“Who is this Major Jackson?” it was asked.

“He is one,” was the reply, “who, if you order him to hold a post, will never leave it alive to be occupied by the enemy.”

Harper’s Ferry, the spot where the first collision might confidently be expected, was a charge after Jackson’s own heart.

April 26.

“Last Saturday,” he writes to his wife, “the Governor handed me my commission as Colonel of Virginia Volunteers, the post I prefer above all others, and has given me an independent command.  Little one, you must not expect to hear from me very often, as I expect to have more work than I ever had in the same length of time before; but don’t be concerned about your husband, for our kind Heavenly Father will give every needful aid.”

The garrison at Harper’s Ferry consisted of a large number of independent companies of infantry, a few light companies, as they were called, of cavalry, and fifteen smooth-bore cannon of small calibre.  This force numbered 4500 officers and men, of whom all but 400 were Virginians.  Jackson’s appearance was not hailed with acclamation.  The officers of the State militia had hitherto exercised the functions of command over the ill-knit concourse of enthusiastic patriots.  The militia, however, was hardly more than a force on paper, and the camps swarmed with generals and field-officers who were merely civilians in gaudy uniform.  By order of the State Legislature these gentlemen were now deprived of their fine feathers.  Every militia officer above the rank of captain was deposed; and the Governor of Virginia was authorised to fill the vacancies.  This measure was by no means popular.  Both by officers and men it was denounced as an outrage on freemen and volunteers; and the companies met in convention for the purpose of passing denunciatory resolutions.

Their new commander was a sorry substitute for the brilliant figures he had superseded.  The militia generals had surrounded themselves with a numerous staff, and on fine afternoons, it was said, the official display in Harper’s Ferry would have done no discredit to the Champs-Elysees.  Jackson had but two assistants, who, like himself, still wore the plain blue uniform of the Military Institute.  To eyes accustomed to the splendid trappings and prancing steeds of his predecessors there seemed an almost painful want of pomp and circumstance about the colonel of volunteers.  There was not a particle of gold lace about him.  He rode a horse as quiet as himself.  His seat in the saddle was ungraceful.  His well-worn cadet cap was always tilted over his eyes; he was sparing of speech; his voice was very quiet, and he seldom smiled.  He made no orations, he held no reviews, and his orders were remarkable for their brevity.  Even with his officers he had little intercourse.  He confided his plans to no one, and not a single item of information, useful or otherwise, escaped his lips.