"Why didn't they join him?"
"Lor, Massa, they didn't know it in time. Hadn't any chance. Massa wanted us to go see him hung; but only the youngsters went. We colored pussons neber forget Old John. No sah!"
The men wound their way as best they could beneath the precipitous and towering rocks of the Maryland Heights, through the teams that blocked up the road, and a short distance above the Railroad Bridge, filed to the left, and crossed upon the pontoons. As they passed the Engine House, the utmost endeavors of the officers could not prevent a bulge to the right, so great was the anxiety to see the scene of Old John's heroic but hopeless contest. Denounced by pro-slavery zealots as a murderer, by the community at large as a fanatic, who fifty years hence will deny him honorable place in the list of martyrs for the cause of eternal truth!
The town itself was almost a mass of ruins; both sides, at various stages of the war, having endeavored to effect its destruction. Another pontoon bridge was crossed, bridging the Shenandoah—sparkling on its rocky bed—the Dancing Water, as termed by the Aborigines, with their customary graceful appropriateness. To one fond of mountain scenery, and who is not? the winding road that follows the Shenandoah to its junction, then charmingly bends to the course of the Potomac, is intensely interesting. But why should an humble writer weary the reader's patience by expatiating upon scenery, the sight of which Jefferson declared well worth a visit across the Atlantic, at a day when such visits were tedious three month affairs, and uncertain at that? War now adds a bristling horror to the shaggy mountain tops, and from the hoarse throats of heavy cannon often "leap from rock
to rock the beetling crags among" well executed counterfeits of "live thunder."
The Potomac is followed but a short distance, the road winding by an easy ascent up the mountain ridge, and descending as easily into a narrow and fruitful valley. In this valley, four miles from the Ferry, a halt was ordered, and the Division rested for the night and succeeding day, in a large and well sodded field.
"Gentlemen," said our Brigadier, in a sly, good-humored way, as he rode up to the field officers of the Regiment, "the field upon which you are encamped, and all the land, almost as far as you can see, on the left of yon fence, belong to a Rebel now holding the rank of Major in the Rebel service. All I need say, I suppose, gentlemen," and the General left to communicate the important information to the other Regiments of the Brigade. As a fine flock of sheep, some young cattle, a drove of porkers that from a rear view gave promise of prime Virginia hams, and sundry flocks of chickens, had been espied as the men marched into the field, the General's remarks were eminently practical and suggestive.
"Charlie, what's the state of the larder?" said the Major, with his usual thoughtfulness, addressing the cheerful mess cook.
"Some boiled pork and crackers. Poor show, sir!" Such fare, after a hard day's march, in sight of a living paradise of beef, mutton, pork, and poultry, would have been perfectly inexcusable; and forthwith, the Major, "the little Dutch Doctor," and a short, stoutly-built Lieutenant, all armed to the teeth, started off to reconnoitre, and ascertain in what position the Rebel property was posted. As they went they canvassed the respective merits of beef, mutton, pork and poultry,
until a short grunt from a porker, as he crossed the Doctor's path, ended the discussion. The Major and Lieutenant cocked their pistols, but withheld firing, as they saw the Doctor prostrate, holding by both hands the hind leg of a patriarch of the flock.