not, he kept his army quiet, on the banks of the Potomac, all
winter. And in this position he contemplated Mr. Beauregard, and Mr.
Beauregard contemplated him, separated by twenty miles of mud. We
had not got our war eyes open then, my son. In truth, we had but a
very imperfect idea of what an amount of resistance a resolute and
determined foe, standing on the defensive, can offer.

When it was spring, and the birds had come back to us, and the
prospect looked bright and cheering, and the hopes of the nation ran
high, George mounted his horse, and, picking up his army, moved out
in the direction of Richmond, taking the overland route. He sent
word to Mr Beauregard to wait until he came and he would thrash him
out of Manassas. But Mr. Beauregard was not inclined to accommodate
George with a fight at that particular point, where his elbows were
so exposed, and stepped quietly out by the back door before George
got there. In short, all George saw of Mr. Beauregard and his men
was the tails of their coats and the heels of their boots, away in
the shadowy distance. People said Mr. Beauregard did not do the
clean thing to slip away in such a manner. And there were those who
scolded General George for letting him get off in this shabby way;
but how he was to prevent it I never could see. Mr. Beauregard was
kind enough to leave us an army of log houses, and his smouldering
camp fires, around which a number of sooty negroes were grouped,
shivering and forlorn. And these were all we had to be thankful to
him for.

A great storm arose while we were at Manassas. Snow, rain, and hail
fell, the wind blew cold and piercing, and the face of the country
became melancholy. And the army became melancholy, and sick, for it
was stuck in the mud, and was suffering for something to eat, though