About eleven
miles from Hancock we crossed a long stone bridge over a stream
with the unpronounceable name of "Conococheaque creek." This
valley was inhabitated by other than the whites in days gone by.
Here, where the golden harvest waits to be garnered, the Indian
maize grew in abundance; their camps and villages were scattered
here and there when the country was a wilderness. The dogwood
pitched its white tent here in early spring and the royal color
of the redbud shone from the steep hillsides like purple
bonfires, the same hepaticas with their blue, pink and white
blossoms peeped from among the moss and leaves to gladden their
hearts.
One afternoon we saw rolling masses of cumulus clouds rising
above the far blue ridges; then as they drifted nearer the
bright green of the forest made a background which brought out
in relief their finely modeled forms. They seemed to hang
motionless there until the sudden crash of thunder burst upon
the hushed air with violent explosions, where the cliffs took it
up and repeated it to the neighboring hills, and they in turn
told it to still others until its far away echoes died among the
more distant ridges. For a time the rain came down in torrents,
and as we watched its silvery sheets spreading over the hills
and through the valley it seemed as if every leaf and flower and
grass blade instantly took on new life. How fresh and pure the
old trees looked! The fragrance from the pine, sweet-scented
fern and numerous mints was more pronounced. "Detached clouds
seemed to be continually leaving the main mass like scouts sent
out in advance to drop their silver spears on the heads of ferns
and flowers on other hills." Some of the detached portions moved
up the valley, others rose slowly above the wooded ridges or
trailed their tattered fringes near the tree tops that seemed to
have torn their edges. Every bush and leaf was saturated with
their life-giving elixir. How the wild sweet carols of the birds
ascended from every forest! It seemed as if all Nature was
sending up a paean of praise for the beneficent rain, and our
thoughts took on that same serenity and calm, glad joy and the
melody of our hearts joined the universal anthem of praise to
the Creator. Amidst these fair scenes we watched the passing
clouds that were crossing the distant ridges and the whole mass
of verdant hill sides were brought out in fine relief; while the
darker mass of clouds seemed to be copying the outlines of the
far seen hills like another Blue Ridge range.
New Market is the oldest and most beautifully situated town in
the valley. The north fork of the Shenandoah river is seen
disappearing behind a range of hills that rises high above the
town to the northwest; while to the southeast one sees the
meandering mill stream known as Smith's creek, flowing 'round
the foot of the Massanutten mountains.
Near this spot the Indians had their camping ground in a ravine,
visible from the pike to the north. This ravine is known as
Indian Hollow, and well into the nineteenth century the smoke
could be seen rising from their numerous tepees, like small
clouds of vapor after a summer rain. Here if you look westward
you may see the gap in the Massanuttens, through which Stonewall
Jackson's army marched to Front Royal, where, by a surprise
attack, Banks' left flank was turned, thereby starting a retreat
of the Federal army which did not end until it had crossed the
Potomac at Harper's Ferry.
In the battle of New Market, which was fought along the
northwestern edge of town, occurred an episode of the Civil war
so remarkable as to equal the bravery of that of the three
hundred Spartans. The V. M. I. Cadets, a battalion of boys, from
fourteen to twenty years of age, was ordered from school at
Lexington, Virginia, to join Breckenridge's forces. In this
desperate crisis of the last months of the war, these brave lads
reached New Market at night after a strenuous march of three
days. "The early hours of the morning found them in battle line,
where for several hours they held their position in spite of a
galling fire from the infantry and a heavy destructive fire from
the artillery. Just when the Union troops were contemplating a
speedy victory at the most decisive moment of the battle, these
gallant boys rose as a unit, and charging across an open wheat
field, in spite of severe losses in killed and wounded, broke
the Federal lines and turned what seemed to be a defeat into a
victory."
In this village lives the noble old lady who in those awful days
of horror that knew no Red Cross organized the care of this
boys' army and carried on the nursing and relief work. No wonder
those brave lads called her the "Mother of the V. M. I." Her
deeds of mercy shine forth like stars on a winter night.
How many and delightful are the windings of the famous valley
Pile beginning at Winchester! Through what fertile stretches of
well cultivated land it leads you! The more serrated lines of
the Alleghanies rise faint and blue on the western horizon; the
lovely contour of the Blue Ridge is seen in the east while about
half way down the valley rises that wonder of wonders, Old
Massanutten. It may be an outcast among mountains, for the other
ranges leave it severely alone. It is a short range and rises
very abruptly from the valley being parallel to the other
ranges.
