The 8th were from the Attakapas—­Acadians, the race of whom Longfellow sings in “Evangeline”—­a home-loving, simple people; few spoke English, fewer still had ever moved ten miles from their native cabanas; and the war to them was a liberal education.  They had all the light gaiety of the Gaul, and, after the manner of their ancestors, were born cooks.  A capital regimental band accompanied them, and whenever weather and ground permitted, even after long marches, they would waltz and polk in couples with as much zest as if their arms encircled the supple waists of the Celestines and Melazies of their native Teche.  The Valley soldiers were largely of the Presbyterian faith, and of a solemn, pious demeanour, and looked askance at the caperings of my Creoles, holding them to be “devices and snares.""* (* Destruction and Reconstruction pages 52 and 53.)

Taylor himself had been educated at West Point.  He was a man of high position, of unquestioned ability, an excellent disciplinarian, and a delightful writer.  More than other commanders he had paid great attention to the marching of his men.  He had an eye to those practical details which a good regimental officer enforces with so much effect.  Boots were properly fitted; the troops were taught the advantages of cold water, and how to heal abrasions; halts upon the march were made at frequent intervals, and the men soon held that to fall out on the march was a disgrace.  Before a month “had passed,” he says, “the brigade had learned how to march, and in the Valley with Jackson covered long distances without leaving a straggler behind."* (* Ibid page 37.)

Jackson’s first meeting with the Louisiana troops has been described by their commander:—­

“A mounted officer was dispatched to report our approach and select a camp, which proved to be beyond Jackson’s forces, then lying in the fields on both sides of the Valley pike.  Over 3000 strong, neat in fresh clothing of grey with white gaiters, bands playing at the head of their regiments—­not a straggler, but every man in his place, stepping jauntily as if on parade, though it had marched twenty miles or more—­in open column, with the rays of the declining sun flaming on polished bayonets, the brigade moved down the hard smooth pike, and wheeled on to the camping-ground.  Jackson’s men, by thousands, had gathered on either side of the road to see us pass.

“After attending to necessary camp details, I sought Jackson, whom I had never met.  The mounted officer who had been sent on in advance pointed out a figure perched on the topmost rail of a fence overlooking the road and field, and said it was Jackson.  Approaching, I saluted and declared my name and rank, then waited for a response.  Before this came I had time to see a pair of cavalry boots covering feet of gigantic size, a mangy cap with visor drawn low, a heavy dark beard and weary eyes, eyes I afterwards saw filled with intense but never brilliant light.  A low