Chancellorsville – Day 2

The morning of May 2, 1863, dawned quietly in the tangled Virginia Wilderness. The fires of the previous day’s confrontation at Chancellorsville still smoldered in memory, but the battlefield itself was deceptively calm. The Union Army under Major General Joseph Hooker had withdrawn into a strong defensive line the night before, circling tightly around the crossroads mansion that gave the battle its name. The decision had deflated the confidence of Hooker’s subordinates, men like Darius Couch and George Meade, who had believed they were on the edge of victory. Instead, they now huddled in the thickets, wary and uncertain.

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Across the field, Confederate General Robert E. Lee and his lieutenant, Thomas Jonathan “Stonewall” Jackson, were planning something so audacious it might have earned a court-martial under a lesser commander. At midnight, by the dim light of a campfire made from Yankee cracker boxes, Lee and Jackson had studied a crude map and agreed on a bold and dangerous maneuver. Jackson would take his entire corps—about 30,000 men—and march twelve miles around the Union right flank, which intelligence said was “in the air,” meaning it rested on no natural or fortified obstacle. Lee, with barely 14,000 men, would hold the front line alone.

It was a gamble. But war, as Jackson had once said, demands boldness. So just after dawn, the long gray columns began to slip away from the Confederate line. They moved silently at first, then picked up pace as they wound through back roads, across farm paths, and into the deepest parts of the Wilderness. The men carried no cooking gear, no wagons, only essentials. They moved with purpose, led by local guides and protected by J.E.B. Stuart’s cavalry.

As Jackson marched, his thoughts were fixed on timing. The march had to be completed quickly, and the attack had to be delivered with force and surprise. The element of shock was everything. Meanwhile, Stuart did his part, sending back constant updates, watching for signs of Union detection. But despite the size of Jackson’s force and the difficulty of concealing such a large movement, the Union commanders failed to grasp what was happening.

Reports did reach Hooker’s headquarters. Scouts reported seeing Confederate columns moving across their front. A signal station in a tree spotted dust clouds to the west. Even Union generals like Daniel Sickles saw signs of movement. But Hooker, firmly convinced that Lee was retreating, dismissed the warnings. He allowed himself to believe that the enemy was withdrawing toward Gordonsville. He even sent Sickles forward to harass what he thought was a rear guard.

In truth, Jackson was approaching his target: the right flank of the Union army, held by the XI Corps under Major General Oliver Otis Howard. Howard’s corps had a troubled reputation. It was composed largely of German-American regiments, often unfairly maligned in the press. The men were tired from days of marching and unsettled by the unexplained Confederate movements. Worse, they were poorly positioned. Their right flank had no natural protection. No trenches had been dug. Pickets were thin. Howard, like Hooker, believed the Confederates were in retreat.

Around 5:15 in the afternoon, the quiet shattered.

Jackson’s men had deployed into line of battle just behind the cover of trees. Then, with a signal from their officers, they erupted from the forest like a thunderclap. Screaming the infamous Rebel yell, they tore into the unprepared XI Corps with devastating speed and violence. Union soldiers were cooking dinner, resting, writing letters. Suddenly, the woods exploded with musket fire, shouting, and chaos.

The XI Corps tried to rally. Some regiments turned to face the onslaught. Artillery crews managed to fire a few rounds before being overrun. But it was hopeless. The Confederate momentum was overwhelming. Men dropped rifles and ran. Wagons collided in the narrow trails. Whole units disintegrated. Within minutes, the Union right had collapsed, and the Confederates surged forward, gaining ground and capturing supplies.

It was one of the most successful flank attacks in American military history. Jackson had struck like a lightning bolt. But as night fell, success brought confusion. In the dense underbrush, the Confederate units became tangled. Regiments lost contact. Artillery struggled to get through the woods. And in the growing darkness, friendly fire became a deadly threat.

Jackson, ever restless, wanted to press the advantage. He believed the Union army could be crushed that night. So he rode forward, ahead of his lines, to conduct personal reconnaissance. He was accompanied by a small group of staff and couriers. It was risky, but Jackson had always led from the front.

As the party returned through the woods toward Confederate lines, a North Carolina regiment, thinking they were Union cavalry, opened fire. In an instant, Jackson was hit three times—twice in the left arm, once in the right hand. He slumped in the saddle, bleeding heavily. His aides rushed to his aid, but the stretcher bearers dropped him under renewed fire. Eventually, he was carried to a nearby field hospital, where surgeons amputated his left arm.

News of Jackson’s wounding spread quickly. When Lee received word, he was shaken. Jackson had been his sword arm, his most trusted battlefield commander. Lee is said to have remarked, “He has lost his left arm, but I have lost my right.”

Command of Jackson’s corps fell temporarily to J.E.B. Stuart, the flamboyant cavalryman, who now found himself directing infantry in a forest under moonlight. Stuart tried to make sense of the situation, reestablishing lines and planning the next day’s attack. But the loss of Jackson cast a long shadow.

Meanwhile, Hooker attempted to steady his army. The collapse of the XI Corps had been a humiliation, but reinforcements rushed in to establish a new line near Hazel Grove and Fairview. The terrain there offered better fields of fire and more open ground. Sickles and Couch took the lead in reorganizing the defense.

The night of May 2 was filled with tension. Men on both sides crouched in the darkness, listening to the occasional crack of gunfire, the rustle of movement in the brush. Surgeons worked by candlelight. Couriers rode through narrow paths with new orders. Everyone waited for the morning.

The Confederate army had struck a mighty blow. But it had also lost the one man who might have finished the job. Jackson, lying in a makeshift hospital at Guinea Station, drifted in and out of consciousness. His mind returned to the battlefield. He whispered, “Let us cross over the river and rest under the shade of the trees.”

He would die eight days later of pneumonia.

May 2, 1863, stands as a testament to the daring and brilliance of Confederate leadership, and also to the tragic cost of such audacity. Jackson’s flank march is still studied in military academies around the world. It demonstrated what can happen when boldness meets opportunity. But it also showed the thin line between triumph and tragedy.

For Hooker, the day was a bitter one. His intelligence had failed him. His decisions had turned caution into paralysis. His right flank had collapsed, and the initiative was now firmly in Lee’s hands.

The next day, May 3, would see some of the fiercest fighting of the entire war. But the stage was set here, in the tangled woods of Chancellorsville, where a general marched into history and a legend fell.

May 2 had begun in silence and ended in smoke and mourning. The Wilderness had swallowed thousands, and in its gloom, the war had taken another turn. Jackson was gone. Lee was emboldened. Hooker was reeling. The war, as ever, marched on.