JACKSON MOVES
It was impossible for Harry to restrain a vivid feeling of exultation.
He was in the open, and he was leaving the Northern cavalry far behind.
Nor was it likely that any further enemy would appear now between him
and Jackson's army. Chance had certainly favored him. What a glorious
goddess Chance was when she happened to be on your side! Then
everything fell out as you wished it. You could not go wrong.
The horse he rode was even better than the one he had lost, and a pair
of splendid pistols in holsters lay across the saddle. He could account
for two enemies if need be, but when he looked back he saw no pursuers
in sight, and he slowed his pace in order not to overtax the horse.
Not long afterwards he saw the Southern pickets belonging to the
vanguard of the Invincibles. St. Clair himself was with them, and
when he saw Harry he galloped forward, uttering a shout.
St. Clair had known of the errand upon which Harry had gone with
Sherburne, and now he was alarmed to see him riding back alone, worn
and covered with dust.
"What's the matter, Harry?" he cried, "and where are the others?"
"Nothing's the matter with me, and I don't know where the others are.
But, Arthur, I've got to see General Jackson at once! Where is he?"
Harry's manner was enough to impress his comrade, who knew him so well.
"This way," he said. "Not more than four or five hundred yards.
There, that's General Jackson's tent!"
Harry leaped from his horse as he came near and made a rush for the
tent. The flap was open, but a sentinel who stood in front put up his
rifle, and barred the way. A low monotone came from within the tent.
"The General's praying," he said. "I can't let you in for a minute or
two."
Harry took off his hat and stood in silence while the two minutes
lasted. All his haste was suddenly gone from him. The strong affection
that he felt for Jackson was tinged at times with awe, and this awe was
always strongest when the general was praying. He knew that the prayer
was no affectation, that it came from the bottom of his soul, like that
of a crusader, asking forgiveness for his sins.
The monotone ceased, the soldier took down his rifle which was held like
a bar across the way, and Harry, entering, saluted his general, who was
sitting in the half light at a table, reading a little book, which the
lad guessed was a pocket Bible.
Harry saluted and Jackson looked at him gravely.
"You've come back alone, it seems," he said, "but you've obeyed my
instructions not to come without definite news?"
"I have, sir."
"What have you seen?"
"We saw the main army of General McClellan crossing the Potomac at
Berlin. He must have had there a hundred thousand men and three or
four hundred guns, and others were certainly crossing elsewhere."
"You saw all this with your own eyes?"
"I did, sir. We watched them for a long time. They were crossing on a
bridge of boats."
"You are dusty and you look very worn. Did you come in contact with the
enemy?"
"Yes, sir. Many of their horsemen were already on this side of the
river, and this morning I was pressed very hard by a troop of their
cavalry. I gained a wood, but just at the edge of it my horse was
killed by a chance shot."
"Your horse killed? Then how could you escape from cavalry?"
"Chance favored me, sir. I dodged them for a while in the woods and
underbrush, helped by gullies here and there, and when I came to the
edge of the wood only a single horseman was near me. I hid behind a
tree and knocked him out of the saddle as he was riding past."
"I hope you did not kill him."
"I did not. He was merely stunned. He will have a headache for a day
or two, and then he will be as well as ever. I jumped on his horse and
galloped here as straight and fast as I could."
A faint smile passed over Jackson's face.
"You were lucky to make the exchange of horses," he said, "and you have
done well. The enemy comes and our days of rest are over. Do you know
anything of Captain Sherburne and his troop?"
"Captain Sherburne, under the urgency of pursuit, scattered his men
in order that some of them at least might reach you with the news of
General McClellan's crossing. I was the first detached, and so I know
nothing of the others."
"And also you were the first to arrive. I trust that Captain Sherburne
and all of his men will yet come. We can ill spare them."
"I truly hope so, sir."
"You need food and sleep. Get both. You will be called when you are
needed. You have done well, Lieutenant Kenton."
"Thank you, sir."
