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The Scouts of Stonewall
J >> Joseph A. Altsheler >> The Scouts of Stonewall Pages: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 This etext was produced by Ken Reeder
THE SCOUTS OF STONEWALL
THE STORY OF THE GREAT VALLEY CAMPAIGN
by JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER
FOREWORD
"The Scouts of Stonewall," while an independent story, is in effect a
continuation of the series which began with "The Guns of Bull Run" and
which was carried on in "The Guns of Shiloh." The present romance
reverts to the Southern side, and is concerned with the fortunes of
Harry Kenton and his friends.
THE CIVIL WAR SERIES
VOLUMES IN THE CIVIL WAR SERIES
THE GUNS OF BULL RUN.
THE GUNS OF SHILOH.
THE SCOUTS OF STONEWALL.
THE SWORD OF ANTIETAM.
THE STAR OF GETTYSBURG.
THE ROCK OF CHICKAMAUGA.
THE SHADES OF THE WILDERNESS.
THE TREE OF APPOMATTOX.
PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS IN THE CIVIL WAR SERIES
HARRY KENTON, A Lad Who Fights on the Southern Side.
DICK MASON, Cousin of Harry Kenton, Who Fights on the Northern Side.
COLONEL GEORGE KENTON, Father of Harry Kenton.
MRS. MASON, Mother of Dick Mason.
JULIANA, Mrs. Mason's Devoted Colored Servant.
COLONEL ARTHUR WINCHESTER, Dick Mason's Regimental Commander.
COLONEL LEONIDAS TALBOT, Commander of the Invincibles,
a Southern Regiment.
LIEUTENANT COLONEL HECTOR ST. HILAIRE, Second in Command of the
Invincibles.
ALAN HERTFORD, A Northern Cavalry Leader.
PHILIP SHERBURNE, A Southern Cavalry Leader.
WILLIAM J. SHEPARD, A Northern Spy.
DANIEL WHITLEY, A Northern Sergeant and Veteran of the Plains.
GEORGE WARNER, A Vermont Youth Who Loves Mathematics.
FRANK PENNINGTON, A Nebraska Youth, Friend of Dick Mason.
ARTHUR ST. CLAIR, A Native of Charleston, Friend of Harry Kenton.
TOM LANGDON, Friend of Harry Kenton.
GEORGE DALTON, Friend of Harry Kenton.
BILL SKELLY, Mountaineer and Guerrilla.
TOM SLADE, A Guerrilla Chief.
SAM JARVIS, The Singing Mountaineer.
IKE SIMMONS, Jarvis' Nephew.
AUNT "SUSE," A Centenarian and Prophetess.
BILL PETTY, A Mountaineer and Guide.
JULIEN DE LANGEAIS, A Musician and Soldier from Louisiana.
JOHN CARRINGTON, Famous Northern Artillery Officer.
DR. RUSSELL, Principal of the Pendleton School.
ARTHUR TRAVERS, A Lawyer.
JAMES BERTRAND, A Messenger from the South.
JOHN NEWCOMB, A Pennsylvania Colonel.
JOHN MARKHAM, A Northern Officer.
JOHN WATSON, A Northern Contractor.
WILLIAM CURTIS, A Southern Merchant and Blockade Runner.
MRS. CURTIS, Wife of William Curtis.
HENRIETTA GARDEN, A Seamstress in Richmond.
DICK JONES, A North Carolina Mountaineer.
VICTOR WOODVILLE, A Young Mississippi Officer.
JOHN WOODVILLE, Father of Victor Woodville.
CHARLES WOODVILLE, Uncle of Victor Woodville.
COLONEL BEDFORD, A Northern Officer.
CHARLES GORDON, A Southern Staff Officer.
JOHN LANHAM, An Editor.
JUDGE KENDRICK, A Lawyer.
MR. CULVER, A State Senator.
MR. BRACKEN, A Tobacco Grower.
