The twenty-four hours were a rest, merely by comparison. There was no
pursuit, at least, the enemy was not in sight, but the scouts brought
word that the bridge over the Shenandoah would be completed in a day and
night, and that Fremont would follow. Jackson's army triumphantly passed
the last defile of the Massanuttons and the army of Shields did not
appear issuing from it. It was no longer possible for them to be struck
in front and on the flank at the same time, and the army breathed a
mighty sigh of relief. At night of the next day Harry was sitting by the
camp of the Invincibles, having received a brief leave of absence from
the staff, and he detailed the news to his eager friends.
“General Jackson is stripping again for battle,” he said to Colonel
Leonidas Talbot and Lieutenant-Colonel Hector St. Hilaire. “He's sent
all the sick and wounded across a ferry to Staunton, and he's dispatched
his prisoners and captured stores by another road. So he has nothing
left but men fit for battle.”
“Which includes me,” said St. Clair proudly, showing his left shoulder
from which the bandage had been taken, “I'm as well as ever.”
“Men get well fast with Stonewall Jackson,” said Colonel Talbot. “I'll
confess to you lads that I thought it was all up with us there in the
lower valley, when we were surrounded by the masses of the enemy, and I
don't see yet how we got here.”
“But we are here, Leonidas,” said Lieutenant-Colonel Hector St. Hilaire,
“and that's enough for us to know.”
“Right, Hector, old friend. It's enough for us to know. Do you by chance
happen to have left two of those delightful cigarettes?”
“Just two, Leonidas, one for you and one for me, and now is a chance to
smoke 'em.”
The young lieutenants drew to one side while the two old friends smoked
and compared notes. They did not smoke, but they compared notes also, as
they rested on the turf. The rain had ceased and the grass was dry. They
saw through the twilight the dark mass of the Massanuttons, the extreme
southern end, and Happy Tom Langdon waved his hand toward the mountain,
like one who salutes a friend.
“Good old mountain,” he said. “You've been a buffer between us and the
enemy more than once, but it took a mind like Stonewall Jackson's to
keep moving you around so you would stand between the armies of the
enemy and make the Yankees fight, only one army at a time.”
“You're right,” said Harry, who was enjoying the deep luxury of rest. “I
didn't know before that mountains could be put to such good use. Look,
you can see lights on the ridge now.”
They saw lights, evidently those of powerful lanterns swung to and fro,
but they did not understand them, nor did they care much.
“Signals are just trifles to me now,” said Happy Tom. “What do I care
for lights moving on a mountain four or five miles away, when for a
month, day and night without stopping, a million Yankees have been
shooting rifle bullets at me, and a thousand of the biggest cannon ever
cast have been pouring round shot, long shot, shell, grape, canister and
a hundred other kinds of missiles that I can't name upon this innocent
and unoffending head of mine.”
“They'll be on us tomorrow, Happy,” said St. Clair, more gravely. “This
picnic of ours can't last more than a day.”
“I think so, too,” said Harry. “So long, boys, I've got to join Captain
Sherburne. The general has detached me for service with him under Ashby,
and you know that when you are with them, something is going to happen.”
Harry slept well that night, partly in a camp and partly in a saddle,
and he found himself the next day with Ashby and Sherburne near a little
town called Harrisonburg. They were on a long hill in thick forest, and
the scouts reported that the enemy was coming. The Northern armies were
uniting now and they were coming up the valley, expecting to crush all
opposition.
“Take your glasses, Harry,” said Sherburne, “and you'll see a strong
force crossing the fields, but it's not strong enough. We've a splendid
position here in the forest and you just watch. Ah, here come your
friends, the Invincibles. See, Ashby is forming them in the center,
while we, of the horse, take the flanks.”
The men in blue, catching sight of the Confederate uniforms in the wood,
charged with a shout, but they did not know the strength of the force
before them. The Invincibles poured in a deadly fire at close range, and
then Ashby's cavalry with a yell charged on either flank. The Northern
troops, taken by surprise, gave way, and the Southern force followed,
firing continuously.
They came within a half mile of Harrisonburg, and the main Northern army
of Fremont was at hand. The general who had pursued so long, saw his
men retreating, and, filled with chagrin and anger, he hurried forward
heavier forces of both cavalry and infantry. Other troops came to the
relief of Ashby also, and Harry saw what he thought would be only a
heavy skirmish grow into a hot battle of size.
Fremont, resolved that the North should win a battle in the open field,
and rejoiced that he had at last brought his enemy to bay, never ceased
to hurry his troops to the combat. Formidable lines of the western
riflemen rushed on either flank, and before their deadly rifles Ashby's
cavalry wavered. Harry saw with consternation that they were about to
give way, but Ashby galloped up to the unbroken lines of infantry and
ordered them to charge.