Harry, saluting again, withdrew. He was very proud of his general's
commendation, but he was also on the verge of physical collapse.
He obtained some food at a camp fire near by, ate it quickly, wrapped
himself in borrowed blankets, and lay down under the shade of an oak.
Langdon saw him just as he was about to close his eyes, and called to
him:
"Here, Harry, I didn't know you were back. What's your news?"
"That McClellan and the Yankee army are this side of the Potomac.
That's all. Good night."
He closed his eyes, and although it was near the middle of the day,
with the multifarious noises of the camp about him, he fell into the
deep and beautiful sleep of the tired youth who has done his duty.
He was still asleep when Captain Sherburne, worn and wounded slightly,
came in and reported also to General Jackson. He and his main force had
been pursued and had been in a hot little brush with the Union cavalry,
both sides losing several men. Others who had been detached before the
action also returned and reported. All of them, like Harry, were told
to seek food and sleep.
Harry slept a long time, and the soldiers who passed, making many
preparations, never disturbed him. But the entire Southern army under
Lee, assisted by his two great corps commanders, Jackson and Longstreet,
was making ready to meet the Army of the Potomac under McClellan.
The spirit of the Army of Northern Virginia was high, and the news that
the enemy was marching was welcome to them.
When Harry awoke the sun had passed its zenith and the cool October
shadows were falling. He yawned prodigiously, stretched his arms,
and for a few moments could not remember where he was, or what he had
been doing.
"Quit yawning so hard," said Happy Tom Langdon. "You may get your mouth
so wide open that you'll never be able to shut it again."
"What's happened?"
"What's happened, while you were asleep? Well, it will take a long time
to tell it, Mr. Rip Van Winkle. You have slept exactly a week, and in
the course of that time we fought a great battle with McClellan, were
defeated by him, chiefly owing to your comatose condition, and have
fallen back on Richmond, carrying you with us asleep in a wagon.
If you will look behind you you will see the spires of Richmond.
Oh, Harry! Harry! Why did you sleep so long and so hard when we needed
you so much?"
"Shut up, Tom. If ever talking matches become the fashion, I mean
to enter you in all of them for the first prize. Now, tell me what
happened while I was asleep, and tell it quick!"
"Well, me lad, since you're high and haughty, not to say dictatorial
about it, I, as proud and haughty as thyself, defy thee. George,
you tell him all about it." Dalton grinned. A grave and serious youth
himself, he liked Langdon's perpetual fund of chaff and good humor.
"Nothing has happened, Harry, while you slept," he said, "except that
the army, or at least General Jackson's corps, has been making ready for
a possible great battle. We're scattered along a long line, and General
Lee and General Longstreet are some distance from us, but our generals
don't seem to be alarmed in the least. It's said that McClellan will
soon be between us and Richmond, but I can't see any alarm about that
either."
"Why should there be?" said St. Clair, who was also sitting by. "It
would make McClellan's position dangerous, not ours."
"Arthur puts it right," said Langdon. "When we go to our tents, show
him the new uniform you've got, Arthur. It's the most gorgeous affair
in the Army of Northern Virginia, and it cost him a whole year's pay
in Confederate money. Have you noticed, Harry, that the weakest thing
about us is our money? We're the greatest marchers and fighters in the
world, but nobody, not even our own people, seem to fall in love with
our money."
"I suppose that General Jackson is now ready to march whenever the word
should come," said St. Clair. "The boys, as far as I can see, have
returned to their rest and play. There's that Cajun band playing again."
"And it sounds mighty good," said Harry. "Look at those Louisiana
Frenchmen dancing."
The spirits of the swarthy Acadians were irrepressible. As they had
danced in the great days in the valley in the spring, now they were
dancing when autumn was merging into winter, and they sang their songs
of the South, some of which had come from old Brittany through Nova
Scotia to Louisiana.
