The Scouts of Stonewall: The Story of the Great Valley CampaignAltsheler, Joseph A. (Joseph Alexander)
History
The Scouts of Stonewall: The Story of the Great Valley Campaign
Altsheler, Joseph A. (Joseph Alexander)
United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Juvenile fiction
“Don't know. I'm not thinking. I'm not here to think at such times. All
the thinking we need is going on under the old slouch hat there. Harry,
didn't we go with him all through the valley? Can't we still trust him?”
“I can and will.”
“Same here.”
The army curved about again. Harry, wholly unfamiliar with the country,
did not notice it until the roar of the battle began to rise again,
showing that they were coming nearer. Then he divined the plan. Jackson
was making this circuit through the woods to fall on the Northern flank.
It was the first of the great turning movements which Lee and Jackson
were to carry through to brilliant success so often.
“Look at the red blaze beyond those bushes,” said Dalton, “and listen
how rapidly the sound of the battle is growing in volume. I don't know
where we are, but I do know now that Old Jack is leading us right into
the thick of it.”
The general rode forward and stopped his horse on the crest of a low
hill. Then Harry and Dalton, looking over the bushes and swamps, saw a
great blue army stationed behind a creek and some low works.
“It's McClellan!” exclaimed Dalton.
“Or a part of him,” said Harry.
It was a wing of the Northern army. McClellan himself was not there, but
many brave generals were, Porter, Slocum and the others. The batteries
of this army were engaged in a heavy duel with the Southern batteries
in front, and the sharpshooters in the woods and bushes kept up a
continuous combat that crackled like the flames of a forest fire.
Harry drew a long breath.
“This is the biggest yet,” he said.
Dalton nodded.
The soldiers of Jackson were already marching off through the woods,
floundering through deep mud, crossing little streams swollen by heavy
rains, but eager to get into action.
It was very difficult for the mounted men, and Harry and Dalton at last
dismounted and led their horses. The division made slow progress and
as they struggled on the battle deepened. Now and then as they toiled
through the muck they saw long masses of blue infantry on a ridge, and
with them the batteries of great guns which the gunners of the North
knew so well how to use.
Their own proximity was discovered after a while, and shell and bullets
began to fly among them, but they emerged at last on firm ground and on
the Northern flank.
“It's hot and growing hotter,” said Dalton.
“And we'll help increase the heat if we ever get through these
morasses,” said Harry.
He felt the bridle suddenly pulled out of his hand, and turned to catch
his runaway horse, but the horse had been shot dead and his body had
fallen into the swamp. Dalton's horse also was killed presently by a
piece of shell, but the two plunged along on foot, endeavoring to keep
up with the general.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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