side
in the flowering woods, roan and bay and black tossed their heads and
moved their limbs amid silver dogwood and rose azalea. The horses
chafed, the horsemen looked at once anxious and exultant. Fitzhugh Lee
met the general in command. The latter spoke. "Three o'clock. Proceed at
once, general, down the Plank road."

"I beg, sir," said the other, "that you will ride with me to the top of
this roll of ground in front of us. I can show you the strangest
thing!"

The two went, attended only by a courier. The slight eminence, all clad
with scrub-oak, all carpeted with wild flowers, was reached. The
horsemen turned and looked eastward, the breast-high scrub, the few
tender-foliaged young trees sheltering them from view. They looked
eastward, and in the distance they saw Dowdall's Tavern. But it was not
Dowdall's Tavern that was the strangest thing. The strangest thing was
nearer than Dowdall's; it was at no great distance at all. It was a long
abattis, and behind the abattis long, well-builded breastworks. Behind
the breastworks, overlooked by the little hill, and occupying an old
clearing in the Wilderness, was a large encampment--the encampment, in
short, of the 11th Army Corps, Howard commanding, twenty regiments, and
six batteries. From the little hill where the violets purpled the
ground, Stonewall Jackson and the cavalry leader looked and looked in
silence. The blue soldiers lay at ease on the tender sward. It was
_dolce far niente_ in the Wilderness. The arms were stacked, the arms
were stacked. There were cannon planted by the roadside, but where were
the cannoneers? Not very near the guns, but asleep on the grass, or
propped against trees smoking excellent tobacco, or in the square on the
greensward playing cards with laughter! Battery horses were grazing
where they would. Far and wide were scattered the infantry, squandered
like plums on the grass. They lay or strolled about in the slant
sunshine, in the balmy air, in the magic Wilderness--they never even
glanced toward the stacked arms.

On the flowery slope across the road, Stonewall Jackson sat Little
Sorrel and gazed upon the pleasant, drowsy scene. His eyes had a glow,
his cheek a warm colour beneath the bronze. Staff, and indeed the entire
2d Corps, had remarked from time to time this spring upon Old Jack's
evident good health. "Getting younger all the time! This war climate
suits him. Time the peace articles are signed he'll be just a boy again!
Arri