The general rolled a map and tied it with a bit of pink tape. "Tell Mrs. Harris, with my compliments, that if I am here at breakfast time I shall be most happy to take it with her."
"Thank you, sah. An' what hour she say, gineral, will suit you bes'?"
"Tell her, with my compliments, that I trust she will breakfast at the usual hour."
Morning came and breakfast time. "Ole Miss" sent to notify the general. The servant found the room empty and the bed unslept in—only the dictionary and Napoleon's Maxims (the Bible was gone) on the table to testify to its late occupancy. Jim, the general's body servant, emerged from an inner room. "Gineral Jackson? Fo' de Lawd, niggah! yo' ain't looking ter fin' de gineral heah at dis heah hour? He done clar out 'roun' er bout midnight. Reckon by now he's whipping de Yankees in de Valley!"
In the dark night, several miles from Frederickshall, two riders, one leading, one following, came upon a picket. "Halt!" There sounded the click of a musket. The two halted.
"Jest two of you? Advance, number one, and give the countersign!"
"I am an officer bearing dispatches—"
"That air not the point! Give the countersign!"
"I have a pass from General Whiting—"
"This air a Stonewall picket. Ef you've got the word, give it, and ef you haven't got it my hand air getting mighty wobbly on this gun!"