IN WINTER QUARTERS
Harry was sent a few days later with dispatches from the president to
General Lee, who was still in his camp beside the Opequan. Dalton was
held in the capital for further messages, but Harry was not sorry to
make the journey alone. The stay in Richmond had been very pleasant.
The spirits of youth, confined, had overflowed, but he was beginning to
feel a reaction. One must return soon to the battlefield. This was
merely a lull in the storm which would sweep with greater fury than
ever. The North, encouraged by Gettysburg and Vicksburg, was gathering
vast masses which would soon be hurled upon the South, and Harry knew
how thin the lines there were becoming.
He thought, too, of Shepard, who was the latest to score in their duel,
and he believed that this man had already sent to the Northern leaders
information beyond value. Harry felt that he must strive in some
manner to make the score even.
It was late in the summer when he rejoined the Army of Northern
Virginia and delivered the letters to the commander-in-chief, who sat
in the shade of a large tree. Harry observed him closely. He seemed a
little grayer than before the Battle of Gettysburg, but his manner was
as confident as ever. He filled to both eye and mind the measure of a
great general. After asking Harry many questions he dismissed him for a
while, to play, so he said.
The young Kentuckian at once, and, as a matter of course, sought the
Invincibles. St. Clair and Langdon hailed him with shouts of joy, but
to his great surprise, Colonel Leonidas Talbot and Lieutenant-Colonel
Hector St. Hilaire were not playing chess.
"We were getting on with the game last night, Harry," explained Colonel
Talbot, "but we came to a point where we were about to develop heat
over a projected move. Then, in order to avoid such a lamentable
occurrence, we decided to postpone further play until to-night. But we
find you looking uncommonly well, Harry. The flesh pots of Egypt have
agreed with you."
"I had a good time in Richmond, sir, a fine one," replied Harry. "The
people there have certainly been kind to me, as they are to all the
officers of the Army of Northern Virginia."
"What have you done with the grave Dalton, who was your comrade on your
journey to the capital?"
"They've kept him there for the present. They think he's stronger
proof against the luxuries and temptations of a city than I am."
"Youth is youth, and I'm glad that you've had this little fling, Harry.
Perhaps you'll have another, as I think you'll be sent back to Richmond
very soon."
"What has been going on here, Colonel?"
"Very little. Nothing, in fact, of any importance. When we crossed
the swollen Potomac, although threatened by an enemy superior to us in
numbers, I felt that we would not be pushed. General Meade has been
deliberate, extremely deliberate in his offensive movements. Up North
they call Gettysburg a great victory, but we're resting here calmly and
peacefully. Hector and I and our young friends have found rural peace
and ease among these Virginia hills and valleys. You, of course, found
Richmond very gay and bright?"
"Very gay and bright, Colonel, and full of handsome ladies."
Colonel Talbot sighed and Lieutenant-Colonel Hector St. Hilaire sighed
also.
"Hector and I should have been there," said Colonel Talbot. "Although
we've never married, we have a tremendous admiration for the ladies,
and in our best uniforms we're not wholly unpopular among them, eh,
Hector?"
"Not by any means, Leonidas. We're not as young as Harry here, but I
know that you're a fine figure of a man, and you know that I am.
Moreover, our experience of the dangerous sex is so much greater than
that of mere boys like Harry and Arthur and Tom here, that we know how
to make ourselves much more welcome. You talk to them about frivolous
things, mere chit chat, while we explain grave and important matters to
them."
"Are you sure, sir," asked St. Clair, "that the ladies don't really
prefer chit chat?"
"I was not speaking of little girls. I was alluding to those ornaments
of their sex who have arrived at years of discretion. Ah, if Leonidas
and I were only a while in Richmond! It would be the next best thing
to being in Charleston."
"Maybe the Invincibles will be sent there for a while."
"Perhaps. I don't foresee any great activity here in the autumn. How
do they regard the Army of Northern Virginia in Richmond now, Harry?"
"With supreme confidence."
The talk soon drifted to the people whom Harry had met at the capital,
and then he told of his adventure with Shepard, the spy.
"He seems to be a most daring man," said Talbot; "not a mere ordinary
spy, but a man of a higher type. I think he's likely to do us great
harm. But the woman, Miss Carden, was surely kind to you. If she
hadn't found you wandering around in the rain you'd have doubtless
dropped down and died. God bless the ladies."
"And so say we all of us," said Harry.
