They made it, beneath a beautiful, tall, crimson gum tree, where on a floor of fallen leaves Lieutenant-General T. J. Jackson's tent was pitched. A camp-stool, a wooden chair, and two boxes were placed. There was a respectful silence while the Opequon murmured by, then Garnet Wolseley spoke of the great interest which England—Virginia's mother country—was taking in this struggle.
"Yes, sir," said Jackson. "It would be natural for a mother to take an even greater interest."
"And the admiration, general, with which we have watched your career—the career of genius, if I may say so! By Jove—"
"Yes, sir. It is not my career. God has the matter in hand."
"Well, He knows how to pick his lieutenants!—You have the most ideal place for a camp, general! But, I suppose, before these coloured leaves all fall you will be moving?"
"It is an open secret, I suppose, sir," said the correspondent of the Times, "that when McClellan does see fit to cross you will meet him east of the Blue Ridge?"
"May I ask, sir," said the correspondent of the Illustrated News, "what you think of this latest move on the political chess-board—I mean Mr. Lincoln's Proclamation of Emancipation?"
"The leaves are," said Jackson, "a beautiful colour. I was in England one autumn, Colonel Wolseley, but I did not observe our autumn colours in your foliage. Climate, doubtless. But what was my admiration were your cathedrals."
"Yes, general; wonderful, are they not? Music in stone. Should McClellan cross, would the Fredericksburg route—"
"Good! good! Music in stone! Which of your great church structures do you prefer, sir?"