Strassburg, A Strategical Point In The Historical Stonewall
Jackson Valley Campaign, Is Situated At The Base Of The
Massanutten Mountain, Which Rising Abruptly As It Does And
Extending Parallel With The Blue Ridge Divides The Valley Into
Two Parts.
Thus it may readily be seen why the possession of
this place was all important to the Union troops,
For with
Strassburg in the hands of the Confederates, they could have
menaced Washington, "either by way of Harper's Ferry over the
Valley pike, or by the way of Manassas, over what was then the
old Virginia Midland Railway. Flowing through the two parts are
the north and south forks of the Shenandoah river, which unite
near this point."
Passing through Woodstock, the county seat of Shenandoah county,
and its sister towns Edinburg and Mount Jackson, we were
impressed by the fine landscape about us. Vast stretches of
golden grain extended far up the ridges, whose meadows and oats
fields bounded in some places by rail fences made a charming
picture. As we journeyed on, the landscape had that luxuriance
of foliage that reminded us of the vales and hills of Scotland.
We became aware that our observation was correct, for we soon
saw in the distance the town of Edinburgh. In Scotland we miss
the vast wealth of forest-crowned ridges we have in the Blue
Ridge, and the sweep of unfenced grain-clad hills, stretch far
away, reaching the very tops except where they are too steep and
rocky. As we paused long and often to gaze in admiration at
these wonderful pictures we were always thrilled with their
indescribable beauty.
Little did it seem that here, where all was peace and
contentment, the cruel scourge of war had fallen upon the land
with its blighting power, leaving in its wake thousands of
widows and orphans. "But here are evidences of gruesome warfare
between unknown Indian tribes long before the day of the
Pioneer. At Redbanks Farm, north of Mount Jackson, is a great
mound filled with the skeletons of a whole tribe exterminated by
a war party of Indians from North Carolina," and throughout this
part of the valley there have been repeated and bloody massacres
and constant warfare that had other causes than that of slavery
for their waging.
Under the bright sky of June that was wonderfully clear and deep
lay the charmed landscape before us, with its ever-changing
scenery as we wound among its glorious hills or swept with
varied speed across the fertile plains. The old-fashioned
country homes, quaint and peaceful villages, and variety of
forest clad hills, all made this scene one that shall long be
treasured in memory for the magnificence and grandeur of its
beauty.
Far across the cultivated reaches, the smoothly flowing ridges
printed their faint outlines along the horizon in gray veils,
resembling a far-distant mass of water; nearer, the ranges were
blue-gray while those next to them wore a delicate shade of
ethereal blue. The peaks still nearer were clothed in a misty
veil of deeper blue while high hills ranked themselves on each
side of us with their forests of varying shades of green.
Hemlock and pine made dark green patches interspersed with the
brighter green of maple, tulip, poplar and beech, enlivened with
the frosty blossoms of the chestnut and the creamy tints of the
basswood; then there was the rich green of the meadows, the
silvery bluegreen of the oats fields, and the golden green of
the ripening wheat - all so well blended and harmonized by that
mysterious illuminating veil of blue that it challenged the
admiration of the most critical observer. On such glorious days
as these we seem to imbibe the gladness of the hills. Every
nerve thrills and vibrates, and the happy songs of the birds,
the myriad insect voices, the softly singing pines, make no more
music than our own happy hearts.
What a place is this in which to dine, while the noonday sun
sends his sweltering rays on the valley below! Away with your
grand hotels with their pretentions of cleanliness and comfort,
away with your stuffy restaurants with semi-intoxicating odors
of beeves long slaughtered and fish long hooked or chicken a-la-
King, whose husky voices have long since ceased to awaken the
sleeping farm hands. Away with all these, we say, and let us
dine in Nature's terraced roof garden at Hotel de Roadside at
the Sign of the Running Board or White Pine Bough. Give us some
fresh baked buns with country butter and honey, a dish of
delicious berries picked by our own hands fresh from the bushes,
a drink of sparkling ale from Nature's fountain among the cool
fern-clad rocks, and we shall not lament the fact that we are so
far removed from the public boarding house! Here in place of
soulless melodies issuing from automatic players we have the
heavenly notes of the woodthrush, the clear call of the crested
titmouse, and the wild ringing notes of the cardinal. A
matchless trio, accompanied by the vagrant breezes played upon
the tree-harps, seconded by the singing of distant waterfalls.
With greater reverence one breaks bread out here where spicy
aromatic fragrance drifts by. Here you have become a pilgrim
unawares, for before you are stately tulip poplars and graceful
hemlocks like long sought shrines, both reflecting the Creator.
Our table flowers were the pungent burgamot amid its border of
sweet- scented fern, but it would have been useless to tear them
from their places so near to our table did they grow. Other
travelers pass along the highway and these very ferns and
flowers may be to them "another sacred scripture," as Thoreau
would phrase it, cheering them along the road of life. If one
really loves these mountains with their wealth of ferns and
mosses and floral beauty, few, if any, of these children of the
mountains are disturbed. Out here in Nature's garden we feed not
only the body, but the soul, which hungers and thirsts for the
beautiful - which is not the least of our varied repast.
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