was sanguine of success.  Mr. Lincoln, reassured by Jackson’s retreat from Franklin, had permitted Shields to march to Falmouth; and McDowell, with a portion of his troops, had already crossed the Rappahannock.  The President of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, an important personage at Washington, appears to have been alone in his apprehension that a storm was gathering in the summer sky.  “The aspect of affairs in the Valley of Virginia,” he wrote to Stanton, “is becoming very threatening...The enterprise and vigour of Jackson are well known...Under the circumstances will it not be more judicious to order back General Shields to co-operate with General Banks?  Such a movement might be accomplished in time to prevent disaster."* (* O.R. volume 12 part 3 page 201.) The Secretary, however, saw no reason for alarm.  His strategical combinations were apparently working without a hitch.  Banks at Strasburg was in a strong position; and McDowell was about to lend the aid which would enable McClellan to storm the rebel capital.  One of Fremont’s columns, under General Cox, a most able officer, which was making good progress towards the Virginia and Tennessee Railroad, had certainly been compelled to halt when Milroy was driven back to Franklin.  Yet the defeated troops were rapidly reorganising, and Fremont would soon resume his movement.  Milroy’s defeat was considered no more than an incident of la petite guerre.  Washington seemed so perfectly secure that the recruiting offices had been closed, and the President and Secretary, anticipating the immediate fall of Richmond, left for Fredericksburg the next day.  McDowell was to march on the 26th, and the departure of his fine army was to be preceded by a grand review.

Even Banks, though Shields had marched to Fredericksburg, reducing his force by a half, believed that there was no immediate reason to fear attack.  “I regard it as certain,” he wrote, “that Jackson will move north as far as New Market...a position which enables him to cooperate with General Ewell, who is still at Swift Run Gap.”  Yet he took occasion to remind Mr. Stanton of the “persistent adherence of Jackson to the defence of the Valley, and his well-known purpose to expel the Government troops.  This,” he added, “may be assumed as certain.  There is probably no one more fixed and determined purpose in the whole circle of the enemy’s plans.”  Banks had certainly learned something of Jackson by this time, but he did not yet know all.

So on this night of May 22 the President and his people were without fear of what the morrow might bring forth.  The end of the rebellion seemed near at hand.  Washington was full of the anticipated triumph.  The crowds passed to and fro in the broad avenues, exchanging congratulations on the success of the Northern arms and the approaching downfall of the slaveholders.  The theatres were filled with delighted audiences, who hailed every scoffing allusion to the “Southern chivalry” with enthusiasm, and gaiety and confidence reigned supreme.  Little dreamt the light-hearted multitude that, in the silent woods of the Luray Valley, a Confederate army lay asleep beneath the stars.  Little dreamt Lincoln, or Banks, or Stanton, that not more than seventy miles from Washington, and less than thirty from Strasburg, the most daring of their enemies, waiting for the dawn to rise above the mountains, was pouring out his soul in prayer,