marked the route. Every precaution was taken to
conceal the movement. The roads in the direction of the enemy were
watched by cavalry, and so far as possible the column was directed
through woods and valleys. The men, although they knew nothing of
their destination, whether Winchester, or Harper's Ferry, or even
Washington itself, strode on mile after mile, through field and ford,
in the fierce heat of the August noon, without question or complaint.
"Old Jack" had asked them to do their best, and that was enough to
command their most strenuous efforts.

Near the end of the day Jackson rode to the head of the leading
brigade, and complimented the officers on the fine condition of the
troops and the regularity of the march. They had made more than
twenty miles, and were still moving briskly, well closed up, and
without stragglers. Then, standing by the wayside, he watched his
army pass. The sun was setting, and the rays struck full on his
familiar face, brown with exposure, and his dusty uniform. Ewell's
division led the way, and when the men saw their general, they
prepared to salute him with their usual greeting. But as they began
to cheer he raised his hand to stop them, and the word passed down
the column, "Don't shout, boys, the Yankees will hear us;" and the
soldiers contented themselves with swinging their caps in mute
acclamation. When the next division passed a deeper flush spread over
Jackson's face. Here were the men he had so often led to triumph, the
men he had trained himself, the men of the Valley, of the First
Manassas, of Kernstown, and M'Dowell. The Stonewall regiments were
before him, and he was unable to restrain them; devotion such as
theirs was not to be silenced at such a moment, and the wild
battle-yell of his own brigade set his pulses tingling. For once a
breach of discipline was condoned. "It is of no use," said Jackson,
turning to his staff, "you see I can't stop them;" and then, with a
sudden access of intense pride in his gallant veterans, he added,
half to himself, "Who could fail to win battles with such men as
these?"

It was midnight before the column halted near Salem village, and the
men, wearied outright with their march of six-and-twenty miles, threw
themselves on the ground by the piles of muskets, without even
troubling to unroll their blankets. So far the movement had been
entirely successful. Not a Federal had been seen, and none appeared
during the warm midsummer night. Yet t