Harry liked the French blood, and he had learned to like greatly these
men who were so much underestimated in the beginning. He and his
comrades watched them as they whirled in the dance, clasped in one
another's arms, their dark faces glowing, white teeth flashing and black
eyes sparkling. He saw that they were carried away by the music and the
dance, and as they floated over the turf they were dreaming of their far
and sunny land and the girls they had left behind them. He had been
reared in a stern and more northern school, but he had learned long
since that a love of innocent pleasure was no sign of effeminacy or
corruption.
"Good to look on, isn't it, Harry?" said St. Clair.
"Yes, and good to hear, too."
"Come with me into this little dip, and I'll show you another sight
that's good to see."
There was a low ridge on their right, crested with tall trees and
dropping down abruptly on the other side. A little distance on rose
another low ridge, but between the two was a snug and grassy bowl,
and within the bowl, sitting on the dry grass, with a chessboard between
them, were Colonel Leonidas Talbot and Lieutenant-Colonel Hector
St. Hilaire. They were absorbed so deeply in their game that they did
not notice the boys on the crest of the bank looking over at them.
Colonel Leonidas Talbot and Lieutenant-Colonel Hector St. Hilaire had
not changed a particle--to the eyes, at least--in a year and a half of
campaigning and tremendous battles. They may have been a little leaner
and a little thinner, but they were lean and thin men, anyhow. Their
uniforms, although faded and worn, were neat and clean, and as each sat
on a fragment of log, while the board rested on a stump between, they
were able to maintain their dignity.
It was Colonel Talbot's move. His hand rested on the red king and he
pondered long. Lieutenant-Colonel St. Hilaire waited without a sign of
impatience. He would take just as long a time with his knight or bishop,
or whichever of the white men he chose to use.
"I confess, Hector," said Colonel Talbot at length, "that this move
puzzles me greatly."
"It would puzzle me too, Leonidas, were I in your place," said
Lieutenant-Colonel St. Hilaire; "but you must recall that just before
the Second Manassas you seemed to have me checkmated, and that I have
escaped from a most dangerous position."
"True, true, Hector! I thought I had you, but you slipped from my net.
Those were, beyond all dispute, most skillful and daring moves you made.
It pays to be bold in this world."
"Do you know," whispered St. Clair to Harry, "that this unfinished game
is the one they began last spring in the valley? We saw them playing
it in a fence corner before action. They've taken it up again at least
four or five times between battles, but neither has ever been able to
win. However, they'll fight it out to a finish, if a bullet doesn't get
one first. They always remember the exact position in which the figures
were when they quit."
Colonel Talbot happened to look up and saw the boys.
"Come down," he said, "and join us. It is pleasant to see you again,
Harry. I heard of your mission, its success and your safe return.
Hector, I suppose we'll have to postpone the next stage of our game
until we whip the Yankees again or are whipped by them. I believe I
can yet rescue that red king."
"Perhaps so, Leonidas. Undoubtedly you'll have plenty of time to think
over it."
"Which is a good thing, Hector."
"Which is undoubtedly a good thing, Leonidas."
They put the chess men carefully in a box, which they gave to an orderly
with very strict injunctions. Then both, after heaving a deep sigh,
transformed themselves into men of energy, action, precision and
judgment. Every soldier and officer in the trim ranks of the
Invincibles was ready.
But action did not come as soon as Harry and his friends had thought.
Lee made preliminary movements to mass his army for battle, and then
stopped. The spies reported that political wire-pulling, that bane of
the North, was at work. McClellan's enemies at Washington were active,
and his indiscreet utterances were used to the full against him.
Attention was called again and again to his great overestimates of Lee's
army and to the paralysis that seemed to overcome him when he was in the
presence of the enemy. Lincoln, the most forgiving of men, could not
forgive him for his failure to use his full opportunity at Antietam and
destroy Lee.
The advance of McClellan stopped. His army remained motionless while
October passed into November. The cold winds off the mountains swept
the last leaves from the trees, and Harry wondered what was going to
happen. Then St. Clair came to him, precise and dignified in manner,
but obviously anxious to tell important news.
