vast eastward stretch of Piedmont, visible also from the mountain top.
It was bright and quiet up here above the world. The sunshine drew out
the strong, life-giving odour of the pines, the ground was dry and warm,
it should have been a pleasant place to drowse in and be happy. But the
Valley soldiers were not happy. Jackson, riding by a recumbent group,
spoke from the saddle. "That's right, men! You rest all over, lying
down." In the morning this group had cheered him loudly; now it saluted
in a genuine "Bath to Romney" silence. He rode by, imperturbable. His
chief engineer was with him, and they went on to a flat rock commanding
both the great views, east and west. Here they dismounted, and between
them unfurled a large map, weighting its corners with pine cones. The
soldiers below them gazed dully. Old Jack--or Major-General T. J.
Jackson--or Fool Tom Jackson was forever looking at maps. It was a trick
of his, as useless as saying "Good! good!" or jerking his hand in the
air in that old way.

* * * * *

That evening the Army of the Valley slept in emerald meadows beside
Meechum's River in Albemarle. Coming down the mountain it had caught
distant glimpses of white spirals of smoke floating from the overworked
engines of the Virginia Central; and now it lay near a small country
station, and there on the switch were empty cars and empty cars!--_cars
to go to Richmond on_. The army groaned and got its supper, took out its
pipe and began, though reluctantly enough, to regard the situation with
a philosophic eye. What was done was done! The Blue Ridge lay between
it and the Valley, and after all Old Joe must be wanting soldiers pretty
badly down at Richmond! The landscape was lovely, the evening tranquil
and sweet. The army went to bed early, and went in a frame of mind
approaching resignation. This was Saturday evening; Old Jack would rest
to-morrow.

Sunday dawned clear and sweet. Pleasant morning--no drill, and light
camp duties--coffee, hot biscuits, good smoke--general Sunday
atmosphere--bugler getting ready to sound "Church!"--regimental
chaplains moving toward chosen groves--"Old Hundred" in the air.--"Oh,
come on and go! All the people are going at home."

And, after all, no one in the Army of the Valley went to church! The
bugler blew another call, the chaplains stopped short in their sedate
stride, short as if they had been shot, "Old Hundred" was not sung.
_Break camp--Break ca