ers think
that their commander regarded them as mere machines.

His own men knew his worth. Bull Run had shown them the measure of
his courage and his ability; in a single battle he had won that
respect and confidence which go so far towards establishing
discipline. But over Loring's men his personal ascendency was not yet
established. They had not yet seen him under fire. The fighting in
the Romney campaign had been confined to skirmishing. Much spoil had
been gathered in, but there were no trophies to show in the shape of
guns or colours; no important victory had raised their self-respect.
It is not too much to say that the silent soldier who insisted on
such constant exertion and such unceasing vigilance was positively
hated.

"They were unaccustomed to a military regimen so energetic as his.
Personally the most modest of men, officially he was the most
exacting of commanders, and his purpose to enforce a thorough
performance of duty, and his stern disapprobation of remissness and
self-indulgence were veiled by no affectations of politeness. Those
who came to serve near his person, if they were not wholly
like-minded with himself, usually underwent, at first, a sort of
breaking in, accompanied with no little chafing to restless spirits.
The expedition to Romney was, to such officers, just such an
apprenticeship to Jackson's methods of making war. All this was fully
known to him; but while he keenly felt the injustice, he disdained to
resent it, or to condescend to any explanation."* (* Dabney volume 1
page 321.)

Jackson returned to Winchester with no anticipation that the darkest
days of his military life were close at hand. Little Sorrel, the
charger he had ridden at Bull Run, leaving the senior members of the
staff toiling far in rear, had covered forty miles of mountain roads
in one short winter day. "After going to an hotel and divesting
himself of the mud which had bespattered him in his rapid ride, he
proceeded to Dr. Graham's. In order to give his wife a surprise he
had not intimated when he would return. As soon as the first glad
greetings were over, before taking his seat, with a face all aglow
with delight, he glanced round the room, and was so impressed with
the cosy and cheerful aspect of the fireside, as we all sat round it
that winter evening, that he exclaimed: 'This is the very essence of
comfort.'"* (* Memoirs of Stonewall Jackson.)

He had already put aside the unpleasant memories of the expe