THE FLOWERING WOOD
"Thank you, ma'am," said Allan. "I reckon just so long as there are such
women in the Valley there'll be worth-while men there, too! You've all
surely done your share."
"Now, you've got the pot of apple butter, and the bucket with the
honeycomb, and the piece of bacon and the light bread. If you'd come a
little earlier I could have let you have some eggs--"
"I've got a feast for a king.--All these fighting men going up and down
the Valley are going to eat you out of house and home.--I got some pay
two months ago, and I've enough left to make it fairer--"
He drew out a Confederate note. The woman on the doorstep looked at it
admiringly, and, taking it from him, examined either side. "They make
them pretty as a picture," she said. "Once't I was in Richmond and saw
the Capitol. That's a good picture of it. And that statue of General
Washington!--My! his horse's just dancing as they say Ashby's does to
music. One of those bronze men around the base is a forbear of mine."
She gave back the note. "I had a little mite of real coffee that I'd
have liked to give you--but it's all gone. Howsoever, you won't go
hungry with what you've got. Have you a nice place to sleep in?"
"The nicest in the world. A bed of oak leaves and a roof all stars."
"You could stay here to-night. I've got a spare room."
"You're just as good as gold," said Allan. "But I want to be out where I
can hear the news. I'm a scout, you see."
"I thought that, watching you come up the path. We're learning fast.
Used to be I just thought a soldier was a soldier! I never thought of
there being different kinds. Do you think the army'll come this way?"
"I shouldn't be surprised," said Allan. "Indeed, I'm rather expecting
it. But you never know. How many of your people are in it?"
"A lot of cousins. But my sons are with Johnston. Richmond's more'n a
hundred miles away, I reckon, but all last night I thought I heard the
cannon. Well, good-bye! I'm mighty glad to see you all again in the
Valley. Be sure to come back for your breakfast--and if the army passes
I've got enough for one or two besides. Good-bye--God bless you."
Allan left behind the small brick farmhouse, stopped for a drink at the
spring, then climbed a rail fence and made across a rolling field of
bright green clover to a width of blossoming woods, beyond which ran the
Mt. Solon and Bridgewater road. From the forest issued a curl of blue
vapour and a smell of wood smoke. The scout, entering, found a cheerful,
unnecessarily large fire. Stretched beside it, upon the carpet of last
year's leaves, lay Billy Maydew, for whose company he had applied upon
quitting, a week before, the army between McDowell and Franklin. Allan
snuffed the air. "You build too big a fire, Billy! 'Tisn't a good
scout's way of doing."
Billy laid down horizontally upon the leaves the stick he had been
whittling. "Thar ain't anybody but home folks to smell it. Didn't we see
Ashby on the black stallion draw a line like that thar stick across the
Valley with a picket post for every knot?" He sat up. "Did you get
anything to eat?"
"I certainly did. There surely are good women in the land!" Allan
disburdened himself. "Rake the coals out and get the skillet."
Afterwards they lay prone upon the leaves and talked. They had much of
life in common; they were as at home with each other as two squirrels
frequenting the same tree. Now, as they lay beneath two clouds from two
briar-roots, they dwelt for some time upon Thunder Run, then from that
delectable region turned to the here and now. Allan had taught Billy,
finding him a most unsatisfactory pupil. Billy had in those days
acquired little book learning, but a very real respect for the blond
giant now lying opposite to him. Since coming to the army he had been
led to deplore his deficiencies, and, a week ago, he had suggested to
Allan that in the interim of active scouting the latter should continue
his education. "When thar air a chance I want to swap into the
artillery. Three bands of red thar," he drew a long finger across his
sleeve, "air my ambition. I reckon then Christianna and all the Thunder
Run girls would stop saying 'Billy.' They'd say 'Sergeant Maydew.' An
artillery sergeant's got to be head in ciphering, and he's got to be
able to read words of mor'n one--one--"
"Syllable."
