Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Scouts of Stonewall: The Story of the Great Valley Campaign by Altsheler (reader novel .txt) 📖
- Author: Altsheler
Book online «The Scouts of Stonewall: The Story of the Great Valley Campaign by Altsheler (reader novel .txt) 📖». Author Altsheler
“We crossed it, that's sure, because here we are,” said Sherburne. “I confess myself that I don't know just how we did it, Harry, but it's quite certain that the enemy will never cross it. The fire's too strong. Besides, they'd have our men to face.”
Harry looked about, and saw several thousand men drawn up to dispute the passage, but the Northern troops recognizing its impossibility at that time, made no attempt. Nevertheless their cannon sent shells curving over the stream, and the Southern cannon