The skirmish line of the Fifth swept past them, driving the blue. The fighting was now nearer town; they knew by the slight change in sound that there were houses and stone walls. The afternoon wore on,—hot, hot in the clump of bushes! Litter bearers came by, carrying a wounded officer. “Colonel of the Fifth—Colonel Williams. They came against our right! They’ve got ten of our men. But then didn’t we drive them!” Litter and bearers and escort went on. “Ain’t anybody, less’n it’s a crittur with fur, comin’ up that ravine!” “An old mooley cow might come up.” “Where’d she come from? They’re all slaughtered and eaten. Nothing’s left of anything.” “That’s right! Egypt and the locusts—” “Lieutenant Coffin’s signalling to rejoin. Reckon Sixty-fifth’s going on, too!” _Forward! March!_ Just before night the general commanding sent an order to Edward Johnson. “Move with three brigades by right flank to the Martinsburg Turnpike at a point above Winchester. If enemy evacuates, intercept his retreat. If he does not, attack him in his fortifications from that direction.” Johnson started at once with Steuart’s and Nicholls’s brigades, and Dement’s, Raines’s, and Carpenter’s batteries, Snowden Andrews commanding. Their way lay across country on a dark night, by the Jordan Springs road. The objective was Stephenson’s, several miles above Winchester, where a railroad cut hidden by heavy woods almost touched the Martinsburg Pike. Off marched Steuart and Nicholls and the artillery. The Stonewall Brigade, nearest to the enemy, was ordered to advance skirmishers to conceal the movement, and then to follow to Stephenson’s. There was some delay in the receipt of the order. The Stonewall advanced its skirmishers, ascertained on this side the position of the enemy, but did not till midnight take the road by which the two brigades had gone. It was a pitch black night after a hot and harassing day. The “foot cavalry” marched as Stonewall Jackson had taught it to march, but all country and all roads were now difficult, scarred, trenched, broken, and torn by war. This was like a dream road, barred, every rood, by dream obstacles. The Sixty-fifth sighed. It was too tired to make any other demonstration. In the hot, close night it was damp with perspiration. The road was deeply rutted and the drying mud had a knife-like edge. The shoes of the Sixty-fifth were so full of holes! The bruise from the chance stone, the cut of the dried mud helped at least in keeping the regiment awake. The Sixty-fifth’s eyes were full of sleep: it would have loved—it would have loved to drop down in the darkness and float away—float away to Botetourt and Rockbridge and Bedford ... float away—float away, just into nothingness!