"Ah, there goes the Cajun band and the other bands and our boys singing our great tune! Listen to it!" "Southrons hear your country call you; Up, lest worse than death befall you! To arms! To arms! To arms in Dixie! Lo! all the beacon fires are lighted-- Let all hearts now be united! To arms! To arms! To arms in Dixie!" The chorus of the battle song, so little in words, so great in its thrilling battle note, was taken up by more than a score of thousand, and the vast volume of sound, confined in narrow defiles, rolled like thunder, giving forth mighty echoes.

Harry was moved tremendously and he saw Jackson himself come out of his deep thought and lift up his face that glowed.
"It's certainly great," said Dalton to Harry.

"It would drag a man from the hospital and send him into battle.

I know now how the French republican troops on the march felt when they heard the Marseillaise." "But the words don't seem to me to be the same that I heard at Bull Run." "No, they're not; but what does it matter?
That thrilling music is always the same, and it's enough." Already the origin of the renowned battle song was veiled in doubt, and different versions of the words were appearing; but the music never changed and every step responded to it.
The army passed through the defile, entered another portion of the valley, forded a fork of the Shenandoah, crossed the Luray Valley, and then entered the steep passes of the Blue Ridge.

Here they found autumn gone and winter upon them.