Yet the event had heightened their spirits, already high, and they began to sing a favorite song: "Come, stack arms, men, pile on the rails; Stir up the camp fires bright.
No matter if the canteen fails, We'll make a roaring night.
Here Shenandoah brawls along, There lofty Blue Ridge echoes strong To swell the brigade's rousing song Of Stonewall Jackson's way." "It's a bully song!" exclaimed Happy Tom, who had a deep and thunderous voice.

Then snatching up a long stick he began to wave it as a baton, and the others, instinctively following their leader, roared it forth, more than ten thousand strong.
Langdon in his glory led his cohorts in a vast circle around Jackson's quarters, and the mighty chorus thundered through verse after verse, until they closed in a lower tone with the lines: "Silence! ground arms! kneel all! caps off! Old Blue Light's going to pray; Strangle the fool that dares to scoff! Attention! it's his way! Appealing from his native sod In forma pauperis to God Lay bare thine arm--stretch forth thy rod, Amen! That's Stonewall Jackson's way." Then Happy Tom threw down his stick and the men dispersed to their quarters.

But they had paid Stonewall Jackson a tribute that few generals ever received.
"You're a wild and foolish fellow, Tom Langdon," said Dalton, "but I like you for this thing you've done." "You'll notice that Old Jack never appeared while we were singing," said Langdon.

"I don't see why a man should be so modest and bashful.
Why, if I'd done half what he's done I'd ride the tallest horse in the country; I'd have one of those Mexican saddles of yellow leather studded with large golden-headed nails; the stirrups would be of gold and the bridle bit would be gold, too.

I'd have twelve uniforms all covered with gold lace, and I'd have hats with gold-colored ostrich plumes waving in them after the fashion of Jeb Stuart." "Don't you worry, Tom," said Dalton.