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.”