As they rode in the shadow of the Massanuttons Harry continued
to wonder. The whole campaign in the valley had become to him an
interminable maze. Stonewall Jackson might know what he intended to do,
but he was not telling. Meanwhile they marched back and forth. There was
incessant skirmishing between cavalry and pickets, but it did not seem
to signify anything. Banks, sure of his overwhelming numbers, pressed
forward, but always cautiously and slowly. He did not march into any
trap. And Harry surmised that Jackson, much too weak to attack, was
playing for time.
Sherburne and his troop paused at the very base of the Massanuttons
and Harry, who happened to be with them, looked up again at the lofty
summits standing out so boldly and majestically in the middle of the
valley. The oaks and maples along their slopes were now blossoming into
a green that matched the tint of the pines, but far up on the crests
there was still a line of snow, and white mists beyond.
“Why not climb the highest summit?” he said to Sherburne. “You have
powerful glasses and we could get a good view of what is going on up the
valley.”
“Most of those slopes are not slopes at all. They're perpendicular like
the side of a house. The horses could never get up.”
“But they can certainly go part of the way, and some of us can climb the
rest on foot.”
Sherburne's eyes sparkled. The spirit of adventure was strong within
him. Moreover the task, if done, was worth while.
“Good for you, Harry,” he exclaimed. “We'll try it! What do you say, St.
Clair, you and Langdon?”
“I follow where you lead, and I hope that you lead to the top of the
mountain,” replied St. Clair.
“Likely it's cold up there,” said Langdon, “but there are higher and
colder mountains and I choose this one.”
They had learned promptness and decision from Stonewall Jackson, and
Sherburne at once gave the order to ascend. Several men in his troop
were natives of that part of the valley, and they knew the Massanuttons
well. They led and the whole troop composed of youths followed eagerly.
Bye and bye they dismounted and led their horses over the trails which
grew slippery with wet and snow as they rose higher.
When they paused at times to rest they would all look northward over
the great valley, where a magnificent panorama had gradually risen into
view. They saw a vast stretch of fields turning green, neat villages,
dark belts of forest, the gleam of brooks and creeks, and now and then,
the glitter from a Northern bayonet.
At length the chief guide, a youth named Wallace, announced that the
horses could go no farther. Even in summer when the snow was all gone
and the earth was dry they could not find a footing. Now it was certain
death for them to try the icy steeps.
Sherburne ordered the main body of the troop to halt in a forested and
sheltered glen in the side of the mountain, and, choosing Harry, St.
Clair, Langdon, the guide Wallace, and six others, he advanced with them
on foot. It was difficult climbing, and more than once they were bruised
by falls, but they learned to regard such accidents as trifles, and
ardent of spirit they pressed forward.
“I think we'll get a good view,” said Sherburne. “See how brilliantly
the sun is shining in the valley.”
“Yes, and the mists on the crests are clearing away,” said Harry.
“Then with the aid of the glasses we can get a sweep up the valley for
many miles. Now boys, here we go! up! up!”
If it had not been for the bushes they could never have made the ascent,
as they were now in the region of snow and ice and the slopes were like
glass. Often they were compelled to crawl, and it was necessary, too, to
exercise a good deal of care in crawling.
St. Clair groaned as he rose after climbing a rock, and brushed the
knees of his fine gray trousers.
“Cheer up, Arthur,” said Langdon, “it could have been worse. The sharp
stones there might have cut holes through them.”
But in spite of every difficulty and danger they went steadily toward
the summit, and streamers of mist yet floating about the mountain often
enclosed them in a damp shroud. Obviously, however, the clouds and
vapors were thinning, and soon the last shred would float away.
“It ain't more'n a hundred feet more to the top,” said Wallace, “an'
it's shore that the sun will be shinin' there.”
“Shining for us, of course,” said Langdon. “It's a good omen.”
“I wish I could always look for the best as you do, Tom,” said St.
Clair.
“I'm glad I can. Gay hearts are better than riches. As sure as I climb,
Arthur, I see the top.”
