“Come, stack arms, men, pile on the rails;
Stir up the camp fires bright.
No matter if the canteen fails,
We’ll make a roaring night.
Here Shenandoah brawls along,
There lofty Blue Ridge echoes strong
To swell the brigade’s rousing song
Of Stonewall Jackson’s way.”
“It’s a bully song!” exclaimed Happy Tom, who had a deep and thunderous voice. Then snatching up a long stick he began to wave it as a baton, and the others, instinctively following their leader, roared it forth, more than ten thousand strong.
Langdon in his glory led his cohorts in a vast circle around Jackson’s quarters, and the mighty chorus thundered through verse after verse, until they closed in a lower tone with the lines:
“Silence! ground arms! kneel all! caps off!
Old Blue Light’s going to pray;
Strangle the fool that dares to scoff!
Attention! it’s his way!
Appealing from his native sod
In forma pauperis to God
Lay bare thine arm-stretch forth thy rod,
Amen! That’s Stonewall Jackson’s way.”
Then Happy Tom threw down his stick and the men dispersed to their quarters. But they had paid Stonewall Jackson a tribute that few generals ever received.
“You’re a wild and foolish fellow, Tom Langdon,” said Dalton, “but I like you for this thing you’ve done.”
“You’ll notice that Old Jack never appeared while we were singing,” said Langdon. “I don’t see why a man should be so modest and bashful. Why, if I’d done half what he’s done I’d ride the tallest horse in the country; I’d have one of those Mexican saddles of yellow leather studded with large golden-headed nails; the stirrups would be of gold and the bridle bit would be gold, too. I’d have twelve uniforms all covered with gold lace, and I’d have hats with gold-colored ostrich plumes waving in them after the fashion of Jeb Stuart.”
“Don’t you worry, Tom,” said Dalton. “You’ll never have any excuse for wearing so much gold. Have you heard what one of the boys said after the chaplain preached the sermon to us last Sunday about leading the children of Israel forty years through the wilderness?”
“No, George; what was it?”
“Forty years going through the wilderness,” he growled. “Why, Stonewall Jackson would have double-quicked ’em through in three days, and on half rations, too.”
“And so he would,” exclaimed Harry with emphasis. The great affection and admiration in which his troops held Jackson began to be tinged with something that bordered upon superstition. They regarded his mental powers, his intuition, judgment and quickness as something almost supernatural. His great flanking movement at the Second Manassas, and his arrival in time to save the army at Antietam, inspired them with awe for a man who could do such things. They had long since ceased to grumble when he undertook one of his tremendous marches, and they never asked why they were sent to do a thing-they had absolute confidence in the one who sent them to do it.
The great excitement of Jackson in his new uniform passed and the boys resumed their luxurious quarters on the leaves beside the Opequon. Sherburne, who had left them a while, returned, riding a splendid bay horse, which he tethered to a bush before rejoining them.
“That’s not the horse I saw you riding at Antietam, Captain,” said Langdon. “I counted that fellow’s ribs, and none show in this one. It’s no business of mine, but I want to know where you got that fine brute.”
“No, it’s none of your business, Tom,” replied Sherburne, as he settled himself comfortably, “you haven’t anything in the world to do with it, but that’s no reason why you shouldn’t ask and I shouldn’t answer.”
“Drop the long-winded preliminaries, then, and go ahead.”
“I got him on a wild ride with the general, General Stuart. What a cavalryman! I don’t believe there was ever such another glutton for adventure and battle. General Lee wasn’t just sure what McClellan meant to do, and he ordered General Stuart to pick his men and go see.
“The general took six hundred of us, and four light guns, and we crossed the Potomac at dawn. Then we rode straight toward the north, exchanging shots here and there with Northern pickets. We went across Maryland and clear up into Pennsylvania, a hundred miles it must have been, I think, and at a town called Chambersburg we got a great supply of Yankee stores, including five hundred horses, which came in mighty handy, I can tell you. I got Bucephalus there. He’s a fine steed, too, I can tell you. He was intended to carry some fat Pennsylvania colonel or major, and instead he has me for a rider, a thinner and consequently a lighter man. I haven’t heard him expressing any sorrow over the exchange.”