well. All around them were their battlefields of the spring, and there
were the massive ridges of the Massanuttons that Jackson had used so
skillfully, not clothed in green now, but with the scanty leaves of
closing autumn.

Neither Harry nor any of his comrades knew just where they were going.
That secret was locked fast under the old slouch hat of Jackson, and
Harry, like all the others, was content to wait. Old Jack knew where he
was going and what he meant to do. And wherever he was going it was the
right place to go to, and whatever he meant to do was just the thing
that ought to be done. His extraordinary spell over his men deepened
with the passing days.

As they went farther southward they saw sheltered slopes of the
mountains where the foliage yet glowed in the reds and yellows of autumn,
"purple patches" on the landscape. Over ridges to both east and west
the fine haze of Indian summer yet hung. It was a wonderful world,
full of beauty. The air was better and nobler than wine, and the creeks
and brooks flowing swiftly down the slopes flashed in silver.

There were no enemies here. The people, mostly women and
children--nearly all the men had gone to war--came out to cheer them as
they passed, and to bring them what food and clothing they could. The
Valley never wavered in its allegiance to the South, although great
armies fought and trod back and forth over its whole course through all
the years of the war.

They turned east and defiled through a narrow pass in the mountains,
where the sheltered slopes again glowed in yellow and gold. Jackson,
in somber and faded gray, rode near the head of the corps on his
faithful Little Sorrel, his chin sunk upon his breast, his eyes
apparently not seeing what was about them, the worn face somber and
thoughtful. Harry knew that the great brain under the old slouch
hat was working every moment, always working with an intensity and
concentration of which few men were ever capable. Harry, following
close behind him, invariably watched him, but he could never read
anything of Jackson's mind from his actions.

Then came the soldiers in broad and flowing columns, that is, they
seemed to Harry, in the intense autumn light, to flow like a river of
men and horses and steel, beautiful to look on now, but terrible in
battle.

"We're better than ever," said the sober Dalton. "Antietam stopped us
for the time, but we are stronger than we were before that battle."