Winchester in the early light and began a rumbling, bellowing, singing,
jesting, determined progress up the Valley pike. Ewell followed with his
brigadiers--Taylor, Trimble, Elzey, Scott, and the Maryland Line. The
old Army of the Valley came next in column--all save the Stonewall
Brigade that was yet in the rear double-quicking it on the road from
Harper's Ferry. As far in advance moved Stonewall Jackson's screen of
cavalry, the Valley horsemen under Ashby, a supple, quick-travelling,
keen-eyed, dare-devil horde, an effective cloud behind which to execute
intricate manoeuvres, a drawer-up of information like dew from every
by-road, field, and wood, and an admirable mother of thunderbolts. Ashby
and Ashby's men were alike smarting from a late rebuke, administered in
General Orders. They felt it stingingly. The Confederate soldier
enthroned on high his personal honour, and a slur there was a slur
indeed. Now the memory of the reprimand was a strong spur to endeavour.
The cavalry meant to distinguish itself, and pined for a sight of
Fremont.

The day was showery with strong bursts of sunshine between the slanting
summer rains. All along the great highway, in sun and shade, women,
children, the coloured people, all the white men left by the drag-net of
the war, were out in the ripening fields, by the roadside wall, before
gates, in the village streets. They wept with pride and joy, they
laughed, they embraced. They showered praises, blessings; they
prophesied good fortune. The young women had made bouquets and garlands.
Many a favourite officer rode with flowers at his saddle bow. Other
women had ransacked their storerooms, and now offered delicate food on
salvers--the lavish, brave, straightforward Valley women, with the men
gone to the war, the horses gone to the war, the wagons taken for need,
the crops like to be unreaped and the fields to be unplanted, with the
clothes wearing out, with supplies hard to get, with the children, the
old people, the servants, the sick, the wounded on their hands, in their
hearts and minds! They brought food, blessings, flowers, "everything for
the army! It has the work to do." The colours streamed in the wet
breeze, glorious in shadow, splendid when the sun burst forth. The
little old bands played

In Dixie Land whar I was born in
Early on one frosty mornin'!
Look away, look away, look away, Dixie Land!

Long, steady, swinging tread, pace o