They surmised that this march over the mountains had been made partly to delude Banks.

They were right, at least as far as the delusion of Banks went.

He had been telegraphing that the army of Jackson was gone, on its way to Richmond, and that there was nothing in front of him save a few skirmishers.
The Virginians left their trains in the valley again, waited for their wagons and artillery, and then marched on to Staunton, that neat little city that was so dear to so many of them.

But the mystery of what was under Jackson's hat remained a mystery.

They passed through Staunton, amid the cheering people, women and children waving hats, scarfs and handkerchiefs to their champions.