ARTHUR WHITRIDGE, A State Senator.
HISTORICAL CHARACTERS
ABRAHAM LINCOLN, President of the United States.
JEFFERSON DAVIS, President of the Southern Confederacy.
JUDAH P. BENJAMIN, Member of the Confederate Cabinet.
U. S. GRANT, Northern Commander.
ROBERT B. LEE, Southern Commander.
STONEWALL JACKSON, Southern General.
PHILIP H. SHERIDAN, Northern General.
GEORGE H. THOMAS, "The Rock of Chickamauga."
ALBERT SIDNEY JOHNSTON, Southern General.
A. P. HILL, Southern General.
W. S. HANCOCK, Northern General.
GEORGE B. McCLELLAN, Northern General.
AMBROSE B. BURNSIDE, Northern General.
TURNER ASHBY, Southern Cavalry Leader.
J. E. B. STUART, Southern Cavalry Leader.
JOSEPH HOOKER, Northern General.
RICHARD S. EWELL, Southern General.
JUBAL EARLY, Southern General.
WILLIAM S. ROSECRANS, Northern General.
SIMON BOLIVAR BUCKNER, Southern General.
LEONIDAS POLK, Southern General and Bishop.
BRAXTON BRAGG, Southern General.
NATHAN BEDFORD FORREST, Southern Cavalry Leader.
JOHN MORGAN, Southern Cavalry Leader.
GEORGE J. MEADE, Northern General.
DON CARLOS BUELL, Northern General.
W. T. SHERMAN, Northern General.
JAMES LONGSTREET, Southern General.
P. G. T. BEAUREGARD, Southern General.
WILLIAM L. YANCEY, Alabama Orator.
JAMES A. GARFIELD, Northern General, afterwards President of
the United States.
And many others
IMPORTANT BATTLES DESCRIBED IN THE CIVIL WAR SERIES
BULL RUN
KERNSTOWN
CROSS KEYS
WINCHESTER
PORT REPUBLIC
THE SEVEN DAYS
MILL SPRING
FORT DONELSON
SHILOH
PERRYVILLE
STONE RIVER
THE SECOND MANASSAS
ANTIETAM
FREDERICKSBURG
CHANCELLORSVILLE
GETTYSBURG
CHAMPION HILL
VICKSBURG
CHICKAMAUGA
MISSIONARY RIDGE
THE WILDERNESS
SPOTTSYLVANIA
COLD HARBOR
FISHER'S HILL
CEDAR CREEK
APPOMATTOX
CONTENTS
I. IN THE VALLEY
II. THE FOOT CAVALRY
III. STONEWALL JACKSON'S MARCH
IV. WAR AND WAITING
V. THE NORTHERN ADVANCE
VI. KERNSTOWN
VII. ON THE RIDGES
VIII. THE MOUNTAIN BATTLE
IX. TURNING ON THE FOE
X. WINCHESTER
XI. THE NIGHT RIDE
XII. THE CLOSING CIRCLE
XIII. THE SULLEN RETREAT
XIV. THE DOUBLE BATTLE
XV. THE SEVEN DAYS
THE SCOUTS OF STONEWALL
CHAPTER I
IN THE VALLEY
A young officer in dingy Confederate gray rode slowly on a powerful
bay horse through a forest of oak. It was a noble woodland, clear of
undergrowth, the fine trees standing in rows, like those of a park.
They were bare of leaves but the winter had been mild so far, and a
carpet of short grass, yet green, covered the ground. To the rider's
right flowed a small river of clear water, one of the beautiful streams
of the great Virginia valleys.
Harry Kenton threw his head back a little and drew deep breaths of the
cool, crisp air. The light wind had the touch of life in it. As the
cool puffs blew upon him and filled his lungs his chest expanded and his
strong pulses beat more strongly. But a boy in years, he had already
done a man's work, and he had been through those deeps of passion and
despair which war alone brings.