The words were scarcely out of his mouth, when his horse, shot through,
fell to the ground. Ashby fell with him, but he sprang instantly to his
feet, and shouted in a loud voice:
“Charge men, for God's sake! Charge! Charge!” With a rush and roar, the
Invincibles and their comrades swept forward, but at the same instant
Harry saw Ashby fall again. With a cry of horror he leaped from his
horse and ran to him, lifting him in his arms. But he quickly laid him
back on the grass. Ashby had been shot through the heart and killed
instantly.
Harry gazed around him, struck with grief and dismay, but he saw only
the resistless rush of the infantry. The Invincibles and their comrades
were avenging the death of Turner Ashby. Tired of retreating and hot
for action they struck the Northern division with a mighty impact,
shattering it and driving it back rapidly. The Southern cavalry,
recovering also, struck it on the flank, and the defeat was complete.
Fremont's wish was denied him. After so much hard marching and such a
gallant and tenacious pursuit, he had gone the way of the other Northern
generals who opposed Jackson, and was beaten.
Although they had driven back the vanguard, winning a smart little
victory, and telling to Fremont and Shields that the pursuit of Jackson
had now become dangerous, there was gloom in the Southern army. The
horsemen did not know until they trotted back and saw Harry kneeling
beside his dead body, that the great Ashby was gone. For a while they
could not believe it. Their brilliant and daring leader, who had led
Jackson's vanguard in victory, and who had hung like a covering curtain
in retreat, could not have fallen. It seemed impossible that the man who
had led for days and days through continuous showers of bullets could
have been slain at last by some stray shot.
But they lifted him up finally and carried him away to a house in the
little neighboring village of Port Republic, Sherburne and the other
captains, hot from battle, riding with uncovered heads. He was put upon
a bed there, and Harry, a staff officer, was selected to ride to Jackson
with the news. He would gladly have evaded the errand, but it was
obvious that he was the right messenger.
He rode slowly and found Jackson coming up with the main force, Dr.
McGuire, his physician, and Colonel Crutchfield, his chief of artillery,
riding on either side of him. The general gave one glance at Harry's
drooping figure.
“Well,” he said, “have we not won the victory? From a hilltop our
glasses showed the enemy in flight.”
“Yes, general,” said Harry, taking off his hat, “we defeated the enemy,
but General Ashby is dead.”
Jackson and his staff were silent for a moment, and Harry saw the
general shrink as if he had received a heavy blow.
“Ashby killed! Impossible!” he exclaimed.
“It's true, sir. I helped to carry his body to a house in Port Republic,
where it is now lying.”
“Lead us to that house, Mr. Kenton,” said Jackson.
Harry rode forward in silence, and the others followed in the same
silence. At the house, after they had looked upon the body, Jackson
asked to be left alone awhile with all that was left of Turner Ashby.
The others withdrew and Harry always believed that Jackson prayed within
that room for the soul of his departed comrade.
When he came forth his face had resumed its sternness, but was without
other expression, as usual.
“He will not show grief, now,” said Sherburne, “but I think that his
soul is weeping.”
“And a bad time for Fremont and Shields is coming,” said Harry.
“It's a risk that we all take in war,” said Dalton, who was more of a
fatalist than any of the others.
The chief wrote a glowing official tribute to Ashby, saying that his
“daring was proverbial, his powers of endurance almost incredible, his
character heroic, and his sagacity almost intuitive in divining the
purposes and movements of the enemy.” Yet deeply as Harry had been
affected by Ashby's death, it could not remain in his mind long, because
they had passed the Massanuttons now, and Fremont and Shields following
up the valley must soon unite.
Harry believed that Jackson intended to strike a blow. The situation
of the Confederacy was again critical--it seemed to Harry that it was
always critical--and somebody must wield the sword, quick and strong.
McClellan with his great and well-trained army was before Richmond. It
was only the rapid marches and lightning strokes of Jackson that had
kept McDowell with another great army from joining him, but to keep back
this force of McDowell until they dealt with McClellan, there must be
yet other rapid marches and lightning strokes.
Harry's sleep that night was the longest in two weeks, but he was up
at dawn, and he was directed by Jackson to ride forward with Sherburne
toward the southern base of the Massanuttons, observe the approach of
both Fremont and Shields and report to him.
Harry was glad of his errand. He always liked to ride with Sherburne,
who was a fount of cheerfulness, and he was still keyed up to that
extraordinary intensity and pitch of excitement that made all things
possible. He now understood how the young soldiers of Napoleon in
Italy had been able to accomplish so much. It was the man, a leader of
inspiration and genius, surcharging them all with electrical fire.
