The soldiers of the Second Army Corps, however, did not allow him to forget his greatness.  In their bivouacs by the clear waters of the Opequon, with abundance of supplies and with ample leisure for recuperation, the troops rapidly regained their strength and spirit.  The reaction found vent in the most extravagant gaiety.  No circumstance that promised entertainment was permitted to pass without attention, and the jest started at the expense of some unfortunate wight, conspicuous for peculiarity of dress or demeanour, was taken up by a hundred voices.  None were spared.  A trim staff officer was horrified at the irreverent reception of his nicely twisted moustache, as he heard from behind innumerable trees:  “Take them mice out o’ your mouth! take ’em out—­no use to say they ain’t there, see their tails hanging out!” Another, sporting immense whiskers, was urged “to come out o’ that bunch of hair!  I know you’re in there!  I see your ears a-working!” So the soldiers chaffed the dandies, and the camp rang with laughter; fun and frolic were always in the air, and the fierce fighters of Sharpsburg behaved like schoolboys on a holiday.  But when the general rode by the men remembered the victories they had won and to whom they owed them, the hardships they had endured, and who had shared them; and the appearance of ‘Little Sorrel’ was the sure precursor of a scene of the wildest enthusiasm.  The horse soon learned what the cheers implied, and directly they began he would break into a gallop, as if to carry his rider as quickly as possible through the embarrassing ordeal.  But the soldiers were not to be deterred by their commander’s modesty, and whenever he was compelled to pass through the bivouacs the same tribute was so invariably offered that the sound of a distant cheer, rolling down the lines of the Second Army Corps, always evoked the exclamation:  “Boys, look out! here comes old Stonewall or an old hare!” “These being the only individuals,” writes one of Jackson’s soldiers, “who never failed to bring down the whole house.”

Nothing could express more clearly the loyalty of the soldiers to their general than this quaint estimate of his popularity.  The Anglo-Saxon is averse to the unrestrained display of personal affection; and when his natural reluctance is overborne by irrepressible emotion, he attempts to hide it by a jest.  So Jackson’s veterans laughed at his peculiarities, at his dingy uniform, his battered cap, his respect for clergymen, his punctilious courtesy, and his blushes.  They delighted in the phrase, when a distant yell was heard, “Here’s “Old Jack” or a rabbit!” They delighted more in his confusion when he galloped through the shouting camp.  “Here he comes,” they said, “we’ll make him take his hat off.”  They invented strange fables of which he was the hero.  “Stonewall died,” ran one of the most popular, “and two angels came down from heaven to take him back with them.  They went to his tent.  He was not there.  They went to the hospital.  He