"What is it, Arthur?" asked Harry.
"We've got news straight from Washington that McClellan is no longer
commander of the Army of the Potomac."
"What! They've nobody to put in his place."
"But they have put somebody in his place, just the same."
"Name, please."
"Burnside, Ambrose E. Burnside, with a beautiful fringe of whiskers
along each side of his face."
"Well, we can beat any general who wears side whiskers. After all,
I'm glad we don't have McClellan to deal with again. Wasn't this
Burnside the man who delayed a part of the Union attack at Antietam
so long that we had time to beat off the other part?"
"The same."
"Then I'm thinking that he'll be caught between the hammer and the anvil
of Lee and Jackson, just as Pope was."
"Most likely. Anyhow, our army is rejoicing over the removal of
McClellan as commander-in-chief of the Army of the Potomac. That's
something of a tribute to McClellan, isn't it?"
"Yes, good-bye, George! We've had two good fights with you, Seven Days
and Antietam, with Pope in between at the Second Manassas, and now,
ho! for Burnside!"
The reception of the news that Burnside had replaced McClellan was
the same throughout the Army of Northern Virginia. The officers and
soldiers now felt that they were going to face a man who was far less
of a match for Lee and Jackson than McClellan had been, and McClellan
himself had been unequal to the task. They were anxious to meet
Burnside. They heard that he was honest and had no overweening opinion
of his own abilities. He did not wish to be put in the place of
McClellan, preferring to remain a division or corps commander.
"Then, if that's so," said Sherburne, "we've won already. If a man
thinks he's not able to lead the Army of the Potomac, then he isn't.
Anyhow, we'll quickly see what will happen."
But again it was not as soon as they had had expected. The Northern
advance was delayed once more, and Jackson with his staff and a large
part of his force moved to Winchester, the town that he loved so much,
and around which he had won so much of his glory. His tent was pitched
beside the Presbyterian manse, and he and Dr. Graham resumed their
theological discussions, in which Jackson had an interest so deep and
abiding that the great war rolling about them, with himself as a central
figure, could not disturb it.
The coldness of the weather increased and the winds from the mountains
were often bitter, but the new stay in Winchester was pleasant, like
the old. Harry himself felt a throb of joy when they returned to the
familiar places. Despite the coldness of mid-November the weather was
often beautiful. The troops, scattered through the fields and in the
forest about the town, were in a happy mood. They had many dead
comrades to remember, but youth cannot mourn long. They were there in
ease and plenty again, under a commander who had led them to nothing but
victory. They heard many reports that Burnside was marching and that he
might soon cross the Rappahannock, and they heard also that Jackson's
advance to Winchester with his corps had created the deepest alarm in
Washington. The North did not trust Burnside as a commander-in-chief,
and it had great cause to fear Jackson. Even the North itself openly
expressed admiration for his brilliant achievements.
Reports came to Winchester that an attack by Jackson on Washington was
feared. Maryland expected another invasion. Pennsylvania, remembering
the daring raid which Stuart had made through Chambersburg, one of her
cities, picking up prisoners on the way, dreaded the coming of a far
mightier force than the one Stuart had led. At the capital itself it
was said that many people were packing, preparatory to fleeing into the
farther North.
But Harry and his comrades thought little of these things for a few
days. It was certainly pleasant there in the little Virginia town.
The people of Winchester and those of the country far and wide
delighted to help and honor them. Food was abundant and the crisp cold
strengthened and freshened the blood in their veins. The fire and
courage of Jackson's men had never risen higher.
Jackson himself seemed to be thinking but little of war for a day or
two. His inseparable companion was the Presbyterian minister,
Dr. Graham, to whom he often said that he thought it was the noblest and
grandest thing in the world to be a great minister. Harry, as his aide,
being invariably near him, was impressed more and more by his
extraordinary mixture of martial and religious fervor. The man who
prayed before going into battle, and who was never willing to fight on
Sunday, would nevertheless hurl his men directly into the cannon's mouth
for the sake of victory, and would never excuse the least flinching on
the part of either officer or private.
