ations, was virtually doing his work, while it was
idle to expect assistance from the trans-Mississippi region. Certainly,
no more egregious blunder was possible than that of relieving him from
command in front of Atlanta. If he intended to fight there, he was
entitled to execute his plan. Had he abandoned Atlanta without a
struggle, his removal would have met the approval of the army and
public, an approval which, under the circumstances of its action, the
Richmond Government failed to receive.

I am persuaded that General Johnston's mind was so jaundiced by the
unfortunate disagreement with President Davis, to which allusion has
been made in an earlier part of these reminiscences, as to seriously
cloud his judgment and impair his usefulness. He sincerely believed
himself the Esau of the Government, grudgingly fed on bitter herbs,
while a favored Jacob enjoyed the flesh-pots. Having known him
intimately for many years, having served under his command and studied
his methods, I feel confident that his great abilities under happier
conditions would have distinctly modified, if not changed, the current
of events. Destiny willed that Davis and Johnston should be brought into
collision, and the breach, once made, was never repaired. Each misjudged
the other to the end.

Ewell's division reached the western base of Swift Run Gap on a lovely
spring evening, April 30, 1862, and in crossing the Blue Ridge seemed to
have left winter and its rigors behind. Jackson, whom we moved to join,
had suddenly that morning marched toward McDowell, some eighty miles
west, where, after uniting with a force under General Edward Johnson, he
defeated the Federal general Milroy. Some days later he as suddenly
returned. Meanwhile we were ordered to remain in camp on the Shenandoah
near Conrad's store, at which place a bridge spanned the stream.

The great Valley of Virginia was before us in all its beauty. Fields of
wheat spread far and wide, interspersed with woodlands, bright in their
robes of tender green. Wherever appropriate sites existed, quaint old
mills, with turning wheels, were busily grinding the previous year's
harvest; and grove and eminence showed comfortable homesteads. The soft
vernal influence shed a languid grace over the scene. The theatre of war
in this region was from Staunton to the Potomac, one hundred and twenty
miles, with an average width of some twenty-five miles; and the Blue
Ridge and Alleghanies bounded it east and