ng! Hit ain' healthy. Pray an' pray 'n' look up ter de sky 'twel he
gits paralysis! De gineral better le' me tek his boots off, 'n' go ter
bed 'n' dream ob Miss Anna!"

At three the bugles blew. Again there was incalculable delay. The sun
was up ere the Army of the Valley left Ashland. It was marching now in
double column, Jackson by the Ashcake road and Merry Oaks Church, Ewell
striking across country, the rendezvous Pole Green Church, a little
north and east of Mechanicsville and the Federal right. The distance
that each must travel was something like sixteen miles.

The spell of yesterday persisted and became the spell of to-day. Sixteen
miles would have been nothing in the Valley; in these green and glamoury
lowlands they became like fifty. Stuart's cavalry began to appear,
patrols here, patrols there, vedettes rising stark from the broom sedge,
or looming double, horsemen and shadow, above and within some piece of
water, dark, still, and clear. Time was when the Army of the Valley
would have been curious and excited enough over Jeb Stuart's troopers,
but now it regarded them indifferently with eyes glazed with fatigue. At
nine the army crossed the ruined line of the Virginia Central, Hood's
Texans leading. An hour later it turned southward, Stuart on the long
column's left flank, screening it from observation, and skirmishing
hotly through the hours that ensued. The army crossed Crump's Creek,
passed Taliaferro's Mill, crossed other creeks, crept southward through
hot, thick woods. Mid-day came and passed. The head of the column turned
east, and came shortly to a cross-roads. Here, awaiting it, was Stuart
himself, in his fighting jacket. Jackson drew up Little Sorrel beside
him. "Good-morning, general."

"Good-morning, general--or rather, good-afternoon. I had hoped to see
you many hours ago."

"My men are not superhuman, sir. There have occurred delays. But God is
over us still."

He rode on. Stuart, looking after him, raised his brows. "In my opinion
A. P. Hill is waiting for a man in a trance!"

The army turned southward again, marching now toward Totopotomoy Creek,
the head of the column approaching it at three o'clock. Smoke before the
men, thick, pungent, told a tale to which they were used. "Bridge on
fire!" It was, and on the far side of the creek appeared a party in blue
engaged in obstructing the road. Hood's Texans gave a faint cheer and
dashed across, disappearing in flame, emerging from it and fa