A year spent in the open and with few nights under roof had enlarged
Harry Kenton's frame and had colored his face a deep red. His great
ancestor, Henry Ware, had been very fair, and Harry, like him, became
scarlet of cheek under the beat of wind and rain.
Had anyone with a discerning eye been there, to see, he would have called
this youth one of the finest types of the South that rode forth so boldly
to war. He sat his saddle with the ease and grace that come only of long
practice, and he controlled his horse with the slightest touch of the
rein. The open, frank face showed hate of nobody, although the soul
behind it was devoted without any reserve to the cause for which he
fought.
Harry was on scout duty. Although an officer on the staff of Colonel
Talbot, commander of the Invincibles, originally a South Carolina
regiment, he had developed so much skill in forest and field, he had such
acuteness of eye and ear, that he was sent often to seek the camps of
the enemy or to discover his plans. His friends said that these forest
powers were inherited, that they came from some far-away ancestor who had
spent his life in the wilderness, and Harry knew that what they said was
true.
Despite the peaceful aspect of the forest and the lack of human presence
save his own, he rode now on an errand that was full of danger. The
Union camp must lie on the other side of that little river, not many
miles farther on, and he might meet, at any moment, the pickets of the
foe. He meant to take the uttermost risk, but he had no notion of being
captured. He would suffer anything, any chance, rather than that.
He had lately come into contact with a man who had breathed into him the
fire and spirit belonging to legendary heroes. To this man, short of
words and plain of dress, nothing was impossible, and Harry caught from
him not merely the belief, but the conviction also.
Late in the autumn the Invincibles, who had suffered severely at Bull Run
and afterward had been cut down greatly in several small actions in the
mountains, had been transferred to the command of Stonewall Jackson in
the Shenandoah Valley. Disease and the hospital had reduced the regiment
to less than three hundred, but their spirits were as high as ever.
Their ranks were renewed partly with Virginians. Colonel Talbot and
Lieutenant-Colonel St. Hilaire had recovered from small wounds, and
St. Clair and Langdon were whole and as hard as iron. After a period of
waiting they were now longing for action.
There was some complaint among the Invincibles when they were detached
from the main army to the service of Jackson, but Harry did not share in
it. When he heard of the order he remembered that dread afternoon at
Bull Run, when all seemed lost, and the most vivid of his memories was
the calm figure riding back and forth just beyond the pines among which
he stood, and gathering for a fresh charge the stern ranks of his men
who were to turn almost sure defeat into absolutely sure victory. The
picture of the man in the heart of that red glare among the showers of
bullets had been burned so deeply into Harry's memory that he could call
it up, almost as vivid as life itself at any time. Surely that was a
leader to follow, and he, at least, would wish to ride where Stonewall
led.
But action did not come as soon as he had expected. Jackson was held by
commands from Richmond. The great army of the South waited, because the
great army of the North, under McClellan, also waited and temporized
while the autumn was passing fast.
But Jackson, while held in the bonds of orders, did not sleep. The most
active youth of his command rode day and night toward the northern end of
the valley, where the forces of the Union were gathering. The movements
of Banks and Kelly and the other Northern commanders were watched
continually by keen eyes trained in the southern forests. Slim
striplings passed in the night through the little towns, and the people,
intensely loyal to the South, gave them the news of everything.
Harry had seen the whole autumn pass and winter come, and the war,
save for a fitful skirmish now and then, stood at a pause in the valley.
Yet he rode incessantly, both with the others and alone, on scouting
duty. He knew every square mile of the country over a wide range,
and he had passed whole nights in the forest, when hail or snow was
whistling by. But these had been few. Mostly mild winds blew and the
hoofs of his horse fell on green turf.
Harry was intensely alert now. He was far from his command, and he knew
that he must see and hear everything or he would soon be in the hands
of the enemy. He rode on rather slowly, and amid continued silence.
He saw on his left a white house with green shutters and a portico.
