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Date Posted: 23:40:55 11/16/02 Sat
Author: cont'd
Subject: cont'd
In reply to: cont'd 's message, "cont'd" on 23:39:17 11/16/02 Sat

“Who are you?” asked the general.

“My name, sir, is Shepard, William J. Shepard. I am a spy or a scout in the Union service. I have concealed upon me a letter from President Lincoln, empowering me to act in such a capacity and to go where I please. Do you wish to see it, sir?”

Shepard spoke with deference, but there was no touch of servility in his tone.

“Show me the letter,” said Banks.

Shepard thrust a hand into his waistcoat and withdrew a document which he handed to the general. Banks glanced through it rapidly.

“It's from Lincoln,” he said; “I know that handwriting, but it would not be well for you to be captured with that upon you.”

“If I were about to be captured I should destroy it.”

“Why have you come here? What message do you bring?”

“The worst possible message, sir. Stonewall Jackson and an army of twenty thousand men will be upon you in the morning.”

“What! What is this you say! It was only a cavalry raid at Front Royal!”

“It was no cavalry raid at Front Royal, sir! It was Jackson and his whole army! I ought to have known, sir! I should have got there and have warned Kenly in time, but I could not! My horse was killed by a rebel sharpshooter in the woods as I was approaching! I could not get up in time, but I saw what happened!”

“Kenly! Kenly, where is he?”

“Mortally wounded or dead, and his army is destroyed! They made a brave stand, even after they were defeated at the village. They might have got away had anybody but Jackson been pursuing. But he gave them no chance. They were enveloped by cavalry and infantry, and only a few escaped.”

“Good God!” exclaimed Banks, aghast.

“Nor is that all, sir. They are close at hand! They will attack you at dawn! They are in full force! Ewell's army has joined Jackson and Jackson leads them all! We must leave Strasburg at once or we are lost!”

Shepard's manner admitted of no doubt. Banks hurried forth and sent officers to question the pickets. All the news they brought was confirmatory. Even in the darkness and rain shots had been fired at them by the Southern skirmishers. Banks sent for all of his important officers, the troops were gathered together, and leaving a strong rear-guard, they began a rapid march toward Winchester, which Jackson had loved so well.

Swiftness and decision now on the other side had saved the Northern army from destruction. Banks did not realize until later, despite the urgent words of Shepard, how formidable was the danger that threatened him. Jackson, despite all the disadvantages of the darkness and the rain, wished to get his army up before daylight, but the deep mud formed by the pouring rain enabled Banks to slip away from the trap.

The Southern troops, moreover, were worn to the bone. They had come ninety miles in five days over rough roads, across streams without bridges, and over a high mountain, besides fighting a battle of uncommon fierceness. There were limits even to the endurance of Jackson's foot cavalry.

Harry was first awake in the little tent. He sat up and looked at the other three on their planks who were sleeping as if they would never wake any more. A faint tint of dawn was appearing at the open flap of the door. The four had lain down dressed fully, and Harry, as he sprang from his board, cried:

“Up, boys, up! The army is about to move!”

The three also sprang to their feet, and went outside. Although the dawn was as yet faint, the army was awakening rapidly, or rather was being awakened. The general himself appeared a moment later, dressed fully, the end of a lemon in his mouth, his face worn and haggard by incredible hardships, but his eyes full of the strength that comes from an unconquerable will.

He nodded to Harry, Dalton and the others.

“Five minutes for breakfast, gentlemen,” he said, “and then join me on horseback, ready for the pursuit of the enemy!”

The few words were like the effects of a galvanic battery on Harry. Peculiarly susceptible to mental power, Jackson was always a stimulus to him. Close contact revealed to him the fiery soul that lay underneath the sober and silent exterior, and, in his own turn, he caught fire from it. Youthful, impressionable and extremely sensitive to great minds and great deeds, Stonewall Jackson had become his hero, who could do no wrong.

