JACKSON’S “FOOT-CAVALRY” AT THE SECOND BULL RUN. 533

dropped beside their stacked muskets and were instantly asleep, without somuch as unrolling a blanket. A few hours of much-needed repose, and theywere shaken up again long before “ crack of day,” and limped on in the dark-ness only half-awake. There was no mood for speech, nor breath to spare ifthere had been—only the shuffling tramp of the marching feet, the steadyrumbling of wheels, the creak and rattle and clank of harness and accouter-ment, with an occasional order, uttered under the breath and always thesame: “ Close up! close up, meu! ”

All this time we had the vaguest notions as to our objective: at first wehad expected to strike the enemy’s flank, but as the march prolonged itself,a theory obtained that we were going to the Valley. But we threaded Thor-oughfare Gap, heading eastward, and in the morning of the third day (August27th) struck a railroad running north and south—Pope ’s “ line of communi-cation and supply.” Manassas was ours.

What a prize it was! Here were long warehouses full of stores; carsloaded with boxes of new clothing en route to General Pope, but destined toadorn the “ backs of his enemies ”; camps, sutlers’ shops—“ no eating up ” ofgood things. In view of the abundance, it was not an easy matter to deter-mine what we should eat and drink and wherewithal we should be clothed;one was limited in his choice to only so much as he could personally transport,and the one thing needful in each individual case was not always readilyfound. However, as the day wore on, an equitable distribution of our wealthwas effected by barter, upon a crude and irregular tariff in which the rule ofsupply and demand was somewhat complicated by fluctuating estimates of theimminence of marching orders. A mounted man would offer large odds inshirts or blankets for a pair of spurs or a bridle ; and while in anxious questof a pair of shoes I fell heir to a case of cavalry half-boots, which I wouldgladly have exchanged for the object of my search. For a change of undercloth-ing and a pot of French mustard I owe grateful thanks to the major of the12th Pennsylvania Cavalry, with regrets that I could not use his library.Whisky was, of course, at a high premium, but a keg of “lager”—a drinkless popular then than now—went begging in our company.

But our brief holiday was drawing to a close, for by this time General Popehad some inkling of the disaster which lurked in his rear. When, some timeafter dark, having set fire to the remnant of the stores, we took the road toCentreville, our mystification as to Jackson’s plans was complete. Could heactually be moving on Washington with his small force, or was he only seek-ing escape to the mountains ? The glare of our big bonfire lighted up thecountry for miles, and was just dying out when we reached Centreville. Thecorduroy road had been full of pitfalls and stumbling-blocks, to some one ofwhich our cracked axle had succumbed before we crossed Bull Eun, and beingon ahead, I did not know of the casualty until it was too late to save mypersonal belongings involved in the wreck. Thus suddenly reduced fromaffluence to poverty, just as the gray dawn revealed the features of theforlorn little hamlet, typical of this war-harried region, I had a distinct senseof being a long way from home. The night’s march had seemed to put the