ieft the staff to accompany the marching troops and set out for
the headquarters of General Lee. We rode down the Orange
plank road by Verdiersville and Parker's and at noon rested at
the home of the Rev. Melzi Chancellor, near the Wilderness
church. After our horses had been fed and we had dinner, we
set out again, reaching Salem church in the late afternoon.
Snow was falling, and one of the most dismal scenes of war was
presented to us : the road was quite filled with wagons and carts
and people on foot, unhappy refugees from Fredericksburg. Old
Salem church was crowded, and around it shelters of quilts and
blankets had been erected, under which the banished women and
children crouched in the bitter cold.
Turning at Salem church to the right, we passed "Sunny- side," the home of the Frenches, continued on to the Telegraph road, and on the Mine road, in pine woods on the land of Mr. Muscoe Garnett, we found in the snow the tents of the army headquarters. The arrival of Jackson from the Valley created quite a stir, and General Lee came promptly to welcome him. At the suggestion of General Jackson I rode back to the home of Mr. Garnett to ask lodging for the night. As I stood at the door and knocked, the old gentleman looked out and in an irritated tone cried: "What do you want here?" When I told him that two officers sought lodging for the night, he said: "I have no room for anyone ; my house is full." But when I mended my hold and spoke of General Jackson, the door flew open wide, the light of a blazing wood fire swept out of the opening, and the irate and impulsive old gentleman cried : "What General Jackson ? Stonewall Jackson? Is he here? Go and tell him to come at once ; all my home is his, sir !" So the general and his aide, cold, wet, weary, and hungry, were soon comfortably seated before the blazing fire, among the best of old Virginia people. After a good supper, the general went to sleep in a bed, and the aide rested on the rug before the fire and thought he was in Paradise.
Breakfast over, the general with his aide and couriers rode down the Telegraph road into the fated town of Fredericksburg. It was Sunday morning, but no church bells were ringing. The streets were almost deserted, as were the homes. Barksdale's