Sherburne's troop was a portion of a strong cavalry force, which divided
as it reached the base of the Massanuttons, a half passing on either
side. Sherburne and Harry rode to the right in order to see the army
of Shields. The day was beautiful, with a glorious June sun and gentle
winds, but Harry, feeling something strange about it, realized presently
that it was the silence. For more than two weeks cannon had been
thundering and rifles crashing in the valley, almost without cessation.
Neither night nor storm had caused any interruption.
It seemed strange, almost incredible now, but they heard birds singing
as they flew from tree to tree, and peaceful rabbits popped up in the
brush. Yet before they went much further they saw the dark masses of the
Northern army under Shields moving slowly up the valley, and anxious for
the junction with Fremont.
But the Northern generals were again at a loss. Jackson had turned
suddenly and defeated Fremont's vanguard with heavy loss, but what
had become of him afterward? Fremont and Shields were uncertain of
the position of each other, and they were still more uncertain about
Jackson's. He might fall suddenly upon either, and they grew very
cautious as they drew near to the end of the Massanuttons.
Sherburne and Harry, after examining the Northern army through
their glasses, rode back with a dozen men to the south base of
the Massanuttons. Most of them were signal officers, and Harry and
Sherburne, dismounting, climbed the foot of the mountain with them. When
they stood upon the crest and looked to right and left in the clear June
air, they beheld a wonderful sight.
To the south along Mill Creek lay Jackson's army. To the west massed
in the wider valley was the army of Fremont, which had followed them so
tenaciously, and to the east, but just separated from it by the base of
the Massanuttons, were the masses of Shields advancing slowly.
Harry through his powerful glasses could see the horsemen in front
scouting carefully in advance of either army, and once more he
appreciated to the full Jackson's skill in utilizing the mountains and
rivers to keep his enemies apart. But what would he do now that they
were passing the Massanuttons, and there was no longer anything to
separate Shields and Fremont. He dismissed the thought. There was an
intellect under the old slouch hat of the man who rode Little Sorrel
that could rescue them from anything.
“Quite a spectacle,” said Sherburne. “A man can't often sit at ease on
a mountaintop and look at three armies. Now, Barron, you are to signal
from here to General Jackson every movement of our enemies, but just
before either Shields or Fremont reaches the base of the mountain,
you're to slip down and join us.”
“We'll do it, sir,” said Barron, the chief signal officer. “We're not
likely to go to sleep up here with armies on three sides of us.”
Sherburne, Harry and two other men who were not to stay slowly descended
the mountain. Harry enjoyed the breathing space. On the mountainside he
was lifted, for a while, above the fierce passions of war. He saw things
from afar and they were softened by distance. He drew deep breaths of
the air, crisp and cool, on the heights, and Sherburne, who saw the glow
on his face, understood. The same glow was on his own face.
“It's a grand panorama, Harry,” he said, “and we'll take our fill of it
for a few moments.” They stood on a great projection of rock and looked
once more and for a little while into the valley and its divisions. The
two Northern armies were nearer now, and they were still moving. Harry
saw the sun flashing over thousands of bayonets. He almost fancied he
could hear the crack of the teamsters' whips as the long lines of wagons
in the rear creaked along.
They descended rapidly, remounted their horses and galloped back to
Jackson.
They buried Ashby that day, all the leading Southern officers following
him to his grave, and throughout the afternoon the silence was
continued. But the signals on the mountain worked and worked, and the
signalmen with Jackson replied. No movement of the two pursuing armies
was unknown to the Southern leader.
Harry, with an hour's leave, visited once more his friends of the
Invincibles. He had begged a package of fine West Indian cigarettes
from Sherburne, and he literally laid them at the feet of the two
colonels--he found them sitting together on the grass, lean gray men who
seemed to be wholly reduced to bone and muscle.
“This is a great gift, Harry, perhaps greater than you think,” said
Colonel Leonidas Talbot gravely. “I tried to purchase some from the
commissariat, but they had none--it seems that General Stonewall Jackson
doesn't consider cigarettes necessary for his troops. Anyhow, the way
our Confederate money is going, I fancy a package of cigarettes will
soon cost a hundred dollars. Here, Hector, light up. We divide this box,
half and half. That's right, isn't it, Harry?”
“Certainly, sir.”
Harry passed on to the junior officers and found St. Clair and Happy Tom
lying on the grass. Happy pretended to rouse from sleep when Harry came.
“Hello, old omen of war,” he said. “What's Old Jack expecting of us
now?”
“I told you never to ask me such a question as that again. The general
isn't what you'd call a garrulous man. How's your shoulder, Arthur?”
“About well. The muscles were not torn. It was just loss of blood that
troubled me for the time.”
“I hear,” said Langdon, “that the two Yankee armies are to join soon.
The Massanuttons won't be between them much longer, and then they'll
have only one of the forks of the river to cross before they fall upon
each other's breasts and weep with joy. Harry, it seems to me that we're
always coming to a fork of the Shenandoah. How many forks does it have
anyhow?”