Five minutes for the hasty breakfast and they were in the saddle just behind Jackson. The rain had ceased, the sun was rising in a clear sky, the country was beautiful once more, and down a long line the Southern bugles were merrily singing the advance. Very soon scattered shots all along their front showed that they were in touch with the enemy.

The infantry and cavalry left by Banks as a curtain between himself and Jackson did their duty nobly that morning. The pursuit now led into a country covered with forest, and using every advantage of such shelter, the Northern companies checked the Southern advance as much as was humanly possible. Many of them were good riflemen, particularly those from Ohio, and the cavalry of Ashby, Funsten and Sherburne found the woods very warm for them. Horses were falling continually, and often their riders fell with them to stay.

Harry, in the center with the commander, heard the heavy firing to both right and left, and he glanced often at Jackson. He saw his lips move as if he were talking to himself, and he knew that he was disappointed at this strong resistance. Troops could move but slowly through woods in the face of a heavy rifle fire, and meanwhile Banks with his main body was escaping to Winchester.

“Mr. Kenton,” said Jackson sharply, “ride to General Ashby and tell him to push the enemy harder! We must crush at least a portion of this army! It is vital!”

Harry was off as soon as the last words left the general's lips. He spurred his horse from the turnpike, leaped a low rail fence, and galloped across a field toward a forest, where Ashby's cavalry were advancing and the rifles were cracking fast.

Bullets from the Northern skirmishers flew over him and beside him, as he flew about the field, but he thought little of them. He was growing so thoroughly inured to war that he seldom realized the dangers until they were passed.

Neither he nor his horse was hurt—their very speed, perhaps, saved them and they entered the wood, where the Southern cavalry were riding.

“General Ashby!” he cried to the first man he saw. “Where is he? I've a message from General Jackson!”

The soldier pointed to a figure on horseback but a short distance away, and Harry galloped up.

“General Jackson asks you to press the enemy harder!” he said to Ashby. “He wishes him to be driven in rapidly!”

A faint flush came into the brown cheeks of Ashby.

“He shall he obeyed,” he replied. “We're about to charge in full force! Hold, young man! You can't go back now! You must charge with us!”

He put his hand on Harry's rein as he spoke, and the boy saw that a strong force of Northern cavalry had now appeared in the fields directly between him and his general. Ashby turned the next instant to a bugler at his elbow and exclaimed fiercely:

“Blow! Blow with all your might!”

The piercing notes of the charge rang forth again and again. Ashby, shouting loudly and continuously and waving his sword above his head, galloped forward. His whole cavalry force galloped with him and swept down upon the defenders.

Nor did Ashby lack support. The Acadians led by Taylor swung forward on a run, and a battery, coming at the double quick, unlimbered and opened fire. Jackson had directed all, he had brought up the converging lines, and the whole Northern rear guard, two thousand cavalry, some infantry and a battery, were caught. Just before them lay the little village of Middletown, and in an instant they were driven into its streets, where they were raked by shot and shell from the cannon, while the rifles of the cavalry and of the Louisiana troops swept them with bullets.

Again the Northern soldiers, brave and tenacious though they might be, could make no stand against the terrible rush of Jackson's victorious and superior numbers. They had no such leading as their foes. The man, the praying professor, was proving himself everything.

As at Front Royal, the Northern force was crushed. It burst from the village in fragments, and fled in many directions. But Jackson urged on the pursuit. Ashby's cavalry charged again and again, taking prisoners everywhere.

The people of Middletown, as red-hot for the South as were those of Front Royal, rushed from their houses and guided the victors along the right roads. They pointed where two batteries and a train of wagons were fleeing toward Winchester, and Ashby, with his cavalry, Harry still at his elbow, raced in pursuit.