He returned to Richmond in a few days, bearing more dispatches, and to
his great delight all that was left of the Invincibles arrived a week
later to recuperate and see a little of the world. St. Clair and Happy
Tom plunged at once and with all the ardor of youth into the gayeties
of social life, and the two colonels followed them at a more dignified
but none the less earnest pace. All four appeared in fine new
uniforms, for which they had saved their money, and they were
conspicuous upon every occasion.
Harry was again at the Curtis house, and although it was not a great
ball this time the assemblage was numerous, including all his friends.
The two colonels had become especial favorites everywhere, and they
were telling stories of the old South, which Harry had divined was
passing; passing whether the South won or not.
Although there had been much light talk through the evening and an
abundance of real gayety, nearly every member of the company,
nevertheless, had serious moments. The news from Tennessee and Georgia
was heavy with import. It was vague in some particulars, but it was
definite enough in others to tell that the armies of Rosecrans and
Bragg were approaching each other. All eyes turned to the West. A
great battle could not be long delayed, and a powerful division of the
Army of Northern Virginia under Longstreet had been sent to help Bragg.
Harry found himself late at night once more in that very room in which
the map had disappeared so mysteriously. The two colonels, St. Clair
and Langdon, and one or two others had drifted in, and the older men
were smoking. Inevitably they talked of the battle which they foresaw
with such certainty, and Harry's anxiety about it was increased,
because he knew his father would be there on one side, and the cousin,
for whom he cared so much, would be on the other.
"If only General Lee were in command there," said Colonel Talbot, "we
might reckon upon a great and decisive victory."
"But Bragg is a good general," said Lieutenant-Colonel St. Hilaire.
"It's not enough to be merely a good general. He must have the soul of
fire that Lee has, and that Jackson had. Bragg is the Southern
McClellan. He is brave enough personally, but he always overrates the
strength of the enemy, and, if he is victorious on the field, he does
not reap the fruits of victory."
"Where were the armies when we last heard from them?" asked a captain.
"Bragg was turning north to attack Rosecrans, who stood somewhere
between him and Chattanooga."
"I'm glad that it's Rosecrans and not Grant who commands the Northern
army there," said Harry.
"Why?" asked Colonel Talbot.
"I've studied the manner in which he took Vicksburg, and I've heard
about him from my father, and others. He won't be whipped. He isn't
like the other Northern generals. He hangs on, whatever happens. I
heard some one quoting him as saying that no matter how badly his army
was suffering in battle, the army of the other fellow might be
suffering worse. It seems to me that a general who is able to think
that way is very dangerous."
"And so he is, Harry," said Colonel Talbot. "I, too, am glad that it's
Rosecrans and not Grant. If there's any news of a battle, we're not in
a bad place to hear it. It's said that Mr. Curtis always knows as soon
as our government what's happened."
The talk drifted on to another subject and then a hum came from the
larger room. A murmur only, but it struck such an intense and earnest
note that Harry was convinced.
"It's news of battle! I know it!" he exclaimed.
They sprang to their feet and hurried into the ballroom. William
Curtis, his habitual calm broken, was standing upon a chair and all the
people had gathered in front of him. A piece of paper, evidently a
telegram, was clutched in his hand.
"Friends," he said in a strained, but exultant voice, "a great battle
has been fought near Chattanooga on a little river called the
Chickamauga, and we have won a magnificent victory."
A mighty cheer came from the crowd.
"The army of Rosecrans, attacked with sudden and invincible force by
Bragg, has been shattered and driven into Chattanooga."
Another cheer burst forth.
"No part of the Union army was able to hold fast, save one wing under
Thomas."
A third mighty cheer arose, but this time Harry did not join in it. He
felt a sudden sinking of the heart at the words, "save one wing under
Thomas." Then the victory was not complete. It could be complete only
when the whole Union army was driven from the field. As long as Thomas
stood, there was a flaw in the triumph. He had heard many times of
this man, Thomas. He had Grant's qualities. He was at his best in
apparent defeat.
"Is there anything else, Mr. Curtis?" asked Colonel Talbot.
"That is all my agent sends me concerning its results, but he says that
it lasted two days, and that it was fierce and bloody beyond all
comparison with anything that has happened in the West. He estimated
that the combined losses are between thirty and forty thousand men."
A heavy silence fell upon them all. The victory was great, but the
price for it was great, too. Yet exultation could not be subdued long.
They were soon smiling over it, and congratulating one another. But
Harry was still unable to share wholly in the joy of victory.
