Then came the day when Staunton, abandoned and defenceless, lay sullenly awaiting its fate, with Milroy and twelve thousand Federals not two-and-twenty miles away, and Frémont coming on with thirty thousand more. It was a Sunday, and the churches were full of devout worshippers, praying doubtless that the chastening rod held over them might be averted in its descent. Suddenly a strange and terrible sound arose—a noise of trampling thousands, the clink of steel against steel as scabbard and stirrup jangled together, the clatter of squadrons upon the road, the hoarse rumble and grumble of artillery wagons. People looked at one another in dismay. Despite their supplications the blow had fallen: they were in the hands of the enemy. Slowly, with mournful hearts and dejected mien, they filed out of church, their downcast eyes refusing to look at the bitter sight. Then, as one head after another was lifted, exclamations of deep surprise broke forth here and there. Where were the stars and stripes? Where was the blue of the detested Federals? The marching columns were _gray_! The stars and bars waved proudly in the breeze, and here and there in the midst of a regiment the lone star shone upon flag and pennon. What a shout of joy went up from the multitude: ‘Confederates! Confederates! They are our own boys back again! Old Stonewall is here! Thank God! Hurrah! Hurrah!’ The excitement was tremendous. Nerves were strung to highest tension; emotions touched the breaking point. Men leaped and danced for very joy. Women flung themselves into each other’s arms and wept for sheer happiness. And through it all the gray hosts rolled steadily on. Then, as suddenly as it had arisen, the hubbub subsided. Apprehension reigned once more, and the eager questions passed from lip to lip: ‘What are they doing here? Have they been routed? Are they only in retreat?’ No, the soldiers answered, they were not running away. They had not seen or heard of the enemy for days. What were they doing here, then? Again they did not know. Nobody knew except old Stonewall. He knew of course. It was one of his tricks. He had got something under his hat. Then the crowd surged to the railway station to watch the debarking troops as train after train rolled in. Here the same ignorance prevailed. Nobody knew; nobody could understand. To their personal friends the officers were dumb, for they were in darkness like the men. Only the General knew; and those who knew the General knew also how hopeless it would be to question him.