Page:Southern Historical Society Papers volume 38.djvu/286

 Is 'Hickory,' and yet me thinks I see The stamp of genius on his brow, And he, with his wild glance and keen but quiet eye, Can draw forth from the secret recesses where they lie Those thoughts and feelings of the human heart. Most virtuous, good and free from guilty art, There's something in his very mode of life So accurate, steady, void of care or strife, That fills my heart with love for him who bears his honors meek, And who wears the laurels of a hero."

And this about expressed the sentiments of the entire corps. The lines are devoted to a diagnosis of Major Jackson alone, but they occur in a review of the "Faculty of the V. M. I.," and the singular penetration of the author would be more interesting if propriety would permit the publication of the very strong contrast in the opinion of the composer between Jackson and the other professors.

And thus we get a glimpse of the man unknown and unhonored, save in a very small circle, down to the spring of 1861, when war between the States became imminent. Up to probably April, 1861, the citizens of Lexington were strongly Union in sentiment, while the cadets were all ardent secessionists. This difference of opinion came near resulting in a bloody fracas, and after the cadets had returned to their barracks and quiet had been restored a corps meeting was called to listen to addresses on the situation from the professors. After several had spoken Major Jackson remained seated, and was only aroused by a continuous demand from the cadets for a speech. This was the first symptom of what was to come. Instinctively those glowing youths knew that the man of war was now to have his opportunity, and turning from the more attractive oratory of the other professors they would have nothing but a speech from the silent man who for so many years had afforded them so much amusement. With unaffected diffidence Major Jackson slowly arose, and turning to his youthful audience, said: "Gentlemen, I am a man of few words; when the time for fighting comes, I draw the sword, and throw away the scabbard"—and then sat down.