“Only two, but the two forks have forks of their own. That's the reason
we're always coming to deep water and by the same token the Yankees are
always coming to it, too, which is a good thing for us, as we get there
first, when the bridges are there, and when the Yankees come they are
gone.”
But not one of these boys understood the feeling in the Northern
armies. Late the day before a messenger from Shields had got through the
Massanuttons to Fremont, and had informed him that an easy triumph
was at hand. Jackson and his army, he said, fearing the onset of
overwhelming numbers, was retreating in great disorder.
The two generals were now convinced of speedy victory. They had
communicated at last, and they could have some concert of movement.
Jackson was less than thirty miles away, and his army was now but a
confused mass of stragglers which would dissolve under slight impact.
Both had defeats and disappointments to avenge, and they pushed forward
now with increased speed, Shields in particular showing the greatest
energy in pursuit. But the roads were still deep in mud, and his army
was forced to toil on all that day and the next, while the signalmen
on the top of the Massanuttons told every movement he made to Stonewall
Jackson.
The signals the second evening told Jackson that the two Northern armies
were advancing fast, and that he would soon have before him an enemy
outnumbering him anywhere from two to three to one. He had been talking
with Ewell just before the definite news was brought, and Harry, Dalton
and other officers of the staff stood near, as their duty bade them.
Harry knew the nature of the information, as it was not a secret from
any member of the staff, and now they all stood silently on one side
and watched Jackson. Even Ewell offered no suggestion, but kept his
eyes fixed anxiously on his chief. Harry felt that another one of those
critical moments, perhaps the most dangerous of all, had arrived. They
had fought army after army in detail, but now they must fight armies
united, or fly. He did not know that the silent general was preparing
the most daring and brilliant of all his movements in the valley. In the
face of both Shields and Fremont his courage flamed to the highest, and
the brain under the old slouch hat grew more powerful and penetrating
than ever. And flight never for a moment entered into his scheme.
Jackson at length said a few words to Ewell, who sprang upon his horse
and rode away to his division. Then, early in the morning, Jackson
led the rest of the army into a strange district, the Grottoes of the
Shenandoah. It was a dark region, filled beneath with great caves and
covered thickly with heavy forest, through the leaves of which the
troops caught views of the Massanuttons to the north or of the great
masses of the Blue Ridge to the east, while far to the west lay other
mountains, range on range. But all around them the country was wooded
heavily.
The army did not make a great amount of noise when it camped in the
forest over the caves, and the fires were few. Perhaps some of the men
were daunted by the dangers which still surrounded them so thickly after
so many days of such fierce fighting. At any rate, they were silent. The
Acadians had played no music for a day now, and the band lay upon the
ground sunk in deep slumber.
Harry had not been sent on any errand, and he was sitting on a stone,
finishing his supper, when Dalton, who had been away with a message,
returned.
“What's happened, George?” asked Harry.
“Nothing yet, but a lot will happen soon.”
“Where have you been?”
“I've been on the other side of the Shenandoah. You needn't open your
eyes. It's so. Moreover, Ewell's whole division is over there, and it
will meet the vanguard of Fremont as he advances. I think I begin to see
the general's scheme.”
“I do, too. Ewell will fight off Fremont, holding him there until
Jackson can annihilate Shields. Then he will retreat over the river to
Jackson, burning the bridge behind him.”
Dalton nodded.
“Looks that way to a man up a tree,” he said.
“It's like the general,” said Harry. “He could bring his whole army on
this side, burn the bridge, and in full force attack Shields, but he
prefers to defeat them both.”
“Yes; but I wish to Heaven we had more men.”
“Sh! Here comes the general,” said Harry.
The two were silent as General Jackson and an officer passed. The
general spoke a word or two to the boys and went on. They were but
ordinary words, but both felt uplifted because he had spoken to them.
Morning found them motionless in the forest, over the caves. They ate a
hasty breakfast and waited. But the scouts were all out, and presently
Harry and Dalton were sent toward the Shenandoah. Finding nothing there,
they crossed over the bridge and came to Ewell's division, where they
had plenty of acquaintances.
The sun was now high, and while they were talking with their friends,
they heard the faint report of rifle shots far in their front. Presently
the scouts came running back, and said that the enemy was only two miles
away and was advancing to the attack.
Ewell took off his hat and his bald head glistened in the sun's rays.
But, like Jackson, he was always cool, and he calmly moved his troops
into position along a low ridge, with heavy woods on either flank. Harry
knew the ground, alas, too well. It was among the trees just behind the
ridge that Turner Ashby had been slain. Ewell had before him Fremont
with two to one, and the rest of the army under Jackson's immediate
command was four miles away, facing Shields.