"That's it. Now they aren't any printed books hereabouts, but you've got
it all in your head--"
"I can't teach you much," Allan had said soberly, "whispering under
bushes and listening for Schenck's cavalry! We might do something,
though. You were an awful poor speller. Spell 'sergeant'--now
'ordnance'--now 'ammunition'--'battery'--'caisson'--'Howitzer'--
'Napoleon'--'Tredegar'--'limber'--'trail'--'cannon-powder'--"
In the week Billy had made progress--more progress than in a session on
Thunder Run. Now, lying in the woods a little west of Mt. Solon, waiting
for the army moving back to the Valley, this time from the west, from
the Allegheny fastnesses, he accomplished with eclat some oral
arithmetic--"If two Yankee Parrotts are fired every eight minutes, and
in our battery we serve the howitzer every nine minutes, the Napoleon
every ten, the two six-pounders every eleven, and if the Yankees limber
up and leave at the end of an hour, how many shells will have been
thrown?"--"If it is a hundred and ten miles from Harrisonburg to the
Potomac, and if Old Jack's foot cavalry advances twenty-two miles a day,
and if we lay off a day for a battle, and if we have three skirmishes
each occupying two hours, and if Banks makes a stand of half a day at
Winchester, and if Fremont executes a flank movement and delays us six
hours, just how long will it be before Old Jack pushes Banks into the
Potomac?"--"If Company A had ninety men when it started ('thar war a
full hundred') and five men died of measles and pneumonia (''t were
six'), and if we recruited three at Falling Springs, and six were killed
at Manassas and sixteen wounded, half of whom never came back, and we
got twelve recruits at Centreville and seven more at Winchester, and if
five straggled on the Bath and Romney trip and were never heard of more,
and if five were killed at Kernstown and a dozen are still in the
hospital, and if ten more recruits came in at Rude's Hill and if we left
four sick at Magaheysville, and if we lost none at McDowell, not being
engaged, but two in a skirmish since, and if Steve Dagg straggled three
times but was brought back and tried to desert twice but never got any
further than the guardhouse--how many men are in Company A?"--"If"--this
was Billy's--"if I have any luck in the next battle, and if I air found
to have a speaking acquaintance with every damned thousand-legged word
the captain asks me about, and I get to be a sergeant, and I air swapped
into the artillery, and thar's a big fight, and my battery and Company A
are near, and Sergeant Mathew Coffin gets into trouble right next door
to me, and he cried out a hundred times (lying right thar in the zone of
fire), 'Boys, come take me out of hell!' and the company all was forced
back, and all the gunners, and I was left thar serving my gun, just as
pretty and straight, and he cried out anoth'r hundred times, 'Billy
Maydew, come pick me up and carry me out of hell'--and I just served on
a hundred times, only looking at him every time the gun thundered and I
straightened up--"
"For shame!" cried Allan. "I've heard Steve Dagg say something like that
about Richard Cleave." Billy sat up indignant. "It air not like that at
all! The major air what he is, and Steve Dagg air what he is! Sergeant
Mathew Coffin air what somebody or other called somebody else in that
thar old history book you used to make us learn! He air 'a petty
tyrant.' He air that, and Thunder Run don't like that kind. He air not
going to tyrannize much longer over Billy Maydew. And don't you be
comparing me to Steve Dagg. I ain't like that, and I never was."
He lay prone again, insulted, and would not go on with the lesson. Allan
took it calmly, made a placating remark or two, and lapsed into a
friendly silence. It was pleasant in the woods, where the birds flitted
to and fro, and the pink honeysuckle grew around, and from a safe
distance a chipmunk daintily watched the intruders. The scout lay,
drowsily happy, the sunshine making spun gold of his hair and beard, his
carbine resting near. Back on Thunder Run, at the moment, Christianna in
her pink sunbonnet, a pansy from the tollgate at her throat, rested upon
her hoe in the garden she was making and looked out over the great sea
of mountains visible from the Thunder Run eyrie. Shadows of clouds moved
over them; then the sun shone out and they lay beneath in an amethystine
dream; Christianna had had her dream the night before. In her sleep she
had come upon a dark pool beneath alders, and she had knelt upon the
black bank and plunged her arms to the shoulders into the water. It
seemed in her dream that there was something at the bottom that she
wanted--a breastpin or a piece of money. And she had drawn up something
that weighed heavily and filled her arms. When she had lifted it halfway
out of the water the moon came out, and it was Allan Gold. She stood now
in her steep mountain garden bordered with phlox and larkspur and looked
far out over the long and many ridges. She knew in which general
direction to look, and with her mind's eye she tried to see the fighting
men, the fighting men; and then she shook her head and bent to her
hoeing--far back and high up on Thunder Run.
