e batteries held the top of Rude's Hill, up among the night
wind and the stars. The artillerymen took the air from the infantry.
Headquarters was situated on the green bank of the Shenandoah. Staff and
couriers and orderlies hummed or sang. Stonewall Jackson came to the
door of his tent and stood, looking out. All Rude's Hill throbbed to
"Dixie."

On went the programme. "Marco Bozzaris" was well spoken. A blacksmith
and a mule driver wrestled for a prize. "Marmion Quitting the Douglas's
Hall" was followed by "Lula, Lula, Lula is Gone," and "Lula" by
"Lorena," and "Lorena" by a fencing match. The Thespians played
capitally an act from "The Rivals," and a man who had seen Macready gave
Hamlet's Soliloquy. Then they sang a song lately written by James
Randall and already very popular,--

"I hear the distant thunder hum,
Maryland!
The Old Line bugle, fife and drum--"

An orderly from headquarters found Richard Cleave. "General Jackson
wishes to see you, sir."

The general's tent was not large. There were a table and two stools, on
one of which sat Jackson in his characteristic position, large feet
accurately paralleled. On the table, beside the candle, lay three
books--the Bible, a dictionary, and "Napoleon's Maxims." Jackson was
writing, his hand travelling slowly across a sheet of dim blue, lined,
official paper. The door flap of the tent was fastened back. Cleave,
standing in the opening, saluted.

"Take a seat, sir," said the general, and went on to the end of his
page. Having here signed his name, he dropped the quill and slightly
turned so as to face the waiting officer. From under his high bronzed
forehead his blue eyes looked quietly upon Cleave.

The younger man returned the gaze as quietly. This was the first time he
had been thus summoned since that unlucky winter evening at Bloomery
Gap. He remembered that evening, and he did not suppose that his general
had forgotten it. He did not suppose that Jackson forgot anything. But
apparently it was no longer to be counted against him. Jackson's face
wore the quiet, friendly, somewhat sweet expression usual to it when all
was calm within. As for Cleave himself, his nature owned a certain
primal flow and bigness. There were few fixed and rigid barriers.
Injured pride and resentment did not lift themselves into reefs against
which the mind must break in torment. Rather, his being swept fluid,
making no g