The Scouts of Stonewall: The Story of the Great Valley Campaign. Altsheler Joseph Alexander

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СКАЧАТЬ men was upon them, clearing out the woods and fields in a few instants and driving the Union horsemen in swift flight northward.

      Harry kept close to his general. He saw a spark of fire shoot from the blue eye, and the nostrils expand. Then the mask became as impenetrable as ever. He let the reins fall on the neck of Little Sorrel, and watched his men as they swept into the open, passed the warehouse, and followed the enemy into the forest beyond.

      But the bugles quickly sounded the recall. It was not Jackson’s purpose to waste his men in frays which could produce little. The pursuing regiments returned reluctantly to the open where the inhabitants of the village were welcoming Jackson with great rejoicings. The encounter had been too swift and short to cause great loss, but all the stores were saved and Captain Sherburne and Captain McGee rode forward to salute their commander.

      “You made a good defense,” said Stonewall Jackson, crisply and briefly. “We begin the removal of the stores at once. Wagons will come up shortly for that purpose. Take your cavalry, Captain Sherburne, and scout the country. If they need sleep they can get it later when there is nothing else to do.”

      Captain Sherburne saluted and Harry saw his face flush with pride. The indomitable spirit of Jackson was communicated fast to all his men. The sentence to more work appealed to Sherburne with much greater force than the sentence of rest could have done. In a moment he and his men were off, searching the woods and fields in the direction of the Union camp.

      “Ride back on the road, Lieutenant Kenton, and tell the wagons to hurry,” said General Jackson to Harry. “Before I left Winchester I gave orders for them to follow, and we must not waste time here.”

      “Yes, sir,” said Harry, as he turned and rode into the forest through which they had come. He, too, felt the same emotion that had made the face of Sherburne flush with pride. What were sleep and rest to a young soldier, following a man who carried victory in the hollow of his hand; not the victory of luck or chance, but the victory of forethought, of minute preparation, and of courage.

      He galloped fast, and the hard road gave back the ring of steel shod hoofs. A silver streak showed in the eastern sky. The dawn was breaking. He increased his pace. The woods and fields fled by. Then he heard the cracking of whips, and the sound of voices urging on reluctant animals. Another minute and the long line of wagons was in sight straining along the road.

      “Hurry up!” cried Harry to the leader who drove, bareheaded.

      “Has Old Jack finished the job?” asked the man.

      “Yes.”

      “How long did it take him?”

      “About five minutes.”

      “I win,” called the man to the second driver just behind him. “You ‘lowed it would take him ten minutes, but I said not more’n seven at the very furthest.”

      The train broke into a trot, and Harry, turning his horse, rode by the side of the leader.

      “How did you know that it would take General Jackson so little time to scatter the enemy?” the boy asked the man.

      “‘Cause I know Old Jack.”

      “But he has not yet done much in independent command.”

      “No, but I’ve seen him gettin’ ready, an’ I’ve watched him. He sees everything, an’ he prays. I tell you he prays. I ain’t a prayin’ man myself. But when a man kneels down in the bushes an’ talks humble an’ respectful to his God, an’ then rises up an’ jumps at the enemy, it’s time for that enemy to run. I’d rather be attacked by the worst bully and desperado that ever lived than by a prayin’ man. You see, I want to live, an’ what chance have I got ag’in a man that’s not only not afraid to die, but that’s willin’ to die, an’ rather glad to die, knowin’ that he’s goin’ straight to Heaven an’ eternal joy? I tell you, young man, that unbelievers ain’t ever got any chance against believers; no, not in nothin’.”

      “I believe you’re right.”

      “Right! Of course I’m right! Why did Old Jack order these waggins to come along an’ get them stores? ‘Cause he believed he was goin’ to save ‘em. An’ mebbe he saved ‘em, ‘cause he believed he was goin’ to do it. It works both ways. Git up!”

      The shout of “Git up!” was to his horses, which added a little more to their pace, and now Harry saw troops coming back to meet them and form an escort.

      In half an hour they were at the village. Already the ammunition and supplies had been brought forth and were stacked, ready to be loaded on the wagons. General Jackson was everywhere, riding back and forth on his sorrel horse, directing the removal just as he had directed the march and the brief combat. His words were brief but always dynamic. He seemed insensible to weariness.

      It was now full morning, wintry and clear. The small population of the village and people from the surrounding country, intensely Southern and surcharged with enthusiasm, were bringing hot coffee and hot breakfast for the troops. Jackson permitted them to eat and drink in relays. As many as could get at the task helped to load the wagons. Little compulsion was needed. Officers themselves toiled at boxes and casks. The spirit of Jackson had flowed into them all.

      “I’ve gone into training,” said Langdon to Harry.

      “Training? What kind of training, Tom?”

      “I see that my days of play are over forever, and I’m practicing hard, so I can learn how to do without food, sleep or rest for months at a time.”

      “It’s well you’re training,” interrupted St. Clair. “I foresee that you’re going to need all the practice you can get. Everything’s loaded in the wagons now, and I wager you my chances of promotion against one of our new Confederate dollar bills that we start inside of a minute.”

      The word “minute” was scarcely out of his mouth, when Jackson gave the sharp order to march. Sherburne’s troop sprang to saddle and led the way, their bugler blowing a mellow salute to the morning and victory. Many whips cracked, and the wagons bearing the precious stores swung into line. Behind came the brigade, the foot cavalry. The breakfast and the loading of the wagons had not occupied more than half an hour. It was yet early morning when the whole force left the village and marched at a swift pace toward Winchester.

      General Jackson beckoned to Harry.

      “Ride with me,” he said. “I’ve notified Colonel Talbot that you are detached from his staff and will serve on mine.”

      Although loath to leave his comrades Harry appreciated the favor and flushed with pleasure.

      “Thank you, sir,” he said briefly.

      Jackson nodded. He seemed to like the lack of effusive words. Harry knew that his general had not tasted food. Neither had he. He had actually forgotten it in his keenness for his work, and now he was proud of the fact. He was proud, too, of the comradeship of abstention that it gave him with Stonewall Jackson. As he rode in silence by the side of the great commander he made for himself an ideal. He would strive in his own youthful way to show the zeal, the courage and the untiring devotion that marked the general.

      The sun, wintry but golden, rose higher and made fields and forest luminous. But few among Jackson’s men had time to notice the glory of the morning. It seemed to Harry that they were marching back almost as swiftly as they had come. Langdon was right and more. They were getting continuous practice not only in the art of living without food, sleep or rest, СКАЧАТЬ