“But your newspapers say you’re growing very tired. There’s no nation so big that it can’t be exhausted.”
“But you’ll be exhausted first. So long, I see some of our generals coming out on the bluffs with their glasses. I suppose we mustn’t appear too friendly.”
“Good-bye, Mr. Shepard. We’ve lost Jackson, but we’ve many a good man yet. I think our next great battle will be farther north.”
They had not spoken as enemies, but as friends who held different views upon an important point, and now they rowed back peacefully, each to his own shore.
With the return of Longstreet, the Southern army was raised to greater numbers than at Chancellorsville. With Stuart’s matchless cavalry it numbered nearly eighty thousand men, most of them veterans, and a cry for invasion came from the South. What was the use of victories like Fredericksburg and Chancellorsville, if they merely left matters where they were? The fighting hitherto had been done on Southern soil. The South alone had felt the presence of war. It was now time for the North to have a taste of it.
Harry and his comrades heard this cry, and it seemed to them to be full of truth. They ought to strike straight at the heart of the enemy. When their victorious brigades threatened Philadelphia and New York, the two great commercial centers of the North, then the Northern people would not take defeat so easily. It would be a different matter altogether when a foe appeared at their own doors.
Rumors that the invasion would be undertaken soon spread thick and fast. Harry saw his general, Lee now in place of Jackson, in daily conference with his most trusted lieutenants. Longstreet and A. P. Hill were there often, and one day Harry saw riding toward headquarters a man who had only one leg and who was strapped to his saddle. But a strong Roman nose and a sharp, penetrating eye showed that he was a man of force and decision. Once, when he lifted his hat to return a salute, he showed a head almost wholly bald.
Harry looked at him for a moment or two unknowing, and then crying “General Ewell!” ran forward to greet him.
Harry was right. It was what was left of him who had been Jackson’s chief lieutenant in the Valley campaigns and who had fallen wounded so terribly at the Second Manassas. After nine months of suffering, here he was again, as resolute and indomitable as ever, able to ride only when he was strapped in his saddle, but riding as much as any other general, nevertheless.
And Ewell, who might well have retired, was one of those who had most to lose by war. He had a great estate in the heart of a rich country near Virginia’s ancient capital, Williamsburg. There he had lived in a large house, surrounded by a vast park, all his own. Even as the man, maimed in body but as dauntless of mind as ever, rode back to Lee, his estate was in the hands of Union troops. He had all to lose, but did not hesitate.
Harry saluted him and spoke to him gladly. Ewell turned his piercing eyes upon him, hesitated a moment, and then said:
“It’s Kenton, young Harry Kenton of Jackson’s staff. I remember you in the Valley now. We’ve lost the great Jackson, but we’ll beat the Yankees yet.”
Then he let loose a volley of oaths, much after the fashion of the country gentleman of that time, both in America and England. But Harry only smiled.
“I’m to have command of Jackson’s old corps, the second,” said Ewell, “and if you’re not placed I’ll be glad to have you on my staff.”
“I thank you very much, General,” said Harry with great sincerity, “but General Lee has taken me over, because I was with Jackson.”
“Then you’ll have all the fighting you want,” said the indomitable Ewell. “General Lee never hesitates to strike. But don’t be the fool that I was and get your leg shot off. If anything has to go, let it be an arm. Look at me. I could ride with any man in all Virginia, a state of horsemen, and now a couple of men have to come and fasten me in the saddle with straps. But never mind.”