But the shutters were closed tightly and no smoke rose from the chimneys.
Although house and grounds showed no touch of harm, they seemed to bear
the brand of desolation. The owners had fled, knowing that the sinister
march of war would pass here.
Harry's mood changed suddenly from gladness to depression. The desolate
house brought home to him the terrible nature of war. It meant
destruction, wounds and death, and they were all the worse because it was
a nation divided against itself, people of the same blood and the same
traditions fighting one another.
But youth cannot stay gloomy long, and his spirits presently flowed back.
There was too much tang and life in that crisp wind from the west for his
body to droop, and a lad could not be sad long, with brilliant sunshine
around him and that shining little river before him.
The thrill of high adventure shot up from his soul. He had ceased to
hate the Northern soldiers, if he had ever hated them at all. Now they
were merely brave opponents, with whom he contended, and success demanded
of either skill, daring and energy to the utmost degree. He was resolved
not to fail in any of these qualities.
He left the desolate house a mile behind, and then the river curved a
little. The woods on the farther shore came down in dense masses to the
edge of the stream, and despite the lack of foliage Harry could not see
far into them. The strong, inherited instincts leaped up. His nostrils
expanded and a warning note was sounded somewhere in the back of his
brain.
He turned his horse to the left and entered the forest on his own side
of the river. They were ancient trees that he rode among, with many
drooping and twisted boughs, and he was concealed well, although he could
yet see from his covert the river and the forest on the other shore.
The song of a trumpet suddenly came from the deep woodland across the
shining stream. It was a musical song, mellow and triumphant on every
key, and the forest and hills on either shore gave it back, soft and
beautiful on its dying echoes. It seemed to Harry that the volume of
sound, rounded and full, must come from a trumpet of pure gold. He had
read the old romances of the Round Table, and for the moment his head was
full of them. Some knight in the thicket was sending forth a challenge
to him.
But Harry gave no answering defiance. Now the medieval glow was gone,
and he was modern and watchful to the core. He had felt instinctively
that it was a trumpet of the foe, and the Northern trumpets were not
likely to sing there in Virginia unless many Northern horsemen rode
together.
Then he saw their arms glinting among the trees, the brilliant beams of
the sun dancing on the polished steel of saber hilt and rifle barrel.
A minute more, and three hundred Union horsemen emerged from the forest
and rode, in beautiful order, down to the edge of the stream.
Harry regarded them with an admiration which was touched by no hate.
They were heavily built, strong young men, riding powerful horses,
and it was easy for anyone to see that they had been drilled long and
well. Their clothes and arms were in perfect order, every horse had been
tended as if it were to be entered in a ring for a prize. It was his
thought that they were not really enemies, but worthy foes. That ancient
spirit of the tournament, where men strove for the sake of striving,
came to him again.
The Union horsemen rode along the edge of the stream a little space,
and then plunged into a ford. The water rose to their saddle skirts,
but they preserved their even line and Harry still admired. When all
were on his own shore the golden trumpet sang merrily again, and they
turned the heads of their horses southward.
Harry rode deeper into the ancient wood. They might throw out scouts or
skirmishers and he had no mind to be taken. It was his belief that they
came from Romney, where a Northern army had gathered in great force and
would eventually march toward Jackson at Winchester. But whatever their
errand, here was something for him to watch, and he meant to know what
they intended.
The Northern troop, youths also, the average of their age not much more
than twenty, rode briskly along the edge of the little river, which was a
shining one for them, too, as well as Harry. They knew that no enemy in
force was near, and they did not suspect that a single horseman followed,
keeping in the edge of the woods, his eyes missing nothing that they did.
As for themselves, they were in the open now and the brilliant sunshine
quickened their blood. Some of them had been at Bull Run, but the sting
of that day was going with time. They were now in powerful force at the
head of the great Virginia valleys, and they would sweep down them with
such impact that nothing could stand before them. The trumpet sang its
mellow triumphant note again, and from across a far range of hills came
its like, a low mellow note, faint, almost an echo, but a certain reply.
