The confusion of the stampede being over, the line of march was quietly resumed for several miles, until we reached "The Narrows," where we again went into position. I had taken a seat by the roadside and was chatting with a companion while the guns drove out into a field to prepare for action, and, as I could see the ground toward the enemy, I knew that I had ample time to get to my post before being needed. When getting out the accouterments the priming-wire could not be found. I being No. 3 was, of course, responsible for it. I heard Captain Poague, on being informed who No. 3 was, shout, "Ned Moore, where is that priming-wire?" I replied, "It is in the limber-chest where it belongs." There were a good many people around, and I did not wish it to appear that I had misplaced my little priming-wire in the excitement of covering Stonewall's retreat. The captain yelled, as I thought unnecessarily, "It isn't there!" I, in the same tone, replied, "It is there, and I will get it!" So off I hurried, and, to my delight, there it was in its proper place, and I brought it forth with no small flourish and triumph. After waiting here for a reasonable time, and no foe appearing, we followed on in rear of the column without further molestation or incident that I can now recall. We reached Harrisonburg after a few days' marching. CHAPTER VII GENERAL JACKSON NARROWLY ESCAPES BEING CAPTURED AT PORT REPUBLIC--CONTEST BETWEEN CONFEDERATES AND FEDERALS FOR BRIDGE OVER SHENANDOAH The College company had as cook a very black negro boy named Pete, who through all this marching had carried, on a baggage-wagon, a small game rooster which he told me had whipped every chicken from Harrisonburg to Winchester and back again. At last he met defeat, and Pete consigned him to the pot, saying, "No chicken dat kin be whipped shall go 'long wid Jackson's headquarters." At Harrisonburg we turned to the left again, but this time obliquely, in the direction of Port Republic, twenty miles distant. We went into camp on Saturday evening, June 7, about one mile from Port Republic and on the north side of the Shenandoah. Shields had kept his army on the south side of this stream and had been moving parallel with us during our retreat. Jackson's division was in advance. Instead of going into camp, I, with two messmates, Bolling and Walter Packard, diverged to a log-house for supper. The man of the house was quiet; his wife did the talking, and a great deal of it. She flatly refused us a bite to eat, but, on stating the case to her, she consented to let us have some bread and milk. Seated around an unset dining-table we began divesting ourselves of our knapsacks. She said, "Just keep your baggage on; you can eat a bite and go." We told her we could eat faster unharnessed. She sliced a loaf of bread as sad as beeswax, one she had had on hand for perhaps a week, and gave us each a bowl of sour milk, all the while reminding us to make our stay short. For the sake of