little later, overtaken a mile or two down the road. A few artillerymen,
a squad or two of cavalry with several officers, Marchmont among them,
got away. They were all who broke the trap. Kenly himself, twenty
officers and nine hundred men, the dead, the wounded, the surrendered,
together with a section of artillery, some unburned stores, and the
Northern colours and guidons, rested in Jackson's hands. That night in
Strasburg, when the stars came out, men looked toward those that shone
in the east.

CHAPTER XXI

STEVEN DAGG

Steven Dagg, waked by the shrill reveille, groaned, raised himself from
his dew-drenched couch, ran his fingers through his hair, kneaded neck,
arms, and ankles, and groaned more heavily yet. He was dreadfully stiff
and sore. In five days the "foot cavalry" had marched more than eighty
miles. Yesterday the brigade had been afoot from dawn till dark. "And
we didn't have the fun of the battle neither," remarked Steve, in a
savagely injured tone. "Leastwise none of us but the damned three
companies and a platoon of ours that went ahead to skirmish 'cause they
knew the type of country! Don't I know the type of country, too? Yah!"

The man nearest him, combing his beard with ostentation, burst into a
laugh. "Did you hear that, fellows? Steve's grumbling because he wasn't
let to do it all! Poor Steve! poor Hotspur! poor Pistol!" He bent,
chuckling, over the pool that served him for mirror. "You stop calling
me dirty names!" growled Steve, and, his toilet ended well-nigh before
begun, slouched across to fire and breakfast. The former was large, the
latter small. Jackson's ammunition wagons, double-teamed, were up with
the army, but all others back somewhere east of Front Royal.

Breakfast was soon over--"sorry breakfast!" The _assembly_ sounded, the
column was formed, Winder made his brigade a short speech. Steve
listened with growing indignation. "General Banks, falling back from
Strasburg, is trying to get off clear to Winchester. ('Well, let him! I
don't give a damn!') We want to intercept him at Middletown. ('Oh, do
we?') We want to get there before the head of his column appears, and
then to turn and strike him full. ('O Lord! I ain't a rattler!') We want
to beat him in the middle Valley--never let him get to Winchester at
all! ('I ain't objecting, if you'll give the other brigades a show and
let them do it!') It's only ten miles to Middletown. ('Only!') A forced
march needed. ('O Gawd!'