Thirty leagues away, in the flowering wood by the Mt. Solon road Allan
sat up. "I was nearly asleep," he said, "back on the mountain-side
above Thunder Run." He listened. "Horses' hoofs--a squad at a trot,
coming east! some of Ashby's of course, but you stay here and put earth
on the fire while I take a look." Rifle in hand, he threaded the thick
undergrowth between the camp and the road.
It was late in the afternoon, but the road lay yet in sunshine between
the clover and the wheat, the bloomy orchards and the woods of May.
Allan's precautions had been largely instinctive; there were no
Federals, he had reason to be sure, south of Strasburg. He looked to see
some changing picket post of Ashby's. But the five horsemen who came in
sight, three riding abreast, two a little behind, had not a Valley air.
"Tidewater men," said Allan to himself. "How far is it to Swift Run Gap?
Shouldn't wonder if General Ewell--"
A minute later the party came in line with the woods. Allan, after
another deliberate look, stepped from behind a flowering thorn. The
party drew up. "Good-afternoon, my man," said the stars and wreath in
the centre in a high, piping voice. "Alone, are you?--Ain't straggling,
I hope? Far too many stragglers--curse of this service--civilians turned
soldiers and all that. What's that? You know him, Stafford? One of
General Jackson's scouts?--Then do you know, pray, where is General
Jackson? for, by God, I don't!"
"I came across country myself to-day, sir--I and a boy that's with me.
We've been ahead with Ashby, fending off Fremont. General Jackson is
marching very rapidly, and I expect him to-night."
"Where's he going, then?"
"I haven't the least idea, sir."
"Well," piped Ewell, "I'll be glad to see him. God knows, I don't know
what I'm to do! Am I to strengthen Johnston at Richmond? Am I to cross
into the Valley--by God, it's lovely!--and reinforce Jackson? Damn it,
gentlemen, I'm a major-general on a seesaw! Richmond in danger--Valley
in danger. 'Better come to me!' says Johnston. Quite right! He needs
every man. 'Better stay with Jackson,' says Lee. Quite right again! Old
Jackson has three armies before him and only a handful. 'Better gallop
across and find out the crazy man's own mind,' says the major-general
in the middle." He turned with the suddenness of a bird to Allan. "By
God, I'm hungry as a coyote! Have you got anything to eat?"
"I've some bread and bacon and a few eggs and half a pot of apple butter
and a piece of honeycomb, sir--"
Ewell dismounted. "You're the foster brother I've been in search of for
thirty-five years! Maury and John, it sounds as though there were enough
for four. Deane and Edmondson, you ride on to that mill I see in front
of us, and ask if the folks won't give you supper. We'll pick you up in
an hour or so. Now, my friend in need, we'll build a fire and if you've
got a skillet I'll show you how an omelette ought to be made and
generally isn't!"
Within the covert Billy made up the fire again, and General Ewell, beneath
the amused eyes of his aides, sliced bacon, broke eggs into the skillet and
produced an omelette which was a triumph. He was, in truth, a master
cook--and everything was good and savoury--and the trio was very hungry.
Ewell had cigars, and smoked them like a Spaniard--generous, too--giving
freely to the others. As often as it burned low Billy threw dried sticks
upon the fire. The evening was cool, the shadows advancing; the crackling
light and warmth grateful enough. The newcomers asked questions. They were
eager to know--all the country was keen-set to know--eye-witnesses of
events were duly appreciated. The scout had been at McDowell?
"Yes, but not in the battle, the Stonewall Brigade not being engaged.
12th Georgia did best--and the 44th Virginia. 12th Georgia held the
crest. There was one man, just a boy like Billy there ('I'm eighteen!'
from Billy)--couldn't anybody keep him back, behind the rise where our
troops were lying down. 'We didn't come all this way to hide from
Yankees,' he cried, and he rushed out and down upon them--poor fellow!"
"That's the spirit. In the morning you followed on?"
"Yes, but Milroy and Schenck did not do badly. That was a good fetch of
theirs--firing the forest! Everywhere a great murk with tongues of
flame--smoke in nostril and eyes and the wind blowing fast. It looked
like the end of the world. Old Jack--beg pardon, sir, General
Jackson--General Jackson couldn't but smile, it was such excellent
tactics. We drew off at last, near Franklin, and the army went into camp
for a bit. Billy and I have been with a squadron of Ashby's."
