Nevertheless, the Federal authorities made a grievous mistake when
they allowed Patterson and his sans-culottes to move to Charlestown.
McDowell marched against Beauregard on the afternoon of the 16th, and
Patterson should have been instructed to attack Johnston at any cost.
Even had the latter been successful, he could hardly have reinforced
the main army in time to meet McDowell.

July 18.

At 1 A.M. on the morning of the 18th Johnston received a telegram
from the President to the effect that McDowell was advancing on
Manassas. Stuart was immediately directed to keep Patterson amused;
and leaving their sick, 1700 in number, to the care of Winchester,
the troops were ordered to strike tents and prepare to march. No man
knew the object of the movement, and when the regiments passed
through Winchester, marching southward, with their backs to the
enemy, the step was lagging and the men dispirited. A few miles out,
as they turned eastward, the brigades were halted and an order was
read to them. "Our gallant army under General Beauregard is now
attacked by overwhelming numbers. The Commanding General hopes that
his troops will step out like men, and make a forced march to save
the country." The effect of this stirring appeal was instantaneous.
"The soldiers," says Jackson, "rent the air with shouts of joy, and
all was eagerness and animation." The march was resumed, and as mile
after mile was passed, although there was much useless delay and the
pace was slow, the faint outlines of the Blue Ridge, rising high
above the Valley, changed imperceptibly to a mighty wall of rock and
forest. As the night came down a long reach of the Shenandoah crossed
the road. The ford was waist-deep, but the tall Virginians, plunging
without hesitation into the strong current, gained the opposite shore
with little loss of time. The guns and waggons followed in long
succession through the darkling waters, and still the heavy tramp of
the toiling column passed eastward through the quiet fields. The Blue
Ridge was crossed at Ashby's Gap; and at two o'clock in the morning,
near the little village of Paris, the First Brigade was halted on the
further slope. They had marched over twenty miles, and so great was
their exhaustion that the men sank prostrate on the ground beside
their muskets.* (* "The discouragements of that day's march," says
Johnston, "to one accustomed to the steady gait of regular soldiers,
is indescribable. The views of milita