“Yes, there it is, the nice snowy bump above us.”
They dragged themselves upon the loftiest crest, and, panting, stood
there for a few minutes in several inches of snow. Then the wind caught
up the last shreds and tatters of mist, and whipped them away southward.
Every one of them drew a deep, sharp breath, as the great panorama of
the valley to the northward and far below was unrolled before them.
The brilliant sunshine of early spring played over everything, but far
down in the valley they seemed to see by contrast the true summer of the
sunny south, which is often far from sunny. But seen from the top of
the mountain the valley was full of golden rays. Now the roofs of the
villages showed plainly and they saw with distinctness the long silver
lines that marked the flowing of the rivers and creeks. To the east and
to the west further than the eye could reach rose the long line of dim
blue mountains that enclosed the valley.
But it was the glitter of the bayonets in the valley that caused the
hearts of the Virginians to beat most fiercely. Banners and guidons,
clusters of white tents, and dark swarms of men marked where the foot
of the invading stranger trod their soil. The Virginians loved the great
valley. Enclosed between the blue mountains it was the richest and most
beautiful part of all their state. It hurt them terribly to see the
overwhelming forces of the North occupying its towns and villages and
encamped in its fields.
Harry, not a Virginian himself, but a brother by association, understood
and shared their feeling. He saw Sherburne's lips moving and he knew
that he was saying hard words between his teeth. But Sherburne's eyes
were at the glasses, and he looked a long time, moving them slowly from
side to side. After a while he handed them to Harry.
The boy raised the glasses and the great panorama of the valley sprang
up to his eyes. It seemed to him that he could almost count the soldiers
in the camps. There was a troop of cavalry riding to the southward,
and further to the left was another. Directly to the north was their
battlefield of Kernstown, and not far beyond it lay Winchester. He saw
such masses of the enemy's troops and so many signs of activity among
them that he felt some movement must be impending.
“What do you think of it, Harry?” said Sherburne.
“Banks must be getting ready to move forward.”
“I think so, too. I wish we had his numbers.”
“More men are coming for us. We'll have Ewell's corps soon, and General
Jackson himself is worth ten thousand men.”
“That's so, Harry, but ten thousand men are far too few. McDowell's
whole corps is available, and with it the Yankees can now turn more than
seventy thousand men into the valley.”
“And they can fight, too, as we saw at Kernstown,” said St. Clair.
“That's so, and I'm thinking they'll get their stomachs full of it
pretty soon,” said Langdon. “Yesterday about dusk I went out in some
bushes after firewood, and I saw a man kneeling. It struck me as
curious, and I went up closer. What do you think? It was Old Jack
praying. Not any mock prayer, but praying to his Lord with all his heart
and soul. I'm not much on praying myself, but I felt pretty solemn then,
and I slid away from there as quick and quiet as you please. And I
tell you, fellows, that when Stonewall Jackson prays it's time for the
Yankees to weep.”
“You're probably right, Langdon,” said Captain Sherburne, “but it's
time for us to be going back, and we'll tell what we've seen to General
Jackson.”
As they turned away a crunching in the snow on the other slope caused
them to stop. The faces of men and then their figures appeared through
the bushes. They were eight or ten in number and all wore blue uniforms.
Harry saw the leader, and instantly he recognized Shepard. It came to
him, too, in a flash of prescience, that Shepard was just the man whom
he would meet there.
Sherburne, who had seen the blue uniforms, raised a pistol and fired.
Two shots were fired by the Union men at the same instant, and then both
parties dropped back from the crest, each on its own side.
Sherburne's men were untouched and Harry was confident that Shepard's
had been equally lucky--the shots had been too hasty--but it was nervous
and uncomfortable work, lying there in the snow, and waiting for the
head of an enemy to appear over the crest.
Harry was near Captain Sherburne, and he whispered to him:
“I know the man whose face appeared first through the bushes.”
“Who is he?”
“His name is Shepard. He's a spy and scout for the North, and he is
brave and dangerous. He was in Montgomery when President Davis was
inaugurated. I saw him in Washington when I was there as a spy myself. I
saw him again in Winchester just before the battle of Kernstown, and now
here he is once more.”