"Why this gloom in your face, when all the rest of us are so happy?"
asked St. Clair.
"My father was there. He may have fallen. How do I know?"
"That's not it. He always comes through. What's the real cause? Out
with it!"
"You know that part of the dispatch saying, 'No part of the Union army
was able to hold fast save one wing under Thomas.' How about that
wing! You heard, too, what the colonel said about General Bragg. He
always overestimates the strength of the enemy, and while he may win a
victory he will not reap the fruits of it. That wing under Thomas
still may be standing there, protecting all the rest of the Union army."
"Come now, old Sober Face! This isn't like you. We've won a grand
victory! We've more than paid them back for their Gettysburg."
Harry rejoiced then with the others, but at times the thought came to
him that Thomas with one wing might yet be standing between Bragg and
complete victory. When he and Dalton went back home--they were again
with the Lanhams--they found the whole population of Richmond ablaze
with triumph. The Yankee army in the West had been routed. Not only
was Chickamauga an offset for Gettysburg, but for Vicksburg as well,
and once more the fortunes of the South were rising toward the zenith.
Dalton had returned from the army a little later this time than Harry,
but he had joined him at the Lanhams', and he too showed gravity amid
the almost universal rejoicing.
"I see that you're afraid the next news won't be so complete, Harry,"
he said.
"That's it, George. We don't really know much, except that Thomas was
holding his ground. Oh, if only Stonewall Jackson were there!
Remember how he came down on them at the Second Manassas and at
Chancellorsville! Thomas would be swept off his feet and as Rosecrans
retreated into Chattanooga our army would pour right on his heels!"
They waited eagerly the next day and the next for news, and while
Richmond was still filled with rejoicings over Chickamauga, Harry saw
that his fears were justified. Thomas stood till the end. Bragg had
not followed Rosecrans into Chattanooga. The South had won a great
battle, but not a decisive victory. The commanding general had not
reaped all the rewards that were his for the taking. Bragg had
justified in every way Colonel Talbot's estimate of him.
And yet Richmond, like the rest of the South, felt the great uplift of
Chickamauga, the most gigantic battle of the West. It told South as
well as North that the war was far from over. The South could no
longer invade the North, nor could the North invade the South at will.
Even on the northernmost border of the rebelling section the Army of
Northern Virginia under its matchless leader, rested in its camp,
challenging and defiant.
Harry was glad to return with his friends to the army. His brief
period of festival was over, and his fears for his father had been
relieved by a letter, stating that he had received no serious harm in
the great and terrible battle of Chickamauga.
After the failure of the armies of Lee and Meade to bring about a
decisive battle at Mine Run, the Army of Northern Virginia established
its autumn and winter headquarters on a jutting spur of the great range
called Clarke's Mountain, Orange Court House lying only a few miles to
the west. The huge camp was made in a wide-open space, surrounded by
dense masses of pines and cedars. Tents were pitched securely, and,
feeling that they were to stay here a long time many of the soldiers
built rude log cabins.
General Lee himself continued to use his tent, which stood in the
center of the camp, the streets of tents and cabins radiating from it
like the spokes of a wheel. Close about Lee's own tent were others
occupied by Colonel Taylor, his adjutant general, Colonel Peyton,
Colonel Marshall, and other and younger officers, including Harry and
Dalton. A little distance down one of the main avenues, which they
were pleased to call Victory Street, the Invincibles were encamped, and
Harry saw them almost every day.
The troops were well fed now, and the brooks provided an abundance of
clear water. The days were still warm, but the evenings were cold,
and, inhaling the healing odors of the pines and cedars, wounded
soldiers returned rapidly to health.
It was a wonderful interval for Harry and his friends associated with
him so closely. Save for the presence of armies, it seemed at times
that there was no war. Deep peace prevailed along the Rapidan and the
slopes of the mountain. It was the longest period of rest that he and
his comrades were to know in the course of the mighty struggle. The
action of the war was now chiefly in the Southwest, where Grant, taking
the place of Rosecrans, was seeking to recover all that was lost at
Chickamauga.
Harry had another letter from his father, telling him that his own had
been received, and giving personal details of the titanic struggle on
the Chickamauga. He did not speak out directly, but Harry saw in his
words the vain regret that the great opportunity won at Chickamauga at
such a terrible price had not been used. In his belief the whole
Federal army might have been destroyed, and the star of the South would
have risen again to the zenith.
