Democratic Sentinel, Volume 10, Number 42, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 19 November 1886 — The Death of Stonewall Jackson. [ARTICLE]

The Death of Stonewall Jackson.

Dr. Tucker, from'Eichmond, arrived on Saturday, and all that human skill couM devise wa3 done to stay the hand of death. He suffered no pain to-day, and his breathing was less difficult, but he was ev.dently hourly growing weaker. When his child was brought to him, to-day, he played with it for some time, frequently caressing it, calling it his “little comforter.” At one time he raised his wounded hand above its head, and closing his eyes for some moments, silently engaged in prayer. He said to me, “I see from the number of physicians, that you think my condition dangerous, but I thank God, if it is His will, that I am ready to go.” About daylight on Sunday morning, Mrs. Jackson informed him that his recovery was very doubtful, and that it was better that he should be prepared for the worst. He was silent for a moment, and then said: “It will be infinite gain to be translated to heaven.” He advised his wife, in the event of his death, to return to her father’s house, and added: “You have a kind and good father, but there is no one so kind and good as your Heavenly Father.” He still expressed a hope of his recovery, but requested her, if he should die, to have him buried in Lexington, in the valley of Virginia. His exhaustion increased so rapidly that, at eleven o’clock, Mrs. Jackson knelt by his bed, and told him that before the sun went down he would be with his Savior. He replied: “Oh, no, you are frightened, my child, death is not so near. I may get well.” She fell over upon the bed, weeping bitterly, and told him again that the physicians said there was no hope. After a moment’s pause, he asked her to call me. “Doctor, Anna informs me that you have told her that I was to die to-day. Is it so?” When he was answered he turned his eyes toward the ceiling, and gazed for a moment or two, as if in intense thought, then replied: “Very good, very good. It is all right.” He then tried to comfort his almost heart-broken wife, and told her he had a good deal to say to her, but he was too weak. Colonel Pendleton came into the room about one o’clock, and he asked him, “Who is preaching at headquarters to-day?” When told that the whole army was praying for him, he replied: “Thank God—they are very kind.” He said: “It is the Lord’s day; my wish is fulfilled. I have always desired to die on Sunday.” His mind now began to fail and wander, and he frequently talked as if in command upon the field, giving orders in his old way; then the scene shifted, and he was at the mess-table, in conversation with members of his staff; now with his wife and child; now at prayers with his military family. Occasional intervals of return of his mind would appear, and during one of them, I offered him some brandy and water, but he declined it, saying, “It will only delay my departure, and do no good; I want to preserve my mind, if possible, to the last. ” About half-past one he was told that he had but two hours to live, and he answered again, feebly, but firmly, “Very good, it is all right.” A few moments before he died, he cried out in his delirium, “Order A. P. Hill to prepare for action; pass the infantry to the front rapidly; tell Maj. Hawks” —them stopped, leaving this sentence unfinished. Presently, a smile of ineffable sweetness spread itself over his palo face, and he said, quietly and with an expression as if of relief, “Let us cross over the river, and rest under the shade of the trees.” And then, without pain or the least struggle, his spirit passed from earth to the God who gave it.—Dr. Hunter McGuire, his attending physician.