"Keeping Fremont back?"
"Yes. General Jackson wanted the passes blocked. We did it pretty
thoroughly."
"How?"
"Burned all the bridges; cut down trees--in one place a mile of
them--and made abatis, toppled boulders over the cliffs and choked the
roads. If Fremont wants to get through he'll have to go round Robin
Hood's Barn to do it! He's out of the counting for awhile, I reckon. At
least he won't interfere with our communications. Ashby has three
companies toward the mountains, He's picketed the Valley straight across
below Woodstock. Banks can't get even a spy through from Strasburg. I've
heard an officer say--you know him, Major Stafford--Major Cleave--I've
heard him say that General Jackson uses cavalry as Napoleon did and as
no one has done since."
Ewell lit another cigar. "Well, I'm free to confess that old Jackson
isn't as crazy as an idiot called Dick Ewell thought him! As Milton
says, 'There's method in his madness'--Shakespeare, was it, Morris?
Don't read much out on the plains."
The younger aide had been gleeful throughout the recital. "Stonewall's a
good name, by George! but, by George! they ought to call him the Artful
Dodger--"
Maury Stafford burst into laughter. "By Heaven. Morris, you'd better
tell him that! Have you ever seen him?"
"No. They say he's real pious and as simple as they make them--but Lord!
there hasn't been anything simple about his late proceedings."
Stafford laughed again. "Religious as Cromwell, and artless as
Macchiavelli! Begins his orders with an honourable mention of God,
closes them with 'Put all deserters in irons,' and in between gives
points to Reynard the Fox--"
Ewell took his cigar from his lips. "Don't be so damned sarcastic,
Maury! It's worse than drink--Well, Deane?"
One of his troopers had appeared. "A courier has arrived, general, with
a letter from General Jackson. I left him at the mill and came back to
report. There's a nice little office there with a light and writing
materials."
Dusk filled the forest, the night came, and the stars shone between the
branches. A large white moon uprose and made the neighbouring road a
milky ribbon stretched east and west. A zephyr just stirred the myriad
leaves. Somewhere, deeper in the woods, an owl hooted at intervals, very
solemnly. Billy heaped wood upon the fire, laid his gun carefully, just
so, stretched himself beside it and in three minutes reached the deepest
basin of sleep. Allan sat with his back to the hickory, and the
firelight falling upon the leaves of a book he had borrowed from some
student in the ranks. It was a volume of Shelley, and the young man read
with serious appreciation. He was a lover of poetry, and he was glad to
meet with this poet whose works he had not been able as yet to put upon
his book-shelf, back in the little room, under the eaves of the
tollgate. He read on, bent forward, the firelight upon his ample frame,
gold of hair and beard, and barrel of the musket lying on the leaves
beside him.
O Love! who bewailest
The frailty of all things here,
Why choose you the frailest
For your cradle, your home, and your bier?
Allan made the fire yet brighter, listened a moment to the hooting of
the owl, then read on:--
Its passions will rock thee
As the storms rock the ravens on high;
Bright reason will mock thee--
He ceased to read, turning his head, for he heard a horse upon the road,
coming from the direction of the mill. It came slowly, with much of
weariness in the very hoof sounds, then left the road for the woodside
and stopped. Ensued a pause while the rider fastened it to some sapling,
then, through the bushes, the former came toward the camp-fire. He
proved to be Maury Stafford. "The courier says General Jackson will
reach Mt. Solon about midnight. General Ewell is getting an hour's sleep
at the mill. I am not sleepy and your fire is attractive. May I keep you
company for awhile?"
Allan was entirely hospitable. "Certainly, sir! Spread your cloak just
there--the wind will blow the smoke the other way. Well, we'll all be
glad to see the army!"
"What are you reading?"
Allan showed him. "Humph!--
Its passions will rock thee
As the storms rock the ravens on high;
Bright reason will mock thee--
Well--we all know the man was a seer."
He laid the book down upon the grey cloak lined with red and sat with
his chin in his hand, staring at the fire. Some moments elapsed before
he spoke; then, "You have known Richard Cleave for a long time?"