Here Harry sighed and remembered his own forebodings. Oh, if only a
Stonewall Jackson had been there! His mighty sweep would have driven
Thomas and the rest in a wild rout. A tear rose in his eye as he
remembered his lost hero. He sincerely believed then and always that
the Confederacy would have won had he not fallen on that fatal evening
at Chancellorsville. It was an emotion with him, a permanent emotion
with which logic could not interfere.
Harry was conscious, too, that the long quiet on the Eastern front was
but a lull. There was nothing to signify peace in it. If the North
had ever felt despair about the war Gettysburg and Vicksburg had
removed every trace of it. He knew that beyond the blue ranges of
mountains, both to east and west, vast preparations were going forward.
The North, the region of great population, of illimitable resources, of
free access to the sea, and of mechanical genius that had counted for
so much in arming her soldiers, was gathering herself for a supreme
effort. The great defeats of the war's first period were to be
ignored, and her armies were to come again, more numerous, better
equipped and perhaps better commanded than ever.
Nevertheless, his mind was still the mind of youth, and he could not
dwell continuously upon this prospect. The camp in the hills was
pleasant. The heats had passed, and autumn in the full richness of its
coloring had come. The forests blazed in all the brilliancy of red and
yellow and brown. The whole landscape had the color and intensity that
only a North American autumn can know, and the October air had the
freshness and vitality sufficient to make an old man young.
The great army of youth--it was composed chiefly of boys, like the one
opposing it--enjoyed itself during these comparatively idle months. The
soldiers played rural games, marbles even, pitching the horseshoe,
wrestling, jumping and running. It was to Harry like Hannibal in
winter quarters at Capua, without the Capua. There was certainly no
luxury here. While food was more abundant than for a long time, it was
of the simplest. Instead of dissipation there was a great religious
revival. Ministers of different creeds, but united in a common object,
appeared in the camp, and preached with power and energy. The South
was emotional then and perhaps the war had made it more so. The
ministers secured thousands of converts. All day long the preaching
and singing could be heard through the groves of pine and cedar, and
Harry knew that when the time for battle came they would fight all the
better because of it. Yielding to the enemy was no part of the
Christianity that these ministers preached.
Harry also saw the growth of the hero-worship accorded to his great
commander. He did not believe that any other general, except perhaps
Napoleon in his earlier career, had ever received such trust and
admiration. Many soldiers who had felt his guiding hand in battle now
saw him for the first time. He had an appearance and manner to inspire
respect, and, back of that, was something much greater, a firm
conviction in the minds of all that he had illimitable patience, a
willingness to accept responsibility, and a military genius that had
never been surpassed. Such was the attitude of the Southern people
toward their great leader then, and, to an even greater degree now,
when his figure, like that of Lincoln, instead of becoming smaller
grows larger as it recedes into the past.
Harry often rode with him. He seemed to have an especial liking for
the very young members of his staff, or for old private soldiers,
bearded and gray like himself, whom he knew by name. Far in October he
rode down toward the Rapidan where Stuart was encamped, taking with him
only Harry and Dalton. He was mounted on his great white war horse,
Traveller, which the soldiers knew from afar. Cheering arose, but when
he raised his hand in a deprecating way the soldiers, obedient to his
wish, ceased, and they heard only the murmur of many voices, as they
went on. The general made the lads ride, one on his right and the
other on his left hand, and brilliant October coloring and crisp air
seemed to put him in a mood that was far from war.
"I pine for Arlington," he said at length to Harry, "that ancestral
home of mine that is held by the enemy. I should like to see the
ripening of the crops there. We Virginians of the old stock hold to
the land, and you Kentuckians, who are really of the same race, hold to
it, too."
"It is true, sir," said Harry. "My father loves the land. After his
retirement from the army, following the Mexican war, he worked harder
upon our place in Kentucky than any slave or hired man. He was going
to free his slaves, but I suppose, sir, that the war has made him feel
different about it."
"Yes, we're often willing to do things by our own free will, but not
under compulsion. The great Washington himself wrote of the evils of
slave labor. The 'old fields' scattered all over Virginia show what it
has done for this noble commonwealth."
Harry remembered quite well similar "old fields" in Kentucky. Slaves
were far less numerous there than in Virginia, and he was old enough to
have observed that, in addition to the wrong of slavery, they were a
liability rather than an asset. But he too felt anew the instinctive
rebellion against being compelled to do what he would perhaps do anyhow.