“Must be a Wandering Jew sort of a fellow.”
“He wanders with purpose. He has certainly come up here to spy us out.”
“In which he is no more guilty than we are.”
“That's true, but what are we going to do about it, captain?”
“Blessed if I know. Wait till I take a look.”
Captain Sherburne raised himself a little, in order to peep over the
crest of the ridge. A rifle cracked on the other side, a bullet
clipped the top of his cap, and he dropped back in the snow, unhurt but
startled.
“This man, Shepard, is fully as dangerous as you claim him to be,” he
said to Harry.
“Can you see anything of them?” asked St. Clair.
“Not a thing,” said Harry.
“If we show they shoot, and if they show we shoot,” said Langdon. “Seems
to me it's about the most beautiful case of checkmate that I've known.”
“Perhaps we can stalk them,” said St. Clair.
“And perhaps they can stalk us,” said Langdon. “But I think both sides
are afraid to try it.”
“You're right, Langdon,” said Captain Sherburne, “It's a case of
checkmate. I confess that I don't know what to do.”
“We could wait here while they waited too, and if we waited long enough
it would get so dark we couldn't see each other. But captain, you are a
kind-hearted and sympathetic man, do you see any fun in sitting in the
snow on top of a mountain, waiting to kill men whom you don't want to
kill or to be killed by men who don't want to kill you?”
“No, Tom, I don't,” replied Captain Sherburne with a laugh, “and you're
talking mighty sound sense. This is not like a regular battle. We've
nothing to gain by shooting those men, and they've nothing to gain by
shooting us. The Massanuttons extend a long distance and there's nothing
to keep scouts and spies from climbing them at other places. We'll go
away from here.”
He gave the order. They rose and crept as softly as they could through
the snow and bushes down the side of the mountain. Harry looked back
occasionally, but he saw no faces appear on the crest. Soon he heard
Langdon who was beside him laughing softly to himself.
“What's the matter, Tom?” he asked.
“Harry, if I could take my pistol and shoot straight through this
mountain the bullet when it came out on the other side would hit a
soldier in blue clothes, going at the same rate of speed down the
mountain.”
“More than likely you're right, Tom, if they're sensible, and that man
Shepard certainly is.”
Further down they met some of their own men climbing up. The troop had
heard the shots and was on the way to rescue, if rescue were needed.
Captain Sherburne explained briefly and they continued the descent,
leading their horses all the way, and breathing deep relief, when they
stood at last in the plain.
“I'll remember that climb,” said Langdon to Harry as he sprang into
the saddle, “and I won't do it again when there's snow up there, unless
General Jackson himself forces me up with the point of a bayonet.”
“The view was fine.”
“So it was, but the shooting was bad. Not a Yank, not a Reb fell, and
I'm not unhappy over it. A curious thing has happened to me, Harry.
While I'm ready to fight the Yankee at the drop of the hat I don't seem
to hate 'em as much as I did when the war began.”
“Same here. The war ought not to have happened, but we're in it, and to
my way of thinking we're going to be in it mighty deep and long.”
Langdon was silent for a little while, but nothing could depress him
long. He was soon chattering away as merrily as ever while the troop
rode back to General Jackson. Harry regarded him with some envy. A
temperament that could rejoice under any circumstances was truly worth
having.
Sherburne reported to Ashby who in return sent him to the commander,
Harry going with him to resume his place on the staff. Jackson heard the
report without comment and his face expressed nothing. Harry could not
see that he had changed much since he had come to join him. A little
thinner, a little more worn, perhaps, but he was the same quiet,
self-contained man, whose blue eyes often looked over and beyond the one
to whom he was talking, as if he were maturing plans far ahead.
Harry occupied a tent for the time with two or three other young
officers, and being permitted a few hours off duty he visited
his friends of the Invincibles, Colonel Leonidas Talbot and
Lieutenant-Colonel Hector St. Hilaire. The two old comrades already had
heard the results of the scout from St. Clair and Langdon, but they gave
Harry a welcome because they liked him. They also gave him a camp stool,
no small luxury in an army that marches and fights hard, using more
gunpowder than anything else.