“Do you hear anything behind you, Harry?” asked Dalton.
“No, why do you ask?”
“If we heard the booming of guns, and we'd hear 'em at four miles, we'd
know that General Jackson himself was engaged. But as there's no sound,
Shields hasn't come up, and we'll wait here a while to see if we can't
have something important to report.”
“I don't think so,” said Harry. “We know that the enemy is about to
attack here in full force, and that's enough to know about this side of
the river. We ought to gallop back to General Jackson and tell him.”
“You're right, Harry,” said the Virginian, in whom the sense of duty was
strong. “The general may be attacked by the time we get there, and he'll
want to know exactly how things are.”
They galloped back as fast as they could and found that General Jackson
had moved his headquarters to the little village of Port Republic. They
found him and told him the news as he was mounting his horse, but at
the same time an excited and breathless messenger came galloping up
from another direction. The vanguard of Shields had already routed
his pickets, and the second Northern army was pressing forward in full
force.
As he spoke, the Northern cavalry came in sight, and if those Northern
horsemen had known what a prize was almost within their hands, they
would have spared no exertion.
“Make for the bridge! Make for the bridge, general!” cried Dalton.
The horsemen in blue were not coming fast. They rode cautiously through
the streets. Southern villages were not friendly to them, and this
caution saved Stonewall Jackson. He was on his horse in an instant,
galloping for the bridge, and Harry and Dalton were hot behind him. They
thundered over the bridge with the Northern cavalry just at their heels,
and escaped by a hair's breadth. But the chief of artillery and Dr.
McGuire and one of the captains, Willis, were captured, and the rest of
the staff was dispersed.
“My God!” exclaimed Harry, when the Northern cavalry stopped at the
bridge. “What an escape!”
He was thinking of Jackson's escape, not his own, and while he was
wondering what the general would do, he saw him ride to the bank of the
river and watch the Northern cavalry on the other side. Then Harry and
Dalton uttered a shout as they saw a Southern battery push forward from
the village and open on the cavalry. An infantry regiment, which had
been forming in the town, also came up at full speed, uttering the long,
high-pitched rebel yell.
The Northern vanguard, which had come so near to such a high
achievement, was driven back with a rush, and a Southern battery
appearing on its flank, swept it with shell as it retreated. So heavy
was the Southern attack, that the infantry also were driven back and
their guns taken. The entire vanguard was routed, and as it received no
support, even Harry and Dalton knew that the main army under Shields had
not yet come up.
“That was the closest shave I ever saw,” said Dalton. “So it was,” said
Harry. “But just listen to that noise behind you!”
A tremendous roar and crash told them that the battle between Ewell and
Fremont had opened. Jackson beckoned to Harry, Dalton and the members
of his staff who had reassembled. The three, who were captured,
subsequently escaped in the confusion and turmoil and rejoined their
general. Setting a powerful force to guard the bridge, Jackson said to
his staff:
“While we are waiting for Shields to come up with his army, we'll ride
over and see how the affair between Ewell and Fremont is coming on.”
The roar and crash told them it was coming on with great violence, but
Fremont, so strong in pursuit was not so strong in action. Now that he
was face to face with the enemy, he did not attack with all his might.
He hesitated, not from personal fear, but from fear on account of his
army. The whole force of Jackson might be in front of him, and the
apprehensions that he did not feel in pursuit assailed him when he
looked at the ridge covered with the enemy.
Harry and Dalton watched with breathless interest. A portion of
Fremont's army, but not all of it, just when it was needed most, was
sent to the charge. Led by the pickets and skirmishers they came forward
gallantly, a long line of glittering bayonets. In the thick woods on
their flank lay three Southern regiments, ambushed and not yet stirring.
No sunlight penetrated there to show their danger to the soldiers who
were breasting the slope.
Harry foresaw all, and he drew a long breath for brave men who were
marching to a certain fate.
“Why don't they look! Why don't they look!” he found himself exclaiming.
The next instant the entire wood burst into flame. Picking their aim and
firing at short range, the Southern riflemen sent sheet after sheet of
bullets into the charging ranks. It was more than human blood and flesh
could stand, and the Northern regiments gave way. But it was not a rout.
They retreated on their reserves, and stood there recovering themselves,
while the Southern riflemen reloaded, but did not pursue. The regiments
which had done the deadly work sank back in the woods, and seemingly the
battle was over.
Harry had not been under fire. He and Dalton, the rest of Jackson's
staff and the general himself merely watched. Nor did Jackson give any
further orders to his able lieutenant, Ewell. He allowed him to make the
battle his own, and in Harry's opinion he was making it right.
