Harry did not laugh, nor did he hear anyone else laugh. He had expressed the opinion that many of them held at that moment. Stonewall Jackson was driving them on in the darkness and the light that he furnished them was a flaming sword. It was worse to shirk and face him, than it was to go on and face the cannon and rifles of the enemy.
They called upon their reserves of strength for yet another ounce, and it came. The pursuit thundered on, through the woods and bushes and across the hills and valleys, but the men in blue, in spite of everything, retained their ranks on the turnpike, retreated in order, and facing at intervals, sent volley after volley against the foe. It was impossible for the Southern army to ride them down or destroy them with cannon and rifle.
Harry came back about midnight from one of his messages, to Jackson, who was again riding on the turnpike. Most of his staff were gone on like errands, but General Taylor who led the Acadians was now with him. Off in front the rifles were flashing, and again and again, bullets whistled near them. Harry said nothing but fell in behind Jackson and close to him to await some new commission.
They heard the thunder of a horse’s hoofs behind them, and a man galloped up, he as well as his horse breathing hard.
He was the chief quartermaster of the army, and Jackson recognized him at once, despite the dark.
“Where are the wagon trains?” exclaimed Jackson, shouting forth his words.
“They’re far behind. They were held up by a bad road in the Luray valley. We did our best, sir,” replied the officer, his voice trembling with weariness and nervousness.
“And the ammunition wagons, where are they?”
The voice was stern, even accusing, but the officer met Jackson’s gaze firmly.
“They are all right, sir,” he replied. “I sacrificed the other wagons for them, though. They’re at hand.”
“You have done well, sir,” said Jackson, and Harry thought he saw him smile. No food for his veterans, but plenty of powder. It was exactly what would appeal to Stonewall Jackson.
“Supply more powder and bullets to the men,” said Jackson presently. “Keep on pushing the enemy! Never stop for a moment.”
Harry mechanically put his hand in his pocket, why he did not know, but he felt a piece of bread and meat that he had put there in the morning. He fingered the foreign substance a moment, and it occurred to him that it was good to eat. It occurred to him next that he had not eaten anything since morning, and this body of his, which for the time being seemed to be dissevered from mind, might be hungry.
He took out the food and looked at it. It was certainly good to the eyes, and the body was not so completely dissevered after all, as it began to signal the mind that it was, in very truth, hungry. He was about to raise the food to his lips and then he remembered.
Spurring forward a little he held out the bread and meat to Jackson.
“It’s cold and hard, sir,” he said, “but you’ll find it good.”
“It’s thoughtful of you,” said Jackson. “I’ll take half and see that you eat the rest. Give none of it to this hungry horde around me. They’re able to forage for themselves.”
Jackson ate his half and Harry his. That reminded most of the officers that they had food also, and producing it they divided it and fell to with an appetite. As they ate, a shell from one of the retreating Northern batteries burst almost over their heads and fragments of hot metal struck upon the hard road. They ate on complacently. When Jackson had finished his portion he took out one of his mysterious lemons and began to suck the end of it.
Midnight was now far behind and the pursuit never halted. One of the officers remarked jokingly that he had accepted an invitation to take breakfast on the Yankee stores in Winchester the next morning. Jackson made no comment. Harry a few minutes later uttered a little cry.