Harry put the stool against a tree, sat on it and leaned back against
the trunk, feeling a great sense of luxury. The two men regarded him
with a benevolent eye. They, too, were enjoying luxuries, cigars which
a cavalry detail had captured from the enemy. It struck Harry at the
moment that although one was of British descent and the other of French
they were very much alike. South Carolina had bred them and then West
Point had cast them in her unbreakable mold. Neat, precise, they sat
rigidly erect, and smoked their cigars.
“Do you like it on the staff of General Jackson, Harry,” asked Colonel
Talbot.
“I felt regrets at leaving the Invincibles,” replied Harry truthfully,
“but I like it. I think it a privilege to be so near to General
Jackson.”
“A leader who has fought only one battle in independent command and who
lost that,” said Lieutenant-Colonel Hector St. Hilaire, thoughtfully--he
knew that Harry would repeat nothing, “and who nevertheless has the
utmost confidence of his men. He does not joke with them as the young
Napoleon did with his soldiers. He has none of the quality that we call
magnetic charm, and yet his troops are eager to follow him anywhere. He
has won no victories, but his men believe him capable of many. He takes
none of his officers into his confidence, but all have it. Incredible,
but true. Why is it?”
He put his cigar back in his mouth and puffed meditatively. Colonel
Leonidas Talbot, who also had been puffing meditatively while
Lieutenant-Colonel Hector St. Hilaire was speaking, now took his cigar
from his mouth, blew away the delicate rings of smoke, and said in an
equally thoughtful tone:
“It occurs to me, Hector, that it is the power of intellect. Stonewall
Jackson has impressed the whole army down to the last and least little
drummer with a sense of his mental force. I tell you, sir, that he is
a thinker, and thinkers are rare, much more rare than people generally
believe. There is only one man out of ten thousand who does not act
wholly according to precedent and experience. Habit is so powerful that
when we think we are thinking we are not thinking at all, we are merely
recalling the experiences of ourselves or somebody else. And of the
rare individuals who leave the well-trod paths of thought to think new
thoughts, only a minutely small percentage think right. This minutely
small fraction represents genius, the one man in a million or rather ten
million, or, to be more accurate, the one man in a hundred million.”
Colonel Leonidas Talbot put the cigar back in his mouth and puffed with
regularity and smoothness. Lieutenant-Colonel Hector St. Hilaire, in his
turn, took his cigar from his mouth once more, blew away the fine white
rings of smoke and said:
“Leonidas, it appears to me that you have hit upon the truth, or as our
legal friends would say, the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the
truth. I am in the middle of life and I realize suddenly that in all the
years I have lived I have met but few thinkers, certainly not more than
half a dozen, perhaps not more than three or four.”
He put his cigar back in his mouth and the two puffed simultaneously and
with precision, blowing out the fine, delicate rings of smoke at exactly
the same time. Gentlemen of the old school they were, even then, but
Harry recognized, too, that Colonel Leonidas Talbot had spoken the
weighty truth. Stonewall Jackson was a thinker, and thinkers are never
numerous in the world. He resolved to think more for himself if he
could, and he sat there trying to think, while he absently regarded the
two colonels.
Colonel Leonidas Talbot, after two minutes perhaps, took the cigar from
his mouth once more and said to Lieutenant-Colonel Hector St. Hilaire:
“Fine cigars the Yankees make, Hector.”
“Quite true, Leonidas. One of the best I have ever smoked.”
“Not more than a dozen left.”
“Then we must get more.”
“But how?”
“Stonewall Jackson will think of a way.”
Harry, despite his respect for them, was compelled to laugh. But the two
colonels laughed with him.
“The words of my friend Leonidas have been proved true within a few
minutes,” said Lieutenant-Colonel Hector St. Hilaire. “In doubt we
turned at once and with involuntary impulse to Stonewall Jackson to
think of a way. He has impressed us, as he has impressed the privates,
with his intellectual power.”