It seemed to Harry that the two kinds of fervor in Jackson, the martial
and the religious, were in about equal proportions, and they always
inspired him with a sort of awe. Deep as were his affection and
admiration for Jackson, he would never have presumed upon the slightest
familiarity. Nor would any other officer of his command.
Yet the tender side of Jackson was often shown during his last days in
his beloved Winchester. The hero-worshipping women of the South often
brought their children to see him, to receive his blessing, and to say
when they were grown that the great Jackson had put his hands upon their
heads.
Harry and his three comrades of his own age, who had been down near the
creek, were returning late one afternoon to headquarters near the manse,
when they heard the shout of many childish voices.
They saw that he was walking again with the minister, but that he was
surrounded by at least a dozen little girls, every one of whom demanded
in turn that he shake her hand. He was busily engaged in this task when
the whole group passed out of sight into the manse.
"The Northern newspapers denounce us as passionate and headstrong,
with all the faults of the cavaliers," said St. Clair. "I only wish
they could see General Jackson as he is. Lee and Jackson come much
nearer being Puritans than their generals do."
Harry that night, as he sat in the little anteroom of Jackson's quarters
awaiting orders, heard again the low tone of his general praying.
The words were not audible, but the steady and earnest sound came to
him for some time. It was late, and all the soldiers were asleep or at
rest. No sound came from the army, and besides Jackson's voice there
was none other, save the sighing of the winds down from the mountains.
Harry, as he listened to the prayer, felt a deep and overwhelming sense
of solemnity and awe. He felt that it was at once a petition and a
presage. Sitting there in the half dark mighty events were
foreshadowed. It seemed to him that they were about to enter upon a
struggle more terrible than any that had gone before, and those had
been terrible beyond the anticipation of anybody.
The omens did not fail. Jackson's army marched the next morning,
turning southward along the turnpike in order to effect the junction
with Lee and Longstreet. All Winchester had assembled to bid them
farewell, the people confident that the army would win victory, but
knowing its cost now.
There was water in Harry's eyes as he listened to the shouts and cheers
and saw the young girls waving the little Confederate flags.
"If good wishes can do anything," said Harry, "then we ought to win."
"So we should. I'm glad to have the good wishes, but, Harry, when
you're up against the enemy, they can't take the place of cannon and
rifles. Look at Colonel Talbot and Lieutenant-Colonel St. Hilaire.
See how straight and precise they are. But both are suffering from a
deep disappointment. They started their chess game again last night,
Colonel Talbot to make the first move with his king, but before he could
decide upon any course with that king the orders came for us to get
ready for the march. The chessmen went into the box, and they'll have
another chance, probably after we beat Burnside."
They went on up the valley, through the scenes of triumphs remembered so
well. All around them were their battlefields of the spring, and there
were the massive ridges of the Massanuttons that Jackson had used so
skillfully, not clothed in green now, but with the scanty leaves of
closing autumn.
Neither Harry nor any of his comrades knew just where they were going.
That secret was locked fast under the old slouch hat of Jackson, and
Harry, like all the others, was content to wait. Old Jack knew where he
was going and what he meant to do. And wherever he was going it was the
right place to go to, and whatever he meant to do was just the thing
that ought to be done. His extraordinary spell over his men deepened
with the passing days.
As they went farther southward they saw sheltered slopes of the
mountains where the foliage yet glowed in the reds and yellows of autumn,
"purple patches" on the landscape. Over ridges to both east and west
the fine haze of Indian summer yet hung. It was a wonderful world,
full of beauty. The air was better and nobler than wine, and the creeks
and brooks flowing swiftly down the slopes flashed in silver.
