ally giving a footsore fellow a cast on my horse. The
men appreciated this care and attention, followed advice as to the
fitting of their shoes, cold bathing of feet, and healing of abrasions,
and soon held it a disgrace to fall out of ranks. Before a month had
passed the brigade learned how to march, and, in the Valley with
Jackson, covered long distances without leaving a straggler behind.
Indeed, in several instances it emulated the achievement of Crauford's
"Light Brigade," whose wonderful march to join Wellington at Talavera
remains the stoutest feat of modern soldiership.

Arrived at the Rappahannock, I found the railway bridge floored for the
passage of troops and trains. The army, with the exception of Ewell's
division, composed of Elzey's, Trimball's, and my brigades, had passed
the Rapidan, and was lying around Orange Court House, where General
Johnston had his headquarters. Some horse, under Stuart, remained north
of the Rappahannock, toward Manassas.

For the first time Ewell had his division together and under his
immediate command; and as we remained for many days between the rivers,
I had abundant opportunities for studying the original character of
"Dick Ewell." We had known each other for many years, but now our
friendship and intercourse became close and constant. Graduated from
West Point in 1840, Ewell joined the 1st regiment of United States
dragoons, and, saving the Mexican war, in which he served with such
distinction as a young cavalryman could gain, his whole military life
had been passed on the plains, where, as he often asserted, he had
learned all about commanding fifty United States dragoons, and forgotten
everything else. In this he did himself injustice, as his career proves;
but he was of a singular modesty. Bright, prominent eyes, a bomb-shaped,
bald head, and a nose like that of Francis of Valois, gave him a
striking resemblance to a woodcock; and this was increased by a
bird-like habit of putting his head on one side to utter his quaint
speeches. He fancied that he had some mysterious internal malady, and
would eat nothing but frumenty, a preparation of wheat; and his
plaintive way of talking of his disease, as if he were some one else,
was droll in the extreme. His nervousness prevented him from taking
regular sleep, and he passed nights curled around a camp-stool, in
positions to dislocate an ordinary person's joints and drive the
"caoutchouc man" to despair. On such occasions, afte