Harry sat with them nearly an hour. He had not only respect but
affection also for them. Old-fashioned they might be in some ways, but
they were able military men, thoroughly alert, and he knew that he could
learn much from them. When he left them he returned to General Jackson
and a few more days of waiting followed.
Winter was now wholly gone and spring, treacherous at first, was
becoming real and reliable. Reports heavy and ominous were coming from
McClellan. He would disembark and march up the peninsula on Richmond
with a vast and irresistible force. Jackson might be drawn off from the
valley to help Johnston in the defense of the capital. But Banks with
his great army would then march down it as if on parade.
Harry heard one morning that a new man was put in command of the
Southern forces in Northern Virginia. Robert Edward Lee was his name,
and it was a good name, too. He was the son of that famous Light Horse
Harry Lee who was a favorite of Washington in the Revolution. Already
an elderly man, he was sober and quiet, but the old West Pointers passed
the word through Jackson's army that he was full of courage and daring.
Harry felt the stimulus almost at once. A fresh wind seemed to be
blowing down the Valley of Virginia. Lee had sent word to Jackson that
he might do what he could, and that he might draw to his help also a
large division under Ewell. The news spread through the army and there
was a great buzzing. Young Virginia was eager to march against any odds,
and Harry was with them, heart and soul.
Nor were they kept waiting now. The news had scarcely spread through the
army when they heard the crack of carbines in their front. The cavalry
of Ashby, increased by many recruits, was already skirmishing with the
vanguard of Banks. It was the last day of April and Harry, sent to the
front, saw Ashby drive in all the Northern cavalry. When he returned
with the news Jackson instantly lifted up his whole division and marched
by the flank through the hills, leaving Ewell with his men to occupy
Banks in front. The mind of the “thinker” was working, and Harry knew it
as he rode behind him. He did not know what this movement meant, but he
had full confidence in the man who led them.
Yet the marching, like all the other marching they had done, was of
the hardest. The ground, torn by hoofs, cannon wheels and the feet of
marching men, was a continuous quagmire. Ponds made newly by the rains
stood everywhere. Often it required many horses and men to drag a cannon
out of the mud. The junior officers, and finally those of the highest
rank, leaped from their horses and gave aid. Jackson himself carried
boughs and stones to help make a road.
Despite the utmost possible exertions the army could make only five
miles in a single day and at the approach of night it flung itself upon
the ground exhausted.
“I call this the Great Muddy Army,” said St. Clair, ruefully to Harry,
as he surveyed his fine uniform, now smeared over with brown liquid
paste.
“It might have been worse,” said Langdon. “Suppose we had fallen in a
quicksand and had been swallowed up utterly. 'Tis better to live muddy
than not to live at all.”
“It would be better to call it the Great Tired Army just now,” said
Harry. “To keep on pulling your feet all day long out of mud half a yard
deep is the most exhausting thing I know or ever heard of.”
“Where are we going?” asked St. Clair.
“Blessed if I know,” replied Harry, “nor does anybody else save one.
It's all hid under General Jackson's hat.”
“I guess it's Staunton,” said Langdon. “That's a fine town, as good as
Winchester. I've got kinsfolk there. I came up once from South Carolina
and made them a visit.”
But it was not Staunton, although Staunton, hearing of the march, had
been joyfully expecting Jackson's men. The fine morning came, warm and
brilliant with sunshine, raising the spirits of the troops. The roads
began to dry out fast and marching would be much easier. But Jackson,
leading somberly on Little Sorrel, turned his back on Staunton.
The Virginians stared in amazement when the heads of columns turned
away from that trim and hospitable little city, which they knew was so
fervently attached to their cause. Before them rose the long line of the
Blue Ridge and they were marching straight toward it.
They marched a while in silence, and then a groan ran through the ranks.
It was such a compound of dismay and grief that it made Harry shiver.