It was the answer from another troop of their men who rode on a parallel
line several miles away.
The lone lad in the edge of the forest heard the distant note also,
but he gave it no heed. His eyes were always for the troop before him.
He had already learned from Stonewall Jackson that you cannot do two
things at once, but the one thing that you do you must do with all your
might.
The troop presently left the river and entered the fields from which the
crops had been reaped long since. When the horsemen came to a fence
twelve men dismounted and threw down enough panels for the others to ride
through without breaking their formation. Everything was done with order
and precision. Harry could not keep from admiring. It was not often
that he saw so early in the war troops who were drilled so beautifully,
and who marched so well together.
Harry always kept on the far side of the fields, and as the fences were
of rails with stakes and riders he was able by bending very low in the
saddle to keep hidden behind them. Nevertheless it was delicate work.
He was sure that if seen he could escape to the forest through the speed
of his horse. But he did not want to be driven off. He wished to follow
that troop to its ultimate destination.
Another mile or two and the Union force bore away to the right, entering
the forest and following a road, where the men rode in files, six
abreast. They did not make much noise, beyond the steady beating of the
hoofs, but they did not seem to seek concealment. Harry made the obvious
deduction that they thought themselves too far beyond the range of the
Southern scouts to be noticed. He felt a thrill of satisfaction, because
he was there and he had seen them.
He rode in the forest parallel with the troop and at a distance of about
four hundred yards. There was scattered undergrowth, enough to hide him,
but not enough to conceal those three hundred men who rode in close files
along a well-used road.
Harry soon saw the forest thinning ahead of him and then the trumpet sang
its mellow, golden note again. From a point perhaps a mile ahead came a
reply, also the musical call of the trumpet. Not an echo, but the voice
of a second trumpet, and now Harry knew that another force was coming to
join the first. All his pulses began to beat hard, not with nervousness,
but with intense eagerness to know what was afoot. Evidently it must be
something of importance or strong bodies of Union cavalry would not be
meeting in the woods in this manner.
After the reply neither trumpet sounded again, and the troop that Harry
was following stopped while yet in the woods. He rode his horse behind a
tall and dense clump of bushes, where, well hidden, he could yet see all
that might happen, and waited.
He heard in a few minutes the beat of many hoofs upon the hard road,
advancing with the precision and regularity of trained cavalry. He saw
the head of a column emerge upon the road and an officer ride forward to
meet the commander of the first troop. They exchanged a few words and
then the united force rode southward through the open woods, with the
watchful lad always hanging on their rear.
Harry judged that the new troop numbered about five hundred men, and
eight hundred cavalry would not march on any mere scouting expedition.
His opinion that this was a ride of importance now became a conviction,
and he hardened his purpose to follow them to the end, no matter what the
risk.
It was now about noon, and the sun became warm despite the December day.
The turf softened under the rays and the Union cavalry left an immense
wide trail through the forest. It was impossible to miss it, and Harry,
careful not to ride into an ambush of rear guard pickets, dropped back a
little, and also kept slightly to the left of the great trail. He could
not see the soldiers now, but occasionally he heard the deep sound of so
many hoofs sinking into the soft turf. Beyond that turfy sigh no sound
from the marching men came to him.
The Union troop halted about two o'clock in the afternoon, and the men
ate cold food from the knapsacks. They also rested a full hour, and
Harry, watching from a distance, felt sure that their lack of hurry
indicated a night attack of some kind. They had altered their course
slightly, twice, and when they started anew they did so a third time.
Now their purpose occurred suddenly to Harry. It came in a flash of
intuition, and he did not again doubt it for a moment. The head of the
column was pointed straight toward a tiny village in which food and
ammunition for Stonewall Jackson were stored. The place did not have
more than a dozen houses, but one of them was a huge tobacco barn stuffed
with powder, lead, medicines, which were already worth their weight in
gold in the Confederacy, and other invaluable supplies. It had been
planned to begin their removal on the morrow to the Southern camp at
Winchester, but it would be too late unless he intervened.
