les, holding them to be
"devices and snares.""* (* Destruction and Reconstruction pages 52
and 53.)

Taylor himself had been educated at West Point. He was a man of high
position, of unquestioned ability, an excellent disciplinarian, and a
delightful writer. More than other commanders he had paid great
attention to the marching of his men. He had an eye to those
practical details which a good regimental officer enforces with so
much effect. Boots were properly fitted; the troops were taught the
advantages of cold water, and how to heal abrasions; halts upon the
march were made at frequent intervals, and the men soon held that to
fall out on the march was a disgrace. Before a month "had passed," he
says, "the brigade had learned how to march, and in the Valley with
Jackson covered long distances without leaving a straggler behind."*
(* Ibid page 37.)

Jackson's first meeting with the Louisiana troops has been described
by their commander:--

"A mounted officer was dispatched to report our approach and select a
camp, which proved to be beyond Jackson's forces, then lying in the
fields on both sides of the Valley pike. Over 3000 strong, neat in
fresh clothing of grey with white gaiters, bands playing at the head
of their regiments--not a straggler, but every man in his place,
stepping jauntily as if on parade, though it had marched twenty miles
or more--in open column, with the rays of the declining sun flaming
on polished bayonets, the brigade moved down the hard smooth pike,
and wheeled on to the camping-ground. Jackson's men, by thousands,
had gathered on either side of the road to see us pass.

"After attending to necessary camp details, I sought Jackson, whom I
had never met. The mounted officer who had been sent on in advance
pointed out a figure perched on the topmost rail of a fence
overlooking the road and field, and said it was Jackson. Approaching,
I saluted and declared my name and rank, then waited for a response.
Before this came I had time to see a pair of cavalry boots covering
feet of gigantic size, a mangy cap with visor drawn low, a heavy dark
beard and weary eyes, eyes I afterwards saw filled with intense but
never brilliant light. A low gentle voice inquired the road and
distance marched that day. 'Keezleton road, six-and-twenty miles.'
'You seem to have no stragglers.' 'Never allow straggling.' 'You must
teach my people; they straggle badly.' A bow in reply. Just then my
Creoles started their ba