That night the
hostile lines were so close that we could hear the Yankees talking, but
could not distinguish the words. When daylight came they were far away.

Toward the latter part of the month Pope's army occupied a position near
Warrenton in Fauquier county, while across the North Fork of the
Rappahannock river he was confronted by Lee's united army in Culpeper.

To cross the river and force the Federal position by a front attack was
plainly impracticable; but in some way the Yankees must be removed and
compelled to fight on something like equal terms. The plan was formed
that Jackson with his corps should by a forced circuitous march obtain
the enemy's rear and thus, cutting the line of his communication, compel
him to retire from his advantageous location, and that Lee with
Longstreet's corp should rejoin Jackson and bring on an engagement with
his entire army. To some military critics this division of the army in
the face of an unchastised antagonist might seem to contradict the rules
of sound strategy, but in the fertile minds of Lee and Jackson it was
the dictate of consummate genius. Such a division occurred in Maryland,
just before the battle of Sharpsburg, and again at Chancellorsville the
following year, and each time it was advantageous to the Confederate
arms. These two men had the utmost confidence in each other, and either
felt safe while the other was making an independent movement. In the
course of the years that have elapsed since the termination of the war I
have frequently been asked, "Which was the greater general, Lee or
Jackson?" After pondering this question for forty-five years I am yet
unable to decide; and that reminds me of Abe Lincoln and the hats. When
he became President, two enterprising merchants in Washington, desiring
to secure his custom, each presented him with an elegant silk hat, and
it so happened that they called at the same time to learn his opinion of
their gifts. "Gentlemen," said Mr. Lincoln, "these hats mutually excel
each other."

On Tuesday, the 26th of August, the march of Jackson's corps began,
every step of the onward way bringing us nearer to the Blue Ridge where
it borders the county of Rappahannock, and causing us to guess that
through some gap of the mountain we were going into the valley. We did
not know what Old Jack, (as he was familiarly and affectionately
called,) was up to, but it did not matter what was the objective,--so
implicit was the confidence repos