General Lee talked more of the land and Harry and Dalton listened
respectfully. Harry saw that his commander's heart turned strongly
toward it. He knew that Jefferson had dreamed of the United States as
an agricultural community, having no part in the quarrels of other
nations, but he knew that it was only a dream. The South, the section
that had followed Jefferson's dream, was now at a great disadvantage.
It had no ships, and it did not have the mills to equip it for the
great war it was waging. He realized more keenly than ever the
one-sided nature of the South's development.
The general turned his horse toward the banks of the Rapidan, and a
resplendent figure came forward to meet him. It was that incarnation
of youth and fantastic knighthood, Jeb Stuart, who had just returned
from a ride toward the north. He wore a new and brilliant uniform and
the usual broad yellow sash about his waist. His tunic was
embroidered, too, and his epaulets were heavy with gold. The thick
gold braid about his hat was tied in a gorgeous loop in front. His
hands were encased in long gloves of the finest buckskin, and he tapped
the high yellow tops of his riding boots with a little whip.
Harry always felt that Stuart did not really belong to the present. His
place was with the medieval knights who loved gorgeous armor, who
fought by day for the love of it and who sat in the evening on the
castle steps with fair ladies for the love of it, and who in the dark
listened to the troubadours below, also for the love of it. A great
cavalry leader, he shone at his brightest in the chase, and, when there
was no fighting to be done, his were the spirits of a boy, and he was
as quick for a prank as any lad under his own command.
But Stuart, although he had joked with Jackson, never took any
liberties with Lee. He instantly swept the ground with his plumed hat
and said in his most respectful manner:
"General, will you honor us by dining with us? We've just returned
from a long ride northward and we've made some captures."
Lee caught a twinkle in his eye, and he smiled.
"I see no prisoners, General Stuart," he replied, "and I take it that
your captures do not mean human beings."
"No, sir, there are other things just now more valuable to us than
prisoners. We raided a little Yankee outpost. Nobody was hurt, but,
sir, we've captured some provisions, the like of which the Army of
Northern Virginia has not tasted in a long time. Would you mind coming
with me and taking a look? And bring Kenton and Dalton with you, if
you don't mind, sir."
"This indeed sounds tempting," said the commander-in-chief of the Army
of Northern Virginia. "I accept your invitation, General Stuart, in
behalf of myself and my two young aides."
He dismounted, giving the reins of Traveller to an orderly, and walked
toward Stuart's tent, which was pitched near the river. The "captures"
were heaped in a grassy place.
"Here, sir," said General Stuart, "are twenty dozen boxes of the finest
French sardines. I haven't tasted sardines in a year and I love them."
"I've always liked them," said General Lee.
"And here, sir, are several cases of Yorkshire ham, brought all the way
across the sea--and for us. It isn't as good as our Virginia ham,
which is growing scarce, but we'll like it. And cove oysters, cases
and cases of 'em. I like 'em almost as well as sardines."
"Most excellent."
"And real old New England pies, baked, I suppose, in Washington. We
can warm 'em over."
"I see that you have the fire ready."
"And jars of preserves, a half-dozen kinds at least, and all of 'em
look as if two likely youngsters like Kenton and Dalton would be
anxious to get at 'em."
"You judge us rightly, General," said Harry. "We'll show no mercy to
such prisoners as we have here."
"You wouldn't be boys and you wouldn't be human if you did," rejoined
Stuart, "would they, General?"
"They would not," replied Lee. "One of the principal recollections of
my boyhood is that I was always hungry. Our regular three meals a day
were not enough for us, however much we ate at one time. Virginia,
like your own Kentucky, Harry, is full of forage, and we moved in
groups. Now, didn't you find a lot of food in the woods and fields?"
"Oh, yes, sir," rejoined Harry with animation. "I was hungry all the
time, too. An hour after breakfast I was hungry again, and an hour
after dinner, which we had in the middle of the day, I was hungry once
more."
"But you knew where to go for supplies."
"Yes, sir; we had berries, strawberries, blackberries, raspberries,
gooseberries, dewberries, cherries, all of them growing wild although
some of them started tame. And then we could forage for pears,
peaches, plums, damsons, all kinds of apples, paw paws, and then later
for the nuts, hickory nuts, walnuts, chestnuts, hazel nuts,
chinquapins, and a lot more. We could have almost lived in the woods
and fields from early spring until late fall."