"Yes. Ever since we were both younger than we are now. I like him better
than any one I know--and I think he's fond of me."
"He seems to have warm friends."
"He has. He's true as steel, and big-minded. He's strong-thewed--in and
out."
"A little clumsily simple sometimes, do you not think? Lawyer and
soldier grafted on Piers Ploughman, and the seams not well hidden? I
would say there's a lack of grace--"
"I have not noticed it," said Allan dryly. "He's a very good leader."
The other smiled, though only with the lips. "Oh, I am not decrying him!
Why should I? I have heard excellent things of him. He is a favourite,
is he not, with General Jackson?"
"I don't think that General Jackson has favourites."
"At least, he is no longer in disfavour. I remember toward the close of
the Romney expedition--"
"Oh, that!" said Allan, "that was nothing." He put down his pipe. "Let
me see if I can explain to you the ways of this army. You don't know
General Jackson as we do, who have been with him ever since a year ago
and Harper's Ferry! In any number of things he's as gentle as a woman;
in a few others he--isn't. In some things he's like iron. He's rigid in
his discipline, and he'll tolerate no shade of insubordination, or
disobedience, or neglect of duty. He's got the defect of his quality,
and sometimes he'll see those things where they are not. He doesn't
understand making allowances or forgiving. He'll rebuke a man in general
orders, hold him up--if he's an officer--before the troops, and all for
something that another general would hardly notice! He'll make an
officer march without his sword for whole days in the rear of his
regiment, and all for something that just a reprimand would have done
for! As you say, he made the very man we're talking of do that from
Bloomery Gap to Romney--and nobody ever knew why. Just the other day
there were some poor fools of twelve-month men in one of our regiments
who concluded they didn't want to reenlist. They said they'd go home and
cried out for their discharge. And they had forgotten all about the
conscription act that Congress had just passed. So, when the discharge
was refused they got dreadfully angry, and threw down their arms. The
colonel went to the general, and the general almost put him under
arrest. 'Why does Colonel Grigsby come to me to learn how to deal with
mutineers? Shoot them where they stand.'--Kernstown, too. There's hardly
a man of the Stonewall that doesn't think General Garnett justified in
ordering that retreat, and yet look at Garnett! Under arrest, and the
commanding general preferring charges against him! Says he did not wait
for orders, lost the battle and so on. With Garnett it is a deadly
serious matter--rank and fame and name for courage all in peril--"
"I see. But with Richard Cleave it was not serious?"
"Not in the least. These smaller arrests and censures--not even the best
can avoid them. I shouldn't think they were pleasant, for sometimes they
are mentioned in reports, and sometimes they get home to the womenfolk.
But his officers understand him by now, and they keep good discipline,
and they had rather be led by Stonewall Jackson than by an easier man.
As for Richard Cleave, I was with him on the march to McDowell and he
looked a happy man."
"Ah!"
The conversation dropped. The scout, having said his say, easily
relapsed into silence. His visitor, half reclining upon his cloak
beneath an old, gnarled tree, was still. The firelight played strangely
over his face, for now it seemed the face of one man, now that of
another. In the one aspect he looked intent, as though in his mind he
mapped a course. In the other he showed only weariness, dashed with
something tragic--a handsome, brooding, melancholy face. They stayed
like this for some time, the fire burning before them, the moon flooding
the forest, the owl hooting from his hole in some decaying tree.
At last, however, another sound intruded, a very low, subdued sound like
a distant ground swell or like thunder without resonance. It grew; dull
yet, it became deep. Allan knocked the ashes from his pipe. "That is a
sound," he said, "that when you have once heard you don't forget. The
army's coming."
Stafford rose. "I must get back to General Ewell! Thank you, Gold, for
your hospitality."
"Not at all! Not at all!" said Allan heartily. "I am glad that I could
put that matter straight for you. It would blight like black frost to
have Stonewall Jackson's hand and mind set against you--and Richard
Cleave is not the least in that predicament!"
The Army of the Valley, advance and main column, and rearguard,
artillery and wagon train, came down the moon-lighted road, having
marched twenty miles since high noon. On either hand stretched pleasant
pastures, a running stream, fair woods. Company by company the men left
the road, were halted, stacked arms, broke ranks. Cessation from motion
was sweet, sweet the feel of turf beneath their feet. They had had
supper three hours before; now they wanted sleep, and without much
previous ado they lay down and took it--Stonewall Jackson's "foot
cavalry" sleeping under the round moon, by Mt. Solon.