There were no enemies here. The people, mostly women and
children--nearly all the men had gone to war--came out to cheer them as
they passed, and to bring them what food and clothing they could. The
Valley never wavered in its allegiance to the South, although great
armies fought and trod back and forth over its whole course through all
the years of the war.
They turned east and defiled through a narrow pass in the mountains,
where the sheltered slopes again glowed in yellow and gold. Jackson,
in somber and faded gray, rode near the head of the corps on his
faithful Little Sorrel, his chin sunk upon his breast, his eyes
apparently not seeing what was about them, the worn face somber and
thoughtful. Harry knew that the great brain under the old slouch
hat was working every moment, always working with an intensity and
concentration of which few men were ever capable. Harry, following
close behind him, invariably watched him, but he could never read
anything of Jackson's mind from his actions.
Then came the soldiers in broad and flowing columns, that is, they
seemed to Harry, in the intense autumn light, to flow like a river of
men and horses and steel, beautiful to look on now, but terrible in
battle.
"We're better than ever," said the sober Dalton. "Antietam stopped us
for the time, but we are stronger than we were before that battle."
"Stronger and even more enthusiastic," Harry concurred. "Ah, there goes
the Cajun band and the other bands and our boys singing our great tune!
Listen to it!"
"Southrons hear your country call you;
Up, lest worse than death befall you!
To arms! To arms! To arms in Dixie!
Lo! all the beacon fires are lighted--
Let all hearts now be united!
To arms! To arms! To arms in Dixie!"
The chorus of the battle song, so little in words, so great in its
thrilling battle note, was taken up by more than a score of thousand,
and the vast volume of sound, confined in narrow defiles, rolled like
thunder, giving forth mighty echoes. Harry was moved tremendously and
he saw Jackson himself come out of his deep thought and lift up his face
that glowed.
"It's certainly great," said Dalton to Harry. "It would drag a man
from the hospital and send him into battle. I know now how the French
republican troops on the march felt when they heard the Marseillaise."
"But the words don't seem to me to be the same that I heard at Bull Run."
"No, they're not; but what does it matter? That thrilling music is
always the same, and it's enough."
Already the origin of the renowned battle song was veiled in doubt,
and different versions of the words were appearing; but the music never
changed and every step responded to it.
The army passed through the defile, entered another portion of the
valley, forded a fork of the Shenandoah, crossed the Luray Valley,
and then entered the steep passes of the Blue Ridge. Here they found
autumn gone and winter upon them. As the passes rose and the mountains,
clothed in pine forest, hung over them, the soft haze of Indian summer
fled, and in its place came a low, gray sky, somber and chill. Sharp
winds cut them, but the blood flowed warm and strong in their veins as
they trod the upward path between the ridges. Once more a verse of the
defiant Dixie rolled and echoed through the lofty and bleak pine forest:
"How the South's great heart rejoices
At your cannon's ringing voices;
To arms!
For faith betrayed, and pledges broken,
Wrongs inflicted, insults spoken
To arms!
Advance the flag of Dixie."
Now on the heights the last shreds and patches of autumn were blown away
by the winds of winter. The sullen skies lowered continually. Flakes
of snow whirled into their faces, but they merely bent their heads
to the storm and marched steadily onward. They had not been called
Jackson's Foot Cavalry for nothing. They were proud of the name,
and they meant to deserve it more thoroughly than ever.
"I take it," said Dalton to Harry, "that some change has occurred in the
Northern plans. The Army of the Potomac must be marching along in a new
line."
"So do I. The battle will be fought in lower country."
"And we will be with Lee and Longstreet in a day or two."
"So it looks."
Jackson stopped twice, a full day each time, for rest, but at the end of
the eighth day, including the two for rest, he had driven his men one
hundred and twenty miles over mountains and across rivers. They also
passed through cold and heavy snow, but they now found themselves in
lower country at the village of Orange Court House. The larger town of
Fredericksburg lay less than forty miles away. Harry was not familiar
with the name of Fredericksburg, but it was destined to be before long
one that he could never forget. In after years it was hard for him to
persuade himself that famous names were not famous always. The name of
some village or river or mountain would be burned into his brain with
such force and intensity that the letters seemed to have been there
since the beginning.