"We did the same in Virginia," said the commander-in-chief. "I've
often thought that our forest Indians did not develop a higher
civilization, because it was so easy for them to live, save in the
depths of a hard winter. They had most of the berries and fruits and
nuts that we white boys had. The woods were full of game, and the
lakes and rivers full of fish. They were not driven by the hard
necessity that creates civilization."
"Dinner is ready, sir," announced General Stuart, who had been
directing the orderlies. "I can offer you and the others nothing but
boxes and kegs to sit on, but I can assure you that this Northern food,
some of which comes in cans, is excellent."
The two lads and General Stuart fell to work with energy. General Lee
ate more sparingly. Stuart was a boy himself, talking much and running
over with fun.
"Have you heard what happened to General Early, sir?" he asked the
commander-in-chief.
"Not yet."
"But you will, sir, to-morrow. Early will be slow in sending you that
dispatch. He hasn't had time to write it yet. He's not through
swearing."
"General Early is a valiant and able man, but I disapprove of his
swearing."
"Why, sir, 'Old Jube' can't help it. It's a part of his breathing, and
man cannot live without breath. He sent one of his best aides with a
dispatch to General Hill, who is posted some distance away. Passing
through a thick cedar wood the aide was suddenly set upon by a genuine
stage villain, large, dark and powerful, who clubbed him over the head
with the butt of a pistol, and then departed with his dispatch."
"And what happened then?"
"The aide returned to General Early with his story, but without his
dispatch. The general believed his account, of course, but he called
him names for allowing himself to be surprised and overcome by a single
Yankee. He cursed until the air for fifty yards about him smelled
strongly of sulphur and brimstone."
"Did he do anything more?"
"Yes, General. He sent a duplicate of the dispatch by an aide whom he
said he could trust. In an hour the second man came back with the same
big lump on his head and with the same story. He had been ambushed at
the crossing of a ravine full of small cedars, and the highwayman was
undoubtedly the same, too, a big, powerful fellow, as bold as you
please."
Harry's pulse throbbed hard for a few moments, when he first heard
mention of the man. The description, not only physical, but of manner
and action as well, answered perfectly. He had not the slightest doubt
that it was Shepard.
"A daring deed," said General Lee. "We must see that it is not
repeated."
"But that wasn't all of the tale, sir. While the second man was
sitting on the bank, nursing his broken head, the Yankee Dick Turpin
read the dispatch and saw that it was a duplicate of the first. He
became red-hot with wrath, and talked furiously about the extra and
unnecessary work that General Early was forcing upon him. He ended by
cramming the dispatch into the man's hands, directing him to take it
back, and to tell General Early to stop his foolishness. The aide was
a bit dazed from the blow he received and he delivered that message
word for word. Why, sir, General Early exploded. People who have
heard him swear for years and who know what an artist he is in
swearing, heard him then utter swear words that they had never heard
before, words invented on the spur of the moment, and in the heat of
passion, words full of pith and meaning."
"And that was all, I suppose?"
"Not by any means, sir. General Early picked two sharpshooters and
sent them with another copy of the dispatch. They passed the place of
the first hold-up, and next the ravine without seeing anybody. But as
they were riding some distance further on both of their horses were
killed by shots from a small clump of pines. Before they could regain
their feet Dick Turpin came out and covered them with his rifle--it
seems that he had one of those new repeating weapons.
"The men saw that his eye was so keen and his hand so steady that they
did not dare to move a hand to a pistol. Then as he looked down the
sights of his rifle he lectured them. He told them they were foolish
to come that way, when the two who came before them had found out that
it was a closed road. He said that real soldiers learned by
experience, and would not try again to do what they had learned to be
impossible.
"Then he said that after all they were not to blame, as they had been
sent by General Early, and he made one of them who had the stub of a
pencil write on the back of the dispatch these words: 'General Jubal
Early, C. S. A.: This has ceased to be a joke. After your first man
was stopped, it was not necessary to do anything more. I have the
dispatch. Why insist on sending duplicate after duplicate?' And the
two had to walk all the way back to General Early with that note,
because they didn't dare make away with the dispatch.
"I have a certain respect for that man's skill and daring, but General
Early had a series of spells. He retired to his tent and if the
reports are not exaggerated, a continuous muttering like low thunder
came from the tent, and all the cloth of it turned blue from the
lightnings imprisoned inside."
General Lee himself smiled.
"It was certainly annoying," he said. "I hope the dispatch was not of
importance."
"It contained nothing that will help the Yankees, but it shows that the
enemy has some spies--or at least one spy--who are Napoleons at their
trade."