The year came to an end, and plague and worry him as he would, Lucius could extract nothing from Ephraim to throw light on the mysterious remark. Indeed Grizzly was now seldom or never to be found in his workshop; nor could Aunty Chris explain his absence, or disclose his whereabouts, for, as she frankly confessed, she knew nothing whatever about him. Lucius, of course, whenever he could waylay him, questioned and cross-questioned him as to what he was engaged upon in his spare time and where; but Grizzly invariably replied with a wag of his head: ‘Ye’ll git thar in time, Luce. On’y ye’ll hev ter hang on till the time comes.’ With which Delphic utterance Lucius was obliged to be content.
Meantime the war was not standing still. Manassas had, after all, not crumpled up the North, and early in ’62 the people of the valley were rudely awakened to the fact by the appearance among them of no less than three Federal generals, with an aggregate force of sixty-four thousand men. And to these Stonewall Jackson could oppose but thirteen thousand! But though the excitement was great, there was little anxiety; for the reputation which Jackson and his brigade had won at Manassas, and their stern and soldierly endurance of the terrible hardships of the severe winter just ended, inspired a confidence in their prowess, which would scarcely have been shaken had all the armies of the North been combined against them.
What were men’s feelings then, when the astounding news spread like wildfire from town to town: ‘Jackson has deserted us in our extremity. He has fled through the gaps to the east side of the Blue Ridge!’
The report was not unfounded. It certainly was true that Jackson had disappeared from the valley. Only Colonel Ashby, the famous cavalry leader, remained behind with a thousand sabres at his back.
Men laughed bitterly. What was this little force to do for their protection against an army so gigantic? But Ashby with scattered troops was here, there, and everywhere. Now at McDowell, now at Strasburg, now at Franklin, yesterday at Front Royal, to-morrow at Luray. But what he learned in his reconnaissances, and where he sent the information which he acquired, no man knew, no man had the heart to ask. In Staunton itself the wildest confusion reigned; for no sooner had the news of Jackson’s flight been conveyed to the Federal generals, than they set their masses in motion, and began to advance along converging lines upon the little town. That it was to be occupied was regarded as certain, and in the universal terror much that was valuable in the way of military stores was removed or destroyed; while General Johnson with six regiments retired from his strong position on the Shenandoah Mountain, intent only on saving his small force by effecting a junction with the vanished Jackson wherever he might find him.
Then came the day when Staunton, abandoned and defenceless, lay sullenly awaiting its fate, with Milroy and twelve thousand Federals not two-and-twenty miles away, and Frémont coming on with thirty thousand more.
It was a Sunday, and the churches were full of devout worshippers, praying doubtless that the chastening rod held over them might be averted in its descent. Suddenly a strange and terrible sound arose—a noise of trampling thousands, the clink of steel against steel as scabbard and stirrup jangled together, the clatter of squadrons upon the road, the hoarse rumble and grumble of artillery wagons. People looked at one another in dismay. Despite their supplications the blow had fallen: they were in the hands of the enemy.
Slowly, with mournful hearts and dejected mien, they filed out of church, their downcast eyes refusing to look at the bitter sight. Then, as one head after another was lifted, exclamations of deep surprise broke forth here and there.
Where were the stars and stripes? Where was the blue of the detested Federals? The marching columns were gray! The stars and bars waved proudly in the breeze, and here and there in the midst of a regiment the lone star shone upon flag and pennon.
What a shout of joy went up from the multitude: ‘Confederates! Confederates! They are our own boys back again! Old Stonewall is here! Thank God! Hurrah! Hurrah!’