Our Campaign In Search Of Beauty Was A Brilliant Success, And
From Many Points Of Vantage Did We Spy Upon The Vast Expanse Of
Golden Grain And Fresh Green Meadows In Which Cattle Were
Grazing, Or Ruminating In The Shade Of Friendly Elms.
Here gush
clear springs, whose courses may be traced by tall waving ferns
and creeping vines that weave their spell of green.
Swift
tumbling brooks have worn down the soil and enriched the valley.
This valley was called the "Granary of the Confederacy" and a
granary it really was, "for it was rich not only in grain but an
abundance of fruit and live stock; and what more would the North
want for the support of its army? It was in the possession of
the Confederates; much wanted by the Federals, and in time came
to be a great campaign ground of both armies" - the Belgium of
America. What thrilling marching and counter-marching the lower
valley might tell! What a history those villages must have had
from 1861 to 1865! Perhaps at dawn they sheltered an army of
"Yanks," at noon they may have been swarming with men from the
South, while night, with her ever-watchful stars, looked down
and saw them sleeping beneath the Stars and Stripes! In fact, it
was traversed so often that the men from both armies called it,
the "Race Course." So many were their journeys over the famous
"Valley Pike" that they knew the various springs, houses, and in
many instances, the citizens who lived there.
Alas! How many brave sons in the North said farewell to scenes
and friends to enter the Union Army in the valley, never to
return. How often, too, the gallant sons of the "Sunny South"
gazed with tear dimmed eyes for the last time on those purple
hills they knew from childhood. How many were the battles fought
here! How terrible the scenes of devastation and the toll of
life! Waste were the golden fields of grain upon which we gaze
with such rapt admiration. Waste, too, were these mills with
their whir of industry. The fury of war fell on those sunny
acres like a great pestilence, and their usefulness and beauty
became desolation. The only grist mill not burned by Sheridan
and his men when they went through is still pointed out to the
traveler. But Nature has again asserted her right and on this
delightful morning the valley smiles beneath its veil of dreamy
blue like the peaceful glow that spreads over the countenance of
some great and beneficent soul.
The high range of the Blue Ridge was seen stretching along the
sky like a vast purple wall, while, nearer, the lower hills rose
impressively up from the plain. How clean and pare and shining
the woods appear this lovely morning! The glorious old chestnut
trees reflect the sunlight and shimmering masses from their
shining green leaves, while their creamy white flowers make a
grand display amidst the various tinted foliage of all the
forest; and the stately basswood, covered with light yellow
bloom filled with the hum of innumerable bees, heightens the
picture. The shadowy hemlock and fragrant pine swaying in the
breeze still tell their age-old songs. The sunbeams spangled on
the broad green leaves of the sycamore tree, their tracery of
white boughs relieved against the dense groves of evergreens,
made studies in light and shade worthy of an Innes; while
beneath these grand trees tall ferns and velvety mosses
contrasted their various shades of green over which rose spikes
of flaming cardinal flowers and blue mists of mints making the
picture complete. Then, too, song birds enlivened the fair scene
with their notes. In the bushes along the highway Maryland
yellow-throats threw back their masked heads and called,
"Witchery, witchery, witchery," as if they appreciated their
charming home, while nearby, a cardinal appeared like an arrow
of flame from the bow of some unseen archer, and whistled
several variations that rang through all the woodland. The house
wren was fairly bubbling over with music and his rippling notes
seemed to express the exuberance of life in all Nature; while
the serene song of the woodthrush floated from far, dim forest
depths - fit prelude for the Angelic Choir.
Amid such inspiring music and scenes as this, it is not easy to
tell much about the topography of the country in reference to
its strategic importance. It is enough to know that from the
boughs of the elm above hang the orioles' gray castles where the
females' beady eyes from their dangling citadels look out on the
alien foes who pass beneath or up above where the great hawk
swims the aerial blue like a plane without bombs. The spider
weaves pontoons from tree to bush and sits in his silvery
fortress trying to beguile the unwary flies by his kingly
demeanor. The great blue heron, like a French sentinel on duty
along the muddy Meuse, awaits in silence any hostile
demonstrations from those green-coated Boches among their
camouflaged fortresses of spatterdocks and lily pads. The
muskrat goes scouring the water, searching for booty near the
river's bank or submerges like a submarine when discovered by a
noisy convoy of Senegalese boys on the bank. A wily weasel, no
doubt considered by those cliff-dwellers, the kingfishers, as
one of the "Ladies from Hell," was being hustled out of their
dugout at the point of the bayonet. No matter about the "kilts";
if he ever had them they were lost by his hurried flight.
The North, South and Middle rivers join in sisterly union near
Port Republic to form the Shenandoah. From Lexington to Harper's
Ferry at the foot of the valley the distance is one hundred
fifty-five miles. The "Valley's Turnpike" runs northward through
Harrisonburg, New Market, Woodstock, Strassburg, and Winchester
to Martinsburg. And what a pike it is! And through what superb
scenes it leads you! "At Staunton the Virginia Central railroad
crosses the valley on the way to Charlottesville.
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