The day was beautiful, with a glorious June sun and gentle winds, but Harry, feeling something strange about it, realized presently that it was the silence.

For more than two weeks cannon had been thundering and rifles crashing in the valley, almost without cessation.
Neither night nor storm had caused any interruption.
It seemed strange, almost incredible now, but they heard birds singing as they flew from tree to tree, and peaceful rabbits popped up in the brush.

Yet before they went much further they saw the dark masses of the Northern army under Shields moving slowly up the valley, and anxious for the junction with Fremont.
But the Northern generals were again at a loss.

Jackson had turned suddenly and defeated Fremont's vanguard with heavy loss, but what had become of him afterward?
Fremont and Shields were uncertain of the position of each other, and they were still more uncertain about Jackson's.

He might fall suddenly upon either, and they grew very cautious as they drew near to the end of the Massanuttons.
Sherburne and Harry, after examining the Northern army through their glasses, rode back with a dozen men to the south base of the Massanuttons.