There came a silence that seemed interminably long to Harry. The
sunlight blazed down, and the two armies stood looking at each other
across a field that was strewn with the fallen. It would have been folly
for the men in blue to charge again, and it was the chief business of
the Southern troops to hold them back. Therefore they stood in their
positions and watched. Harry judged that the bulk of Fremont's army was
not yet up. It was this failure to bring superior numbers to bear at
the right time that was always the ruin of the Northern generals in the
valley, because the genius on the other side invariably saw the mistake
and profited by it.
Harry and Dalton still waited, wondering. Jackson himself sat quietly on
his horse, and issued no order. The Northern troops were motionless, and
Harry, who knew how precious time was, with the rest of Fremont's army
coming up, wondered again. But Trimble, the commander of the Southern
riflemen hidden in the wood, saw a chance. He would send his men under
cover of the forest and hurl them suddenly upon the Northern flank.
Ewell gave his consent, and said that he would charge, too, if the
movement were successful.
Harry, watching, saw the Southern regiments in the wood steal from the
forest, pass swiftly up a ravine, and then, delivering a shattering fire
at short range, charge with the bayonet upon the Northern flank. The men
in blue, surprised by so fierce an onset, gave way. Uttering the rebel
yell, the Southerners followed and pushed them further and further.
Ewell's quick eye, noting the success, sent forward his own center in a
heavy charge.
Fremont, from the rear, hurried forward new troops, but they were beaten
as fast as they arrived. The batteries were compelled to unlimber and
take to flight, the fresh brigade dispatched by Fremont was routed,
and the whole Southern line pressed forward, driving the Northern army
before it.
“General Jackson was wise in trusting to General Ewell,” said Dalton to
Harry. “He's won a notable victory. I wonder how far he'll push it.”
“Not far, I think. All Ewell's got to do is to hold Fremont, and he has
surely held him. There's Shields on the other side of the river with
whom we have to deal. Do you know, George, that all the time we've been
sitting here, watching that battle in front of us, I've been afraid we'd
hear the booming of the guns on the other side of the river, telling
that Shields was up.”
“We scorched their faces so badly there in Cross Keys that they must be
hesitating. Lord, Harry, how old Stonewall plays with fire. To attack
and defeat one army with the other only a few miles away must take
nerves all of steel.”
“But if Ewell keeps on following Fremont he'll be too far away when we
turn to deal with Shields.”
“But he won't go too far. There are the trumpets now recalling his
army.”
The mellow notes were calling in the eager riflemen, who wished to
continue the pursuit, but the army was not to retire. It held the
battlefield, and now that the twilight was coming the men began to build
their fires, which blazed through the night within sight of those of the
enemy. The sentinels of the two armies were within speaking distance
of one another, and often in the dark, as happened after many another
battle in this war, Yank and Reb passed a friendly word or two. They
met, too, on the field, where they carried away their dead and wounded,
but on such errands there was always peace.
Those hours of the night were precious, but Fremont did not use them.
Defeated, he held back, magnifying the numbers of his enemy, fearing
that Jackson was in front of him with his whole army, and once more out
of touch with his ally, Shields.
But Stonewall Jackson was all activity. The great war-like intellect was
working with the utmost precision and speed. Having beaten back Fremont,
he was making ready for Shields. The first part of the drama, as he
had planned it, had been carried through with brilliant success, and he
meant that the next should be its equal.
Harry was not off his horse that night. He carried message after message
to generals and colonels and captains. He saw the main portion of
Ewell's army withdrawn from Fremont's front, leaving only a single
brigade to hold him, in case he should advance at dawn. But he saw the
fires increased, and he carried orders that the men should build them
high, and see that they did not go down.
When he came back from one of these errands about midnight, just after
the rise of the moon, he found General Jackson standing upon the bank
of the river, giving minute directions to a swarm of officers. His mind
missed nothing. He directed not only the movements of the troops, but he
saw also that the trains of ammunition and food were sent to the proper
points. About half way between midnight and morning he lay down and
slept in a small house near the river bank. Shortly before dawn the
commander of a battery, looking for one of his officers, entered the
house and saw Jackson, dressed for the saddle, sword, boots, spurs and
all, lying on his face upon the bed, asleep. On a small table near him
stood a short piece of tallow candle, sputtering dimly. But the officer
saw that it was Jackson, and he turned on tiptoe to withdraw.
The general awoke instantly, sat up and demanded who was there. When the
officer explained, he said he was glad that he had been awakened, asked
about the disposition of the troops, and gave further commands. He did
not go to sleep again.
But Harry's orders carried him far beyond midnight, and he had no
thought of sleep. Once more repressed but intense excitement had
complete hold of him. He could not have slept had the chance been
given to him. The bulk of the army was now in front of Shields, and
the pickets were not only in touch, but were skirmishing actively. All
through the late hours after midnight Harry heard the flash of their
firing in front of him.