The Virginians were leaving their beloved and beautiful valley, leaving
it all to the invader, leaving the pretty little places, Winchester and
Staunton and Harrisonburg and Strasburg and Front Royal, and all the
towns and villages in which their families and relatives lived. Every
one of the Virginians had blood kin everywhere through the valley.
The men began to whisper to one another, but the order of silence was
passed sternly along the line. They marched on, sullen and gloomy,
but after a while their natural courage and their confidence in their
commander returned. Their spirits did not desert them, even when they
left the valley behind them and began to climb the Blue Ridge.
Up, up, they went through dense forests. Harry remembered their ascent
of the Massanuttons, but the snows were gone now. They pressed on until
they reached the crest of the ridges and there the whole army paused,
high up in the air, while they looked with eager interest at the rolling
Virginia country stretching toward the east until it sank under the
horizon.
Harry saw smoke that marked the passing of trains, and he believed
that they were now on their way to Richmond to help defend the capital
against McClellan. He glanced at Jackson, but the commander was as
tight-lipped as ever. Whatever was under that hat remained the secret of
its owner.
They descended the mountains and came to a railway station, where many
cars were waiting. Troops were hurried aboard expecting to start for
Richmond, and then a sudden roar burst from them. The trains did not
move toward Richmond, but back, through defiles that would lead them
again into their beloved valley. Cheers one after another rolled through
the trains, and Harry, who was in a forward car with the Invincibles,
joined in as joyfully as the best Virginian of them all.
The boy was so much exhausted that he fell into a doze on a seat. But
afterward he dimly remembered that he heard the two colonels talking.
They were trying to probe into the depths of Jackson's mind. They
surmised that this march over the mountains had been made partly to
delude Banks. They were right, at least as far as the delusion of Banks
went. He had been telegraphing that the army of Jackson was gone, on its
way to Richmond, and that there was nothing in front of him save a few
skirmishers.
The Virginians left their trains in the valley again, waited for their
wagons and artillery, and then marched on to Staunton, that neat little
city that was so dear to so many of them. But the mystery of what was
under Jackson's hat remained a mystery. They passed through Staunton,
amid the cheering people, women and children waving hats, scarfs and
handkerchiefs to their champions. But the terrible Stonewall gave them
no chance to dally in that pleasant place. Staunton was left far behind
and they never stopped until they went into camp on the side of another
range of mountains.
Here in a great forest they built a few fires, more not being allowed,
and after a hasty supper most of the men lay down in their blankets to
rest. But the young officers did not sleep. A small tent for Jackson had
been raised by the side of the Invincibles, and Harry, sitting on a log,
talked in low tones with Langdon and St. Clair. The three were of the
opinion that some blow was about to be struck, but what it was they did
not know.
“The Yankees must have lost us entirely,” said Langdon. “To tell you the
truth, boys, I've lost myself. I've been marching about so much that I
don't know east from west and north from south. I'm sure that this is
the Southern army about us, but whether we're still in Virginia or not
is beyond me. What do you say, Arthur?”
“It's Virginia still, Tom, but we've undoubtedly done a lot of
marching.”
“A lot of it! 'Lot' is a feeble word! We've marched a million miles in
the last few days. I've checked 'em off by the bunions on the soles of
my feet.”
“Look out, boys,” said St. Clair. “Here comes the general!”
General Jackson was walking toward them. His face had the usual intense,
preoccupied look, but he smiled slightly when he saw the three lads.
“Come, young gentlemen,” he said, “we're going to take a look at the
enemy.”
A group of older officers joined him, and the three lads followed
modestly. They reached a towering crag and from it Harry saw a deep
valley fringed with woods, a river rushing down its center and further
on a village. Both banks of the river were thick with troops, men in
blue. Over and beyond the valley was a great mass of mountains, ridge
on ridge and peak on peak, covered with black forest, and cut by defiles
and ravines so narrow that it was always dark within them.
Harry felt a strange, indescribable thrill. The presence of the enemy
and the wild setting of the mountains filled him with a kind of awe.
“It's a Northern army under Milroy,” whispered St. Clair, who now heard
Jackson talking to the older officers.
“Then there's going to be a battle,” said Harry.