o enemy to
worry or make us afraid. Here closed Jackson's wonderful Valley campaign
of 1862.[3]

[Footnote 3: A part of the foregoing text was published in the number of
the "North American Review" for March, 1878, under the title of
"Stonewall Jackson and the Valley Campaign." In a kind and friendly
letter, dated New York, March 21, General Shields corrects some
misapprehensions into which I had fallen, more especially concerning his
_personal_ connection with the events described. I had been unable to
procure a copy of General Shields's report, which, he informs me in the
same letter, was suppressed by Secretary Stanton.]

The Louisiana brigade marched from its camp near Conrad's store, to
join Jackson at Newmarket, on the 21st of May. In twenty days it marched
over two hundred miles, fought in five actions, of which three were
severe, and several skirmishes, and, though it had suffered heavy loss
in officers and men, was yet strong, hard as nails, and full of
confidence. I have felt it a duty to set forth the achievements of the
brigade, than which no man ever led braver into action, in their proper
light, because such reputation as I gained in this campaign is to be
ascribed to its excellence.

For the first time since several weeks, friend Ewell and I had a chance
to renew our talks; but events soon parted us again. Subsequently he was
wounded in the knee at the second battle of Manassas, and suffered
amputation of the leg in consequence. His absence of mind nearly proved
fatal. Forgetting his condition, he suddenly started to walk, came down
on the stump, imperfectly healed, and produced violent haemorrhage.

About the close of the war he married Mrs. Brown, a widow, and daughter
of Judge Campbell, a distinguished citizen of Tennessee, who had
represented the United States at the court of St. Petersburg, where this
lady was born. She was a kinswoman of Ewell, and said to have been his
early love. He brought her to New Orleans in 1866, where I hastened to
see him. He took me by the hand and presented me to "my wife, Mrs.
Brown." How well I remember our chat! How he talked of his plans and
hopes and happiness, and of his great lot of books, which he was afraid
he would never be able to read through. The while "my wife, Mrs. Brown,"
sat by, handsome as a picture, smiling on her General, as well she
might, so noble a gentleman. A few short years, and both he and his wife
passed away within an hour of each other; b