The cavalry under Sherburne and other daring leaders were exchanging
shots with the equally daring cavalry of the enemy.
As the dawn approached the firing was heavier. Harry knew that the day
would witness a great battle, and his heart was filled with anxiety.
The army led by Shields showed signs of greater energy and tenacity than
that led by Fremont. The Northern troops that had fought so fiercely at
Kernstown were there, and they also had leaders who would not be daunted
by doubts and numbers. Harry wondered if they had heard of the defeat of
Fremont at Cross Keys.
He looked at the flashing of the rifles in the dusk, and before dawn
rode back to the house where his commander slept. He was ready and
waiting when Jackson came forth, and Dalton appearing from somewhere in
the dusk, sat silently on his horse by his side.
The general with his staff at once rode toward the front, and the masses
of the Southern army also swung forward. Harry saw that, according to
Jackson's custom, they would attack, not wait for it. It was yet dusky,
but the firing in their front was increasing in intensity. There was a
steady crash and a blaze of light from the rifle muzzles ran through the
forest.
He took an order to the Acadians to move forward behind two batteries,
and as he came back he passed the Invincibles, now a mere skeleton
regiment, but advancing in perfect order, the two colonels on their
flanks near their head. He also saw St. Clair and Langdon, but he
had time only to wave his hand to them, and then he galloped back to
Jackson.
The dusk rapidly grew thinner. Then the burnished sun rose over the
hills, and Harry saw the Northern army before them, spread across a
level between the river and a spur of the Blue Ridge, and also on the
slopes and in the woods. A heavy battery crowned one of the hills,
another was posted in a forest, and there were more guns between. Harry
saw that the position was strong, and he noted with amazement that the
Northern forces did not seem to outnumber Jackson's. It was evident that
Shields, with the majority of his force was not yet up. He glanced at
Jackson. He knew that the fact could not have escaped the general, but
he saw no trace of exultation on his face.
There was another fact that Harry did not then know. Nearly all the men
who had fought successfully against Jackson at Kernstown were in that
vanguard, and Tyler, who had deemed himself a victor there, commanded
them. Everybody else had been beaten by Stonewall Jackson, but not they.
Confident of victory, they asked to be led against the Southern army,
and they felt only joy when the rising sunlight disclosed their foe.
There were the men of Ohio and West Virginia again, staunch and sturdy.
Harry knew instinctively that the battle would be fierce, pushed to the
utmost. Jackson had no other choice, and as the sunlight spread over
the valley, although the mountains were yet in mist, the cannon on
the flanks opened with a tremendous discharge, followed by crash after
crash, North and South replying to each other. A Southern column also
marched along the slope of the hills, in order to take Tyler's men in
flank. Harry looked eagerly to see the Northern troops give way, but
they held fast. The veterans of Ohio and West Virginia refused to give
ground, and Winder, who led the Southern column, could make no progress.
Harry watched with bated breath and a feeling of alarm. Were they to
lose after such splendid plans and such unparalleled exertions? The sun,
rising higher, poured down a flood of golden beams, driving the mists
from the mountains and disclosing the plain and slopes below wrapped in
fire, shot through with the gleam of steel from the bayonets.
Tyler, who commanded the Northern vanguard, proved himself here, as at
Kernstown, a brave and worthy foe. He, too, had eyes to see and a brain
to think. Seeing that his Ohio and West Virginia men were standing fast
against every attack made by Winder, he hurried fresh troops to their
aid that they might attack in return.
The battle thickened fast. At the point of contact along the slopes and
in the woods, there was a continued roar of cannon and rifles. Enemies
came face to face, and the men of Jackson, victorious on so many fields,
were slowly pressed back. A shout of triumph rose from the Union lines,
and the eager Tyler brought yet more troops into action. Two of Ewell's
battalions heard the thunder of the battle and rushed of their own
accord to the relief of their commander. But they were unable to stem
the fury of Ohio and West Virginia, and they were borne back with the
others, hearing as it roared in their ears that cry of victory from
their foe, which they had so often compelled that foe himself to hear.
But it was more bitter to none than to Harry. Sitting on his horse in
the rear he saw in the blazing sunlight everything that passed. He saw
for the first time in many days the men in gray yielding. The incredible
was happening. After beating Fremont, after all their superb tactics,
they were now losing to Shields.
He looked at Jackson, hoping to receive some order that would take him
into action, but the general said nothing. He was watching the battle
and his face was inscrutable. Harry wondered how he could preserve
his calm, while his troops were being beaten in front, and the army
of Fremont might thunder at any moment on his flank or rear. Truly the
nerves that could remain steady in such moments must be made of steel
triply wrought.
The Northern army, stronger and more resolute than ever, was coming
on, a long blue line crested with bayonets. The Northern cannon, posted
well, and served with coolness and precision, swept the Southern ranks.