CHAPTER X. WINCHESTER
Ashby's troopers put the armed guard of the wagons to flight in an instant, and then they seized the rich pillage in these wagons. They were not yet used to the stern discipline of regular armies and Ashby strove in vain to bring most of them back to the pursuit of the flying enemy. Harry also sought to help, but they laughed at him, and he had not yet come to the point where he could cut down a disobedient soldier. Nor had the soldiers reached the point where they would suffer such treatment from an officer. Had Harry tried such a thing it is more than likely that he would have been cut down in his turn.

But the delay and similar delays elsewhere helped the retreating Northern army. Banks, feeling that the pursuit was not now so fierce, sent back a strong force with artillery under a capable officer, Gordon, to help the rear. The scattered and flying detachments also gathered around Gordon and threw themselves across the turnpike.

Harry felt the resistance harden and he saw the pursuit of the Southern army slow up. The day, too, was waning. Shadows were already appearing in the east and if Jackson would destroy Banks' army utterly he must strike quick and hard. Harry at that moment caught sight of the general on the turnpike, on Little Sorrel, the reins lying loose on the horse's neck, his master sitting erect, and gazing at the darkening battlefield which was spread out before him.

Harry galloped up and saluted.

“I could not come back at once, sir,” he said, “because the enemy was crowded in between Ashby and yourself.”

“But you've come at last. I was afraid you had fallen.”

Harry's face flushed gratefully. He knew now that Stonewall Jackson would have missed him.

“If the night were only a little further away,” continued Jackson, “we could get them all! But the twilight is fighting for them! And they fight for themselves also! Look, how those men retreat! They do well for troops who were surprised and routed not so long ago!”

He spoke in a general way to his staff, but his tone expressed decided admiration. Harry felt again that the core of the Northern resistance was growing harder and harder. The hostile cannon blazed down the road, and the men as they slowly retired sent sheets of rifle bullets at their pursuers. Detachments of their flying cavalry were stopped, reformed on the flanks, and had the temerity to charge the victors more than once.

Harry did not notice now that the twilight was gone and the sun had sunk behind the western mountains. The road between pursuer and pursued was lighted up by the constant flashes of cannon and rifles, and at times he fancied that he could see the vengeful and threatening faces of those whom he followed, but it was only fancy, fancy bred by battle and its excitement.

The pursued crossed a broad marshy creek, the Opequon, and suddenly formed in line of battle behind it with the cavalry on their flanks. The infantry poured in heavier volleys than before and their horsemen, charging suddenly upon a Virginia regiment that was trying to cross, sent it back in rapid retreat.

After the great volleys it was dark for a moment or two and then Harry saw that General Jackson and his staff were sitting alone on their horses on the turnpike. The Northern rifles flashed again on the edge of the creek, and from a long stone fence, behind which they had also taken refuge for a last stand.

Harry and his comrades urged Jackson off the turnpike, where he was a fair target for the rifles whenever there was light, and into the bushes beside it. They were just in time, as the night was illuminated an instant later by cannon flashes and then a shower of bullets swept the road where Jackson and his staff had been.

Harry thought that they would stop now, but he did not yet know fully his Stonewall Jackson. He ordered up another Virginia regiment, which, reckless of death, charged straight in front, crossed the creek and drove the men in blue out of their position.

Yet the Northern troops, men from Massachusetts, refused to be routed. They fell back in good order, carrying their guns with them, and stopping at intervals to fire with cannon and rifles at their pursuers. Jackson and his staff spurred through the Opequon. Water and mud flew in Harry's face, but he did not notice them. He was eager to be up with the first, because Jackson was still urging on the pursuit, even far into the night. Banks with his main force had escaped him for the time, but he did not mean that the Northern commander should make his retreat at leisure.

Harry had never passed through such a night. It contained nothing but continuous hours of pursuit and battle. The famous foot cavalry had marched nearly twenty miles that day, they had fought a hard combat that afternoon, and they were still fighting. But Jackson allowed not a moment's delay. He was continually sending messengers to regiments and companies to hurry up, always to hurry up, faster, and faster and yet faster.

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