. To the
west stretched a belt of woodland, eastward rose a low ridge clad with
beech and oak. The green valley lay between. The air, to-day, was soft
and sweet, the long billows of the Blue Ridge seen dreamily, through an
amethyst haze. The men lay among dandelions. Some watched the horses;
others read letters from home, or, haversack for desk, wrote some vivid,
short-sentenced scrawl. A number were engaged by the rim of the clear
pool. Naked to the waist, they knelt like washerwomen, and rubbed the
soapless linen against smooth stones, or wrung it wrathfully, or
turning, spread it, grey-white, upon the grass to dry. Four played poker
beneath a tree, one read a Greek New Testament, six had found a small
turtle, and with the happy importance of boys were preparing a brushwood
fire and the camp kettle. Others slept, head pillowed on arm, soft felt
hat drawn over eyes. The rolling woodland toward Harrisonburg and
Fremont was heavily picketed. A man rose from beside the pool,
straightened himself, and holding up the shirt he had been washing
looked at it critically. Apparently it passed muster, for he
painstakingly stretched it upon the grass and taking a pair of cotton
drawers turned again to the water. A blue-eyed Loudoun youth whistling
"Swanee River" brought a brimming bucket from the stream that made the
pool and poured it gleefully into the kettle. A Prince Edward man, lying
chest downward, blew the fire, another lifted the turtle. The horses
moved toward what seemed lusher grass, one of the poker players said
"Damn!" the reader turned a leaf of the Greek Testament. One of the
sleepers sat up. "I thought I heard a shot--"

Perhaps he had heard one; at any rate he now heard many. Down the road
and out from under the great trees of the forest in front burst the
pickets driven in by a sudden, well-directed onslaught of blue
cavalry--Fremont's advance with a brigade of infantry behind. In a
moment all was haste and noise in the green vale. Men leaped to their
feet, left their washing, left the turtle simmering in the pot, the gay
cards upon the greensward, put up the Greek Testament, the home letters,
snatched belt and carbine, caught the horses, saddled them with speed,
swung themselves up, and trotted into line, eyes front--Ashby's men.

The pickets had their tale to tell. "Burst out of the wood--the damned
Briton again, sir, with his squadrons from New Jersey! Rode us
down--John Ferrar killed--Gilbert captured--You c