dvantage, though Shields was
usually energetic.

The mounted officer who had been sent on in advance pointed out a figure
perched on the topmost rail of a fence overlooking the road and field,
and said it was Jackson. Approaching, I saluted and declared my name and
rank, then waited for a response. Before this came I had time to see a
pair of cavalry boots covering feet of gigantic size, a mangy cap with
visor drawn low, a heavy, dark beard, and weary eyes--eyes I afterward
saw filled with intense but never brilliant light. A low, gentle voice
inquired the road and distance marched that day. "Keazletown road, six
and twenty miles." "You seem to have no stragglers." "Never allow
straggling." "You must teach my people; they straggle badly." A bow in
reply. Just then my creoles started their band and a waltz. After a
contemplative suck at a lemon, "Thoughtless fellows for serious work"
came forth. I expressed a hope that the work would not be less well done
because of the gayety. A return to the lemon gave me the opportunity to
retire. Where Jackson got his lemons "no fellow could find out," but he
was rarely without one. To have lived twelve miles from that fruit would
have disturbed him as much as it did the witty Dean.

Quite late that night General Jackson came to my camp fire, where he
stayed some hours. He said we would move at dawn, asked a few questions
about the marching of my men, which seemed to have impressed him, and
then remained silent. If silence be golden, he was a "bonanza." He
sucked lemons, ate hard-tack, and drank water, and praying and fighting
appeared to be his idea of the "whole duty of man."

In the gray of the morning, as I was forming my column on the pike,
Jackson appeared and gave the route--north--which, from the situation of
its camp, put my brigade in advance of the army. After moving a short
distance in this direction, the head of the column was turned to the
east and took the road over Massanutten gap to Luray. Scarce a word was
spoken on the march, as Jackson rode with me. From time to time a
courier would gallop up, report, and return toward Luray. An ungraceful
horseman, mounted on a sorry chestnut with a shambling gait, his huge
feet with outturned toes thrust into his stirrups, and such parts of his
countenance as the low visor of his shocking cap failed to conceal
wearing a wooden look, our new commander was not prepossessing. That
night we crossed the east branch of the Shenandoa