If he did not intervene! He, a boy, riding alone through the forest,
to defeat the energies of so many men, equipped splendidly! The
Confederacy was almost wholly agricultural, and was able to produce few
such supplies of its own. Nor could it obtain them in great quantities
from Europe as the Northern navy was drawing its belt of steel about the
Southern coasts. That huge tobacco barn contained a treasure beyond
price, and Harry was resolved to save it.
He did not yet know how he would save it, but he felt that he would.
All the courage of those border ancestors who won every new day of life
as the prize of skill and courage sprang up in him. It was no vain
heritage. Happy chance must aid those who trusted, and, taking a
deep curve to the left, he galloped through the woods. His horse
comparatively fresh after easy riding, went many miles without showing
any signs of weariness.
The boy knew the country well, and it was the object of his circuit to
take him ahead of the Union troop and to the village which held a small
guard of perhaps two hundred men. If the happy chance in which he
trusted should fail him after all, these men could carry off a part of
the supplies, and the rest could be destroyed to keep them from falling
into Northern hands.
He gave his horse a little breathing space and then galloped harder than
ever, reckoning that he would reach the village in another hour. He
turned from the woods into one of the narrow roads between farms, just
wide enough for wagons, and increased his speed.
The afternoon sun was declining, filling the west with dusky gold,
and Harry still rode at a great pace along the rough road, wondering all
the while what would be the nature of the lucky chance, in which he was
trusting so firmly. Lower sank the sun and the broad band of dusky gold
was narrowing before the advance of the twilight. The village was not
now more than two miles away, and the road dipped down before him.
Sounds like that made by the force behind him, the rattle of arms,
the creak of leather and the beat of hoofs, came suddenly to his ears.
Harry halted abruptly and reined his horse into some bushes beside the
road. Then he heard the sounds more plainly. They were made by cavalry,
riding slowly. The great pulses in his throat leaped in quick alarm.
Was it possible that they had sent a portion of their force swiftly by
another route, and that it was now between him and the village?
He listened again and with every faculty strained. The cavalrymen were
riding toward him and they could not be a part of the Union force.
Then they must be of his own South. Surely this was the happy chance
of which he had dreamed! Again the great pulses leaped, but with a
different emotion.
Scorning every risk, he reined his horse back into the road and rode
straight forward. The heads of men were just topping the rise, and a
few moments later they and the horses they bestrode came into full view.
It was a thankful thrill that shot through him now. The sun, almost sunk,
sent a last golden shower across them and disclosed the dingy gray of
their uniforms and the lean, tanned faces.
Uttering a shout of joy and holding up a hand to show that he was a
friend, Harry galloped forward. A young man at the head of the troop,
a captain by his uniform, and evidently the leader, gave the signal to
his men to stop, and received the boy who came alone.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"I'm Harry Kenton, a lieutenant in the army of Stonewall Jackson, and an
aide on the staff of Colonel Leonidas Talbot, colonel of the regiment
known as the Invincibles."
"I've heard of that regiment. South Carolinians at first, but now mostly
Virginians."
"The Virginians filled up the gaps that were made on the battlefield."
Harry spoke proudly, and the young captain smiled. The boy regarded
him with increasing interest. Somehow he was reminded of Jeb Stuart,
although this man was younger, not having passed his boyhood long.
It was evident that he was tall. Thick, yellow curls showed from under
the edge of his cap. His face, like Harry's, had turned red before wind
and rain. His dress was a marvel, made of the finest gray without a spot
or stain. A sash of light blue silk encircled his waist, and the costly
gray cloak thrown back a little from his shoulders revealed a silk lining
of the same delicate blue tint. His gauntlets were made of the finest
buckskin, and a gold-hilted small sword swung from his sash.
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