re was much rain, but, day by day, through the silver
veil or the shattered golden light, lovelier and more lovely grew the
spring. The army liked to see her coming. In its heart it felt a
springtime, too; a gush of hope and ardour. The men hardly counted
Kernstown a defeat. It was known that Old Jack had said to one of the
aides, "I may say that I am satisfied, sir." And Congress had thanked
the Army of the Valley. And all the newspapers sang its praises. The
battle of Pea Ridge in Arkansas, the shelling of Newbern in North
Carolina, the exploits of the Merrimac in Hampton Roads, the battle of
Kernstown in the Valley--so at the moment ran the newspapers. And day by
day recruits were coming in; comrades as well who had been in hospital
or home on furlough. In that fortnight the Army of the Valley grew to
number nearly six thousand men.

At Rude's Hill there was an election of company officers. The
proceedings--amazing enough to the professional soldier--put into camp
life three days of excitement and salt. Given a people of strong
political proclivities suddenly turned soldier; given human grudges and
likings, admirations and contempts; given the ballot in military as in
civil life; given a chance to inject champagne into the ennui of camp
existence, and in lieu of gun practice to send off sky-rockets and
catherine wheels; given a warm personal interest in each private's bosom
as to whom, for the next twelfth month (if the war lasted that long), he
was going to obey--and there resulted a shattering of monotony
comparable to a pitched battle.

The elections were held in beautiful, vernal groves. That there would be
changes it was believed; change was in the air! For days beforehand the
character for conduct, courage, and general agreeableness of every man
who wore three bars on his collar, or two, or one, or who carried
chevrons of silk or chevrons of worsted, had been strictly in the zone
of fire. Certain officers nearing certain camp-fires felt caucuses
dissolving at their approach into an innocence of debating societies
engaged with Fabius Maximus or Scipio Africanus. Certain sergeants and
corporals dreamed bars instead of chevrons, and certain high privates,
conscious of merit, saw worsted chevrons, silk chevrons, and gold bars
all in one blissful night.

But when election day dawned bright and clear, with a fine chorus of
birds and an especial performance by the regimental bands, when roll
call was over, and camp