“Yes, general,” said Harry, taking off his hat, “we defeated the enemy, but General Ashby is dead.” Jackson and his staff were silent for a moment, and Harry saw the general shrink as if he had received a heavy blow. “Ashby killed! Impossible!” he exclaimed. “It's true, sir. I helped to carry his body to a house in Port Republic, where it is now lying.” “Lead us to that house, Mr. Kenton,” said Jackson. Harry rode forward in silence, and the others followed in the same silence. At the house, after they had looked upon the body, Jackson asked to be left alone awhile with all that was left of Turner Ashby. The others withdrew and Harry always believed that Jackson prayed within that room for the soul of his departed comrade. When he came forth his face had resumed its sternness, but was without other expression, as usual. “He will not show grief, now,” said Sherburne, “but I think that his soul is weeping.” “And a bad time for Fremont and Shields is coming,” said Harry. “It's a risk that we all take in war,” said Dalton, who was more of a fatalist than any of the others. The chief wrote a glowing official tribute to Ashby, saying that his “daring was proverbial, his powers of endurance almost incredible, his character heroic, and his sagacity almost intuitive in divining the purposes and movements of the enemy.” Yet deeply as Harry had been affected by Ashby's death, it could not remain in his mind long, because they had passed the Massanuttons now, and Fremont and Shields following up the valley must soon unite. Harry believed that Jackson intended to strike a blow. The situation of the Confederacy was again critical--it seemed to Harry that it was always critical--and somebody must wield the sword, quick and strong. McClellan with his great and well-trained army was before Richmond. It was only the rapid marches and lightning strokes of Jackson that had kept McDowell with another great army from joining him, but to keep back this force of McDowell until they dealt with McClellan, there must be yet other rapid marches and lightning strokes. Harry's sleep that night was the longest in two weeks, but he was up at dawn, and he was directed by Jackson to ride forward with Sherburne toward the southern base of the Massanuttons, observe the approach of both Fremont and Shields and report to him. Harry was glad of his errand. He always liked to ride with Sherburne, who was a fount of cheerfulness, and he was still keyed up to that extraordinary intensity and pitch of excitement that made all things possible. He now understood how the young soldiers of Napoleon in Italy had been able to accomplish so much. It was the man, a leader of inspiration and genius, surcharging them all with electrical fire.