The general ceased to follow the troops, but turned aside into what seemed to be a thin stretch of forest. But Harry saw that the trees grew in rows and he exclaimed:
“An orchard!”
It seemed to strike Jackson’s fancy.
“Well,” he said, “an orchard is a good place to sleep in. Can’t we make a fire here? I fear that we shall have to burn some fence rails tonight.”
Harry and the major-Hawks was his name-hitched the horses, and gathered a heap of dry fence rails. The major set fire to splinters with matches and, in a few minutes a fine fire was crackling and blazing, taking away the sharp chill of the March night.
Harry saw other fires spring up in the orchard, and he went over to one of them, where some soldiers were cooking food.
“Give me a piece of meat and bread,” he said to a long Virginian.
“Set, Sonny, an’ eat with us!”
“I don’t want it for myself.”
“Then who in nation are you beggin’ fur?”
“For General Jackson. He’s sitting over there.”
“Thunderation! The gen’ral himself! Here, boy!”
Bearing a big piece of meat in one hand and a big piece of bread in the other Harry returned to Jackson, who had not yet tasted food that day. The general ate heartily, but almost unconsciously. He seemed to be in a deep study. Harry surmised that his thoughts were on the morrow. He had learned already that Stonewall Jackson always looked forward.
Harry foraged and obtained more food for himself, and other officers of the staff who were coming up, some bearing slight wounds that they concealed. He also secured the general’s cloak, which was strapped to his saddle and insisted upon his putting it on.
The fire was surrounded presently by officers. Major Hawks had laid together and as evenly as possible a number of fence rails upon which Jackson was to sleep, but as yet no one was disposed to slumber. They had finished eating, but they remained in a silent and somber circle about the fire.
Jackson stood up presently and his figure, wrapped in the long cloak was all dark. The light did not fall upon his face. All the others looked at him. Among them was one of Ashby’s young troopers, a bold and reckless spirit. It was a time, too, when the distinction between officers and privates in the great citizen armies was not yet sharply defined. And this young trooper, some spirit of mockery urging him on, stood up and said to his general:
“The Yankees didn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave Winchester, did they, general?”
Harry drew a quick, sharp breath, and there was a murmur among the officers, but Stonewall Jackson merely turned a tranquil look upon the presumptuous youth. Then he turned it back to the bed of coals and said in even tones:
“Winchester is a pleasant town to stay in, sir.”
The young cavalryman, not abashed at all, continued:
“We heard the Yankees were retreating, but I guess they’re retreating after us.”
Harry half rose and so did several of the older officers, but Jackson replied quietly:
“I think I may tell you, young sir, that I am satisfied with the result.”
The audacity of the youthful trooper could not carry him further. He caught threatening looks from the officers and slipped away in the darkness. Silence fell anew around the fire, and Jackson still stood, gazing into the coals. Soon, he turned abruptly, strode away into the darkness, but came back after a while, lay down on the fence rails and slept soundly.
Harry put four or five rails side by side to protect his body from the cold ground, lay down upon them and threw a cloak over himself. Now he relaxed or rather collapsed completely. The tension that had kept him up so long was gone, and he felt that he could not have risen from the rails had he wished. He saw wavering fires and dusky figures beside them, but sleep came in a few minutes to soothe and heal.
Bye and bye all the army, save the sentinels, slept and the victorious Northern army only two or three miles away also slept, feeling that it had done enough for one day.