The men in gray retreated faster and some of their guns were taken.
The Union troops charged upon them more fiercely than ever, and the
regiments threatened to fall into a panic.
Then Jackson, shouting to his staff to follow, spurred forward into the
mob and begged them to stand. He rode among them striking some with the
flat of his sword and encouraging others. His officers showed the same
energy and courage, but the columns, losing cohesion seemed on the point
of dissolving, in the face of an enemy who pressed them so hard. Harry
uttered a groan which nobody heard in all the crash and tumult. His
heart sank like lead. Hope was gone clean away.
But at the very moment that hope departed he heard a great cheer,
followed a moment later by a terrific crash of rifles and cannon. Then
he saw those blessed Acadians charging in the smoke along the slope.
They had come through the woods, and they rushed directly upon the great
Northern battery posted there. But so well were those guns handled
and so fierce was their fire that the Acadians were driven back. They
returned to the charge, were driven back again, but coming on a third
time took all the battery except one gun. Then with triumphant shouts
they turned them on their late owners.
The whole Southern line seemed to recover itself at once. The remainder
of Ewell's troops reached the field and enabled their comrades to turn
and attack. The Stonewall Brigade in the center, where Jackson was,
returned to the charge. In a few minutes fickle fortune had faced about
completely. The Union men saw victory once more snatched from their
hands. Their columns in the plain were being raked by powerful batteries
on the flank, many of the guns having recently been theirs. They must
retreat or be destroyed.
The brave and skillful Tyler reluctantly gave the order to retreat, and
when Harry saw the blue line go back he shouted with joy. Then the rebel
yell, thrilling, vast and triumphant, swelled along the whole line,
which lifted up itself and rushed at the enemy, the cavalry charging
fiercely on the flanks.
Shields got up fresh troops, but it was too late. The men in gray were
pouring forward, victorious at every point, and sweeping everything
before them, while the army of Fremont, arriving at the river at noon,
saw burned bridges, the terrible battlefield on the other side strewn
with the fallen, and the Southern legions thundering northward in
pursuit of the second army, superior in numbers to their own, that they
had defeated in two days.
Every pulse in Harry beat with excitement. His soul sprang up at once
from the depths to the stars. This, when hope seemed wholly gone, was
the crowning and culminating victory. The achievement of Jackson equaled
anything of which he had ever heard. While the army of Fremont was held
fast on the other side of the river, the second army under Shields,
beaten in its turn, was retreating at a headlong rate down the valley.
The veterans of Kernstown had fought magnificently, but they had been
outgeneralled, and, like all others, had gone down in defeat before
Jackson.
Jackson, merciless alike in battle and pursuit, pushed hard after the
men in blue for nine or ten miles down the river, capturing cannon and
prisoners. The Ohio and West Virginia men began at last to reform again,
and night coming on, Jackson stopped the pursuit. He still could not
afford to go too far down the valley, lest the remains of Fremont's army
appear in his rear.
As they went back in the night, Harry and Dalton talked together in low
tones. Jackson was just ahead of them, riding Little Sorrel, silent, his
shoulders stooped a little, his mind apparently having passed on from
the problems of the day, which were solved, to those of the morrow,
which were to be solved. He replied only with a smile to the members of
his staff who congratulated him now upon his extraordinary achievement,
surpassing everything that he had done hitherto in the valley. For
Harry and Dalton, young hero-worshippers, he had assumed a stature yet
greater. In their boyish eyes he was the man who did the impossible over
and over again.
The great martial brain was still at work. Having won two fresh
victories in two days and having paralyzed the operations of his
enemies, Jackson was preparing for other bewildering movements. Harry
and Dalton and all the other members of the staff were riding forth
presently in the dusk with the orders for the different brigades and
regiments to concentrate at Brown's Gap in the mountains, from which
point Jackson could march to the attack of McClellan before Richmond, or
return to deal blows at his opponents in the valley, as he pleased. But
whichever he chose, McDowell and sixty thousand men would not be present
at the fight for Richmond. Jackson with his little army had hurled back
the Union right, and the two Union armies could not be united in time.
The whole Southern army was gathered at midnight in Brown's Gap, and the
men who had eaten but little and slept but little in forty-eight hours
and who had fought two fierce and victorious battles in that time,
throwing themselves upon the ground slept like dead men.
While they slept consternation was spreading in the North. Lincoln, ever
hopeful and never yielding, had believed that Jackson was in disorderly
flight up the valley, and so had his Secretary of War, Stanton. The fact
that this fleeing force had turned suddenly and beaten both Fremont and
Shields, each of whom had superior forces, was unbelievable, but it was
true.
But Lincoln and the North recalled their courage and turned hopeful eyes
toward McClellan.