The fine morning came, warm and brilliant with sunshine, raising the spirits of the troops.

The roads began to dry out fast and marching would be much easier.

But Jackson, leading somberly on Little Sorrel, turned his back on Staunton.
The Virginians stared in amazement when the heads of columns turned away from that trim and hospitable little city, which they knew was so fervently attached to their cause.

Before them rose the long line of the Blue Ridge and they were marching straight toward it.
They marched a while in silence, and then a groan ran through the ranks.
It was such a compound of dismay and grief that it made Harry shiver.
The Virginians were leaving their beloved and beautiful valley, leaving it all to the invader, leaving the pretty little places, Winchester and Staunton and Harrisonburg and Strasburg and Front Royal, and all the towns and villages in which their families and relatives lived.

Every one of the Virginians had blood kin everywhere through the valley.
The men began to whisper to one another, but the order of silence was passed sternly along the line.