, he lay dying. "Bury me," he said "in Lexington, in the Valley of Virginia." And so they took his body finally back to Lexington, where it rested for a short time in the section room to which had had hoped to return. The casket was draped with the first Confederate flag ever made a present to Mrs. Jackson from Mrs. Jefferson Davis. On May 15, just one year before the corps of cadets immortalized the name of V. M. I. in the Battle of New Market, Jackson was buried.

"It was Major Jackson's connection with the military institute," Mrs. Jackson said, "which opened for him his career in the war."