d loud enough for him to hear. Soldiers from all commands
would fall out of ranks and stop by the road side and swear that they
would not follow such a leader any longer.

When Jackson got to Romney, and was ready to strike Banks and Meade in a
vital point, and which would have changed, perhaps, the destiny of the
war and the South, his troops refused to march any further, and he turned,
marched back to Winchester and tendered his resignation to the
authorities at Richmond. But the great leader's resignation was not
accepted. It was in store for him to do some of the hardest fighting
and greatest generalship that was done during the war.

One night at this place (Romney), I was sent forward with two other
soldiers across the wire bridge as picket. One of them was named
Schwartz and the other Pfifer--he called it Fifer, but spelled it with a
P--both full-blooded Dutchmen, and belonging to Company E, or the German
Yagers, Captain Harsh, or, as he was more generally called, "God-for-dam."

When we had crossed the bridge and taken our station for the night,
I saw another snow storm was coming. The zig-zag lightnings began to
flare and flash, and sheet after sheet of wild flames seemed to burst
right over our heads and were hissing around us. The very elements
seemed to be one aurora borealis with continued lightning. Streak after
streak of lightning seemed to be piercing each the other, the one from
the north and the other from the south. The white clouds would roll up,
looking like huge snow balls, encircled with living fires. The earth and
hills and trees were covered with snow, and the lightnings seemed to be
playing "King, King Canico" along its crusted surface. If it thundered
at all, it seemed to be between a groaning and a rumbling sound. The
trees and hills seemed white with livid fire. I can remember that storm
now as the grandest picture that has ever made any impression on my
memory. As soon as it quit lightning, the most blinding snow storm fell
that I ever saw. It fell so thick and fast that I got hot. I felt like
pulling off my coat. I was freezing. The winds sounded like sweet
music. I felt grand, glorious, peculiar; beautiful things began to play
and dance around my head, and I supposed I must have dropped to sleep or
something, when I felt Schwartz grab me, and give me a shake, and at the
same time raised his gun and fired, and yelled out at the top of his
voice, "Here is your mule." The