said. "I have ordered up the Light Division." Seventy guns thundered
from across the water. A. P. Hill in his red battle shirt advancing in
that iron rain, took, front and flank, the Federal infantry. He drove
them down from the bluff, he pushed them into the river; they showed
black on the current. Those who got across, under the shelter of the
guns, did not try again that passage. McClellan looked toward Virginia,
but made no further effort, this September, to invade her. The Army of
Northern Virginia waited another day above Boteler's Ford, then withdrew
a few miles to the banks of the Opequon.

The Opequon, a clear and pleasing stream, meandered through the lower
reaches of the great Valley, through a fertile, lovely country, as yet
not greatly scored and blackened by war's torch and harrow. An easy ride
to the westward and you arrived in Winchester, beloved of
Lieutenant-General T. J. Jackson and the 2d Army Corps. As the autumn
advanced, the banks of the Opequon, the yet thick forests that stretched
toward the Potomac, the great maples, and oaks and gums and hickories
that rose, singly or in clusters, from the rolling farm lands, put on a
most gorgeous colouring. The air was mellow and sunny. From the
camp-fires, far and near, there came always a faint pungent smell of
wood smoke. Curls of blue vapour rose from every glade. The land seemed
bathed in Indian summer.

Through it in the mellow sunlight, beneath the crimson of the gums, the
lighter red of the maples, the yellow of the hickories, the 2d Army
Corps found itself for weeks back on the drill ground. The old Army of
the Valley crowed and clapped on the back the Light Division and D. H.
Hill's troops. "Old times come again! Jest like we used to do at
Winchester! Chirk up, you fellows! Your drill's improving every day. Old
Jack'll let up on you after a while. Lord! it used to be _seven_ hours a
day!"

Not only did the 2d Corps drill, it refitted. Mysteriously there came
from Winchester a really fair amount of shoes and clothing. Only the
fewest were now actually barefoot. In every regiment there went on, too,
a careful cobbling. If by any means a shoe could be made to do, it was
put in that position. Uniforms were patched and cleaned, and every day
was washing day. All the hillsides were spread with soldiers' shirts.
The red leaves drifting down on them looked like blood-stains, but the
leaves could be brushed away. The men, standing in the Opequon, whistle