It lacked but two days of December when they came to Orange Court House,
but they heard that the Northern front was more formidable and menacing
than ever. Burnside had shown more energy than was expected of him.
He had formed a plan to march upon Richmond, and, despite the
alterations in his course, he was clinging to that plan. He had at the
least, so the scouts said, one hundred and twenty thousand men and four
hundred guns. The North, moreover, which always commanded the water,
had gunboats in the Rappahannock below Fredericksburg, and they would be,
as they were throughout the war, a powerful arm.
Harry knew, too, the temper and resolution of the North, the slow,
cold wrath that could not be checked by one defeat or half a dozen.
Antietam, as he saw it, had merely been a temporary check to the
Confederate arms, where the forces of Lee and Jackson had fought off
at least double their number. The Northern men could not yet boast of
a single clean-cut victory in the battles of the east, but they were
coming on again as stern and resolute as ever. Defeat seemed to serve
only as an incentive to them. After every one, recruits poured down
from the north and west to lift anew the flag of the Union.
There was something in this steady, unyielding resolve that sent a chill
through Harry. It was possible that men who came on and who never
ceased coming would win in the end. The South--and he was sanguine that
such men as Lee and Jackson could not be beaten----might wear itself out
by the very winning of victories. The chill came again when he counted
the resources pitted against his side. He was a lad of education and
great intelligence, and he had no illusions now about the might of the
North and its willingness to fight.
But youth, in spite of facts, can forget odds as well as loss. The
doubts that would come at times were always dispelled when he looked
upon the glorious Army of Northern Virginia. It was now nearly eighty
thousand strong, with an almost unbroken record of victory, trusting
absolutely in its leadership and supremely confident that it could whip
any other army on the planet. Its brilliant generals were gathered with
Jackson or with Lee and Longstreet. They were as confident as their
soldiers and no movement of the enemy escaped them. Stuart, with his
plume and sash, at which no man now dared to scoff, hung with his
horsemen like a fringe on the flank of Burnside's own army, cutting off
the Union scouts and skirmishers and hiding the plans of Lee.
Messengers brought news that Burnside would certainly cross the
Rappahannock, covered by the Union artillery, which was always far
superior in weight and power to that of the South. Harry heard that the
passage of the river would not be opposed, because the Southern army
could occupy stronger positions farther back, but he did not know
whether the rumors were true.
The word now came, and they went forward from Orange Court House toward
Fredericksburg to join Lee and Longstreet. When they marched toward the
Second Manassas they had suffered from an almost intolerable heat and
dust. Now they advanced through a winter that seemed to pour upon them
every variety of discomfort. Heavy snows fell, icy rains came and
fierce winds blew. The country was deserted, and the roads beneath the
rain and snow and the passage of great armies disappeared. Vast muddy
trenches marked where they had been, and the mud was deep and sticky,
covering everything as it was ground up, and coloring the whole army
the same hue. Somber and sullen skies brooded over them continually.
Not even Jackson's foot cavalry could make much progress through such a
sea of mud.
"A battle would be a relief," said Harry, as he rode with the
Invincibles, having brought some order to Colonel Talbot. "There's
nothing like this to take the starch out of men. Isn't that so, Happy?"
"It depresses ordinary persons like you, Harry," replied Langdon,
"but a soul like mine leaps up to meet the difficulties. Mud as an
obstacle is nothing to me. As I was riding along here I was merely
thinking about the different kinds we have. I note that this Virginia
mud is tremendously sticky, inclined to be red in color, and I should
say that on the whole it's not as handsome as our South Carolina mud,
especially when I see our product at its best. What kind of mud do you
have in Kentucky, Harry?"
"All kinds, red, black, brown and every other shade."
