We move early this morning; cross Jack Creek about noon—a noted guerrilla resort. As the rear was crossing, some of the flankers were fired upon by the bushwhackers, and in vain were our efforts to capture them, they having made good their escape into the brush. We move on and arrive at Lexington about four o'clock, and go into camp near the town. Everything looks dreary and desolate here; we see the effects of war's ruthless hand everywhere. The male inhabitants have nearly all cast their destiny with the South in her desperate struggle for power. Chivalry's daughters seem to rule the place, exhibiting a vaunting defiance. One boasted that no Yankee vandal had ever soiled her carpet. A cavalryman hearing her boast, soon dismounts and presently we hear the music of huge spurs and clanking sabre coming from the shaded corridor; we now hear in the front room sharp and bitter invectives; they come from fair chivalry's wrathful tongue, but the stoical and stern soldier heeds them not, but calmly and coolly he makes his exit, rides to camp, lights his pipe, sits down and rehearses to his comrades his adventure through one of chivalry's gorgeous mansions.
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