At the mill there was a meeting and a conference. A figure in an old
cloak and a shabby forage cap dismounted, ungracefully enough, from a
tired nag, and crossed the uncovered porch to the wide mill door. There
he was met by his future trusty and trusted lieutenant--"dear Dick
Ewell." Jackson's greeting was simple to baldness. Ewell's had the
precision of a captain of dragoons. Together they entered the small mill
office, where the aides placed lights and writing materials, then
withdrew. The generals sat down, one on this side of the deal table, one
on that. Jackson took from his pocket a lemon, very deliberately opened
a knife, and, cutting the fruit in two, put one half of the sour
treasure to his lips. Ewell fidgeted, then, as the other sucked on,
determined to set the ball rolling. "Damn me, general! if I am not glad
to have the pleasure at last--"
Jackson sent across the table a grey-blue glance, then gently put down
one half of the lemon and took up the other. "Why the deuce should he
look at me in that damned reproachful fashion?" thought Ewell. He made
another start. "There's a damned criss-cross of advices from Richmond.
I hate uncertainty like the devil, and so I thought I'd ride across--"
"General Ewell," said Jackson gently, "you will oblige me by not
swearing. Profanity, sir, is most distasteful to me. Now, you rode
across?"
Ewell swallowed. "Rode across--rode across--I rode across, sir, from
Swift Run Gap, and I brought with me two late dispatches from General
Johnston and General Lee. I thought some expression, perhaps, to them of
your opinion--following the late victory and all--"
The other took and read, laid down the dispatches and applied himself to
his lemon. Presently. "I will telegraph to-night to General Johnston and
General Lee. I shall advise that you enter the Valley as first intended.
As for Richmond--we may best serve Richmond by threatening Washington."
"Threatening Washington?"
"At present you are in my district and form part of my command. You will
at once move your troops forward a day's march. Upon receipt of advices
from General Johnston and General Lee--and if they are of the tenour I
expect--you will move with promptness to Luray."
"And then?"
"With promptness to Luray. I strongly value swiftness of movement."
"I understand that, sir. Double the distance in half the time."
"Good! When instructions are given, it is desirable that those
instructions be followed. I assume the responsibility of giving the
proper instructions."
"I understand, general. Obey and ask no questions."
"Just so. Be careful of your ammunition wagons, but otherwise as little
impedimenta as possible."
"I understand, sir. The road to glory cannot be followed with much
baggage."
Jackson put out his long arm, and gently touched the other's hand.
"Good! I should be surprised if we didn't get on very well together. Now
I will write a telegram to General Lee and then you shall get back to
Swift Run Gap. The fewer hours a general is away from his troops the
better." He rose and opened the door. "Lieutenant Meade!" The aide
appeared. "Send me a courier--the one with the freshest horse. Order
General Ewell's horses to be saddled."
This was the seventeenth. Two days later the Army of the Valley, moving
down the Valley pike in a beautiful confidence that it was hurling
itself against Banks at Strasburg, swerved to the east about New Market,
with a suddenness that made it dizzy. Straight across its path now ran
the strange and bold wall of the Massanuttons, architectural freak of
Nature's, planted midway of the smiling Valley. The army groaned.
"Always climbing mountains! This time to-morrow, I reckon, we'll climb
it back again. Nothing over on the other side but the Luray Valley!"
Up and up went the army, through luxuriant forests where the laurel was
in bloom, by the cool dash of mountain waters, past one-time haunts of
stag and doe, through fern, over pine needles, under azure sky,--then
down it sank, long winding after winding, moss and fern and richest
forest, here velvet shadow, there highest light, down and down to the
lovely Luray Valley, to the crossing of the Shenandoah, to green meadows
and the bugles ringing "halt"!
How short the time between tattoo and reveille! The dawn was rosy,
still, not cold, the river running near, the men with leave to rid
themselves of the dust of yesterday's long march. In they plunged, all
along the south fork of the Shenandoah, into the cool and wholesome
flood. There were laughters, shoutings, games of dolphins. Then out they
came, and while they cooked their breakfasts they heard the drums and
fifes of Ewell's eight thousand, marching down from Conrad's Store.
