The story is still heard in Winchester of the time when guests and village loafers were congregated in one of the taverns at the close of a day to discuss weighty topics over their glasses of ale. From a window they saw an old man get out of his gig, taking with him luggage for overnight accommodation. The gig was comparable to the famed One Horse Shay in its state of near collapse. Comments were passed among the group inside as to the man's shabby appearance, his business and ultimate destination. He was soon forgot in the midst of the ensuing conversation between several young lawyers, one of whom remarked that he had heard a sermon delivered which equalled the eloquence and fluency usually reserved to lawyers pleading their cases. This brought forth eventually a heated discussion of the merits of the Christian religion, argued pro and con by those present lasting from six in the evening till eleven. Finally one young fellow turned to the quiet old traveller. The latter had sat with apparent interest and meekness throughout the five-hour debate and had not joined in. The question was asked, "Well, old gentleman, what's your opinion?" The reply lasted almost an hour; he answered argument for argument in the exact order in which each had occurred and with the greatest simplicity and dignity. At the conclusion no one spoke for some time. At last inquiry was ventured as to his identity. He was Chief Justice John Marshall. In his _Virginia: A History of the People_ John Esten Cooke relates this story. An Irish laborer and his wife came in 1767 to the lower valley country and stopped at the home of a Mr. and Mrs. Strode, German landowner. For several years they lived with the German family and during the time a son was born. When they decided to push on farther south the Strode children followed, begging that they leave the little boy behind with them. They had become very much attached to the baby and were reluctant to see him go away. The parents naturally refused the request. While stopping for a short rest they placed the baby on the ground and the children would have run off with him if they could. The family kept its southward course and at last reached the Waxhaws in North Carolina. Here the boy grew up and later his name was familiar to every one--Andrew Jackson, seventh President of the United States. The legend may or may not be true, according to Mr. Cooke. But at least there was a clear, cool spring on the Strode farm called "Jackson's Spring." A pamphlet compiled at Winchester on "What To See and How To See It" tells us that the town changed hands seventy-six times during the War Between the States. Other sources give a fraction of a smaller figure. The exact number of times the town was under first Federal then Confederate forces does not matter, but it is well to know that so much of the fighting took place around the neighborhood. More will be said about the Valley warfare later on.