The colonel approached and saluted. General Jackson's clothes were soiled and dusty. His feet, encased in cavalry boots that reached beyond the knees, rested upon a lower rail of the fence. A worn cap with a dented visor almost covered his eyes. The rest of his face was concealed by a heavy, dark beard. “General Jackson, I believe,” said the officer, saluting. “Yes. How far have those men marched?” The voice was kindly and approving. “We've come twenty-six miles, sir.” “Good. And I see no stragglers.” “We allow no stragglers.” “Better still. I haven't been able to keep my own men from straggling, and you'll have to teach them.” At that moment the Acadian band began to play, and it played the merriest waltz it knew. Jackson gazed at it, took a lemon from his pocket and began to suck the juice from it meditatively. The officer stood before him in some embarrassment. “Aren't they rather thoughtless for such serious work as war?” asked the Presbyterian general. “I am confident, sir, that their natural gayety will not impair their value as soldiers.” Jackson put the end of the lemon back in his mouth and drew some juice from it. The colonel bowed and retired. Then Jackson beckoned to Harry, who stood by. “Follow him and tell him,” he said, “that the band can play as much as it likes. I noticed, too, that it plays well.” Jackson smiled and Harry hurried after the officer, who flushed with gratification, when the message was delivered to him. “I'll tell it to the men,” he said, “and they'll fight all the better for it.” That night it was a formidable army that slept in the fields on either side of the turnpike, and in the silence and the dark, Stonewall Jackson was preparing to launch the thunderbolt. CHAPTER IX. TURNING ON THE FOE Harry was awakened at the first shoot of dawn by the sound of trumpets. It was now approaching the last of May and the cold nights had long since passed. A warm sun was fast showing its edge in the east, and, bathing his face at a brook and snatching a little breakfast, he was ready. Stonewall Jackson was already up, and his colored servant was holding Little Sorrel for him. The army was fast forming into line, the new men of Ewell resolved to become as famous foot cavalry as those who had been with Jackson all along. Ewell himself, full of enthusiasm and already devoted to his chief, was riding among them, and whenever he spoke to one of them he cocked his head on one side in the peculiar manner that was habitual with him. Now and then, as the sun grew warmer, he took off his hat and his bald head gleamed under the yellow rays. “Which way do you think we're going?” said the young staff officer, George Dalton, to Harry--Dalton was a quiet youth with a good deal of the Puritan about him and Harry liked him.