The night before at Washington, where there was much security and much
triumph over the certain-to-occur-soon-if-not-already-occurred Fall of
Richmond, the Secretary of War received a dispatch from General Banks at
Strasburg in the Valley of Virginia, thirty miles from Winchester.
"My force at Strasburg is 4476 infantry, two brigades; 1600 cavalry,
10 Parrott guns and 6 smoothbore pieces. I have on the Manassas Gap
Railroad, between Strasburg and Manassas, 2500 infantry, 6 companies
cavalry, and 6 pieces artillery. There are 5 companies cavalry,
First Maine, near Strasburg. Of the enemy I received information
last night, direct from New Market, that Jackson has returned to
within 8 miles of Harrisonburg, west. I have no doubt that Jackson's
force is near Harrisonburg, and that Ewell still remains at Swift
Run Gap. I shall communicate more at length the condition of affairs
and the probable plans of the enemy."
In pursuance of his promise General Banks wrote at length from
Strasburg, the evening of the 22d:--
"Sir. The return of the rebel forces of General Jackson to the
Valley after his forced march against Generals Milroy and Schenck
increases my anxiety for the safety of the position I occupy....
That he has returned there can be no doubt.... From all the
information I can gather--and I do not wish to excite alarm
unnecessarily--I am compelled to believe that he meditates attack
here. I regard it as certain that he will move north as far as New
Market, a position which ... enables him also to cooperate with
General Ewell, who is still at Swift Run Gap.... Once at New Market
they are within twenty-five miles of Strasburg.... I have forborne
until the last moment to make this representation, well knowing how
injurious to the public service unfounded alarms become...."
The general signed and sent his letter. Standing for a moment, in the
cool of the evening, at the door of headquarters, he looked toward the
east where the first stars were shining. Fourteen miles over there was
his strongest outpost, the village of Front Royal occupied by Colonel
Kenly with a thousand men and two guns. The general could not see the
place; it lay between the Massanuttons and the Blue Ridge, but it was in
his mind. He spoke to an aide. "To-morrow I think I will recall Kenly
and send him down the pike to develop the force of the enemy."
The small town of Strasburg pulsed with flaring lights and with the
manifold sounds of the encamped army. Sutlers showed their wares, guard
details went by, cavalrymen clanked their spurs through the streets,
laughter and talk rang through the place. A company of strolling
players had come down from the North, making its way from Washington to
Harper's Ferry, held by three thousand Federals; from Harper's Ferry to
Winchester, held by fifteen hundred; and from Winchester to Strasburg.
The actors had a canvas booth, where by guttering candles and to the
sound of squeaking fiddles they gave their lurid play of the night, and
they played to a crowded house. Elsewhere there was gambling, elsewhere
praying, elsewhere braggarts spoke of Ajax exploits, elsewhere there was
moaning and tossing in the hospitals, elsewhere some private, raised
above the heads of his fellows, read aloud the Northern papers.
_McClellan has one hundred and twelve thousand men. Yesterday his
advance reached the White House on the Pamunkey. McDowell has forty
thousand men, and at last advice was but a few marches from the
treasonable capital. Our gunboats are hurrying up the James. Presumably
at the very hour this goes to press Richmond is fallen._
Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen,
Fallen from her high estate,
And weltering in her blood.
Elsewhere brave, true, and simple men attended to their duties, wrote
their letters home, and, going their rounds or walking their beats,
looked upward to the silver stars. They looked at the stars in the west,
over the Alleghenies where Fremont, where Milroy and Schenck should be;
and at those in the south, over the long leagues of the great Valley,
over Harrisonburg, somewhere the other side of which Stonewall Jackson
must be; and at those in the east, over the Massanuttons, with the Blue
Ridge beyond, and Front Royal in between, where Colonel Kenly was; and
at the bright stars in the North, over home, over Connecticut and
Pennsylvania and Massachusetts, over Wisconsin, Indiana, and Maine.
They who watched the stars from Strasburg dwelt least of all, perhaps,
upon the stars in the east. Yet under those lay that night, ten miles
from Front Royal, Stonewall Jackson and seventeen thousand men.