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
Amid all the bustle Jackson found time to attend religious services,
and also ordered every wagon that reached the camp with supplies to be
searched. If liquor were found it was thrown at once upon the ground.
The soldiers, even the recruits, knew that they were to follow a
God-fearing man. Oliver Cromwell had come back to earth. But most of the
soldiers were now disciplined thoroughly. The month they had spent at
Winchester after the great raid had been devoted mostly to drill.
The day of departure came and the army, amid the good wishes of many
friends in Winchester, filed out of the town. The great rains, which, it
had seemed, would never cease, had ceased at last. There was a touch of
spring in the air, and in sheltered places the grass was taking on deep
tints of green.
During all the days of preparation Jackson had said nothing about his
plan of retreat. The Virginians, lining the streets and watching so
anxiously, did not know where he would seek refuge. And suddenly as they
watched, a cheer, tremendous and involuntary, burst from them.
The heads of Jackson's columns were turned north. He was not marching
away from the enemy. He was marching toward him. But the burst of
elation was short. Even the civilians in Winchester knew that Jackson
was hugely outnumbered.
Harry himself was astonished, and he gazed at his leader. What
fathomless purpose lay beneath that stern, bearded face? Jackson's eyes
expressed nothing. He and he alone knew what was in his mind.
But the troops asked no word from their leaders. The fact that their
faces were turned toward the north was enough for them. They knew, too,
of the heavy odds that were against them, but they were not afraid.
As Harry watched the young soldiers, many of whom sang as they marched,
his own enthusiasm rose. He had seen companies in brilliant uniforms at
Richmond, but no parade soldiers were here. There were few glimpses of
color in the columns, but the men marched with a strong, elastic step.
They had all been born upon the farms or in the little villages, and
they were familiar with the hills and forests. They had been hunters,
too, as soon as their arms were strong enough to hold rifle or shot gun.
Most of them had killed deer or bear in the mountains, and all of them
had known how to ride from earliest childhood. They had endured every
hardship and they knew how to take care of themselves in any kind of
country and in any kind of weather.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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