the whole army,--"owed the cavalry one," "_several_," in fact. The army,
even the infantry, had come to know the cavalry, at last. Obstinacy,
toughness, dogged refusal to be driven, was their test of manhood, and
this test the cavalry had signally, and _brilliantly_ met. Everybody was
satisfied, the _cavalry would do, they_ were "all right." We couldn't
praise them enough, we were proud of them. The remark was even suffered
to pass, as nothing to his discredit particularly, that our "Magnus
Apollo," General Lee, himself, had once been in the cavalry, and no one
resented it _now_. We knew that it was when he was _younger_ than now.
We, of the "Howitzers," knew very well what arm of the service, and what
corps of that arm, the experienced old General would join, if he was
enlisting in the Army of Northern Virginia, now, when he knew more than
he did. Still! he had been a cavalryman; admit it!

And we all _admired_ the cavalry; _honored_ the cavalry; _shouted_ for
the cavalry, from that time! Occasionally, from force of habit, the
infantry (the artillery never) would fall from grace at sight of a
passing cavalry column, and let fall little attentions, that sounded
very like the old-time compliments, but they were not _meant that way_.
It was the soldier-instinct to salute pilgrims. Just as, on a village
street, if a dog, of any degree, starts to run, every other dog in
sight, or hearing, tears off after him in pursuit, and if he can catch
up, instantly attacks him,--not that he has anything against the
fugitive, but, simply, because he is running by. The act of running past
makes him the enemy of his kind. So, I think, the Confederate infantry
assailed, with jokes and gibes, _anybody in motion_ by their camp, or
column. They had nothing against him; they attacked him because he was
passing by. "It was their nature to." Of all living men, General Lee,
_alone_, was sacred to them in this. The cavalry _always_ had their full
share, and never suffered for want of notice.

This account of the false idea that prevailed, the fun that came of it,
and the way it was dispelled, is part of the history of the time. It
went to make up the life in the Army of Northern Virginia; it lives in
the recollection of that good old time. No record of that old time would
be complete without it. So I make no apology for falling into it, in
this informal reminiscence.

At one o'clock on Sunday, the 8th of May, we reached the top of the hill
near