"Well, there's a lot of snow mixed with this, too. I think that at the
very bottom there is a layer of snow, and then the mud and the snow come
in alternate layers until within a foot of the top, after which it's all
mud. Harry, Old Jack doesn't believe it's right to fight on Sunday,
but do you believe it's right to fight in winter, when the armies have
to waste so much strength and effort in getting at one another?"
He was interrupted by the mellow tones of a bugle, and a brilliant troop
of horsemen came trotting toward them through a field, where the mud was
not so deep. They recognized Stuart in his gorgeous panoply at their
head and behind him was Sherburne.
Stuart rode up to the Invincibles. Colonel Leonidas Talbot and
Lieutenant-Colonel Hector St. Hilaire gravely saluted the brilliant
apparition.
"I am General Stuart," said Stuart, lifting the plumed hat, "and I
am glad to welcome the vanguard of General Jackson. May I ask, sir,
what regiment is this?"
"It is the South Carolina regiment known as the Invincibles," said
Colonel Talbot proudly, as he lifted his cap in a return salute,
"although it does not now contain many South Carolinians. Alas! most of
the lads who marched so proudly away from Charleston have gone to their
last rest, and their places have been filled chiefly by Virginians.
But the Virginians are a brave and gallant people, sir, almost equal
in fire and dash to the South Carolinians."
Stuart smiled. He knew that it was meant as a compliment of the first
class, and as such he took it.
"I think, sir," he said, "that I am speaking to Colonel Leonidas Talbot?"
"You are, sir, and the gentleman on my right is the second in command
of this regiment, Lieutenant-Colonel Hector St. Hilaire, a most noble
gentleman and valiant and skillful officer. We have met you before,
sir. You saved us before Bull Run when we were beleaguered at a fort
in the Valley."
"Ah, I remember!" exclaimed Stuart. "And a most gallant fight you were
making. And I recognize this young officer, too. He was the messenger
who met me in the fields. Your hand, Mr. Kenton."
He stretched out his own hand in its long yellow buckskin glove, and
Harry, flushing with pride, shook it warmly.
"It's good of you, General," he said, "to remember me."
"I'm glad to remember you and all like you. Is General Jackson near?"
"About a quarter of a mile farther back, sir. I'm a member of his staff,
and I'll ride with you to him."
"Thanks. Lead the way."
Harry turned with Stuart and Sherburne and they soon reached General
Jackson, who was plodding slowly on Little Sorrel, his chin sunk upon
his breast as usual, the lines of thought deep in his face. General
Stuart bowed low before him and the plumed hat was lifted high. The
knight paid deep and willing deference to the Puritan.
Jackson's face brightened. He wished plain apparel upon himself,
but he did not disapprove of the reverse upon General Stuart.
"You are very welcome, General Stuart," he said.
"I thank you, sir. I have come to report to you, sir, that General
Burnside's army is gathering in great force on the other side of the
Rappahannock, and that we are massed along the river and back of
Fredericksburg."
"General Burnside will cross, will he not?"
"So we think. He can lay a pontoon bridge, and he has a great artillery
to protect it. The river, as you know, sir, has a width of about two
hundred yards at Fredericksburg, and the Northern batteries can sweep
the farther shore."
"I'm sorry that we've elected to fight at Fredericksburg," said General
Jackson thoughtfully. "The Rappahannock will protect General Burnside's
army."
Stuart gazed at him in astonishment.
"I don't understand you, sir," he said. "You say that the Rappahannock
will protect General Burnside when it seems to be our defense."
"My meaning is perfectly clear. When we defeat General Burnside at
Fredericksburg he will retreat across the river over his bridge or
bridges and we shall not be able to get at him. We will win a great
victory, but we will not gather the fruits of it, because of our
inability to reach him."
"Oh, I see," said Stuart, the light breaking on his face. "You consider
the victory already won, sir?"
"Beyond a doubt."
"Then if you think so, General Jackson, I think so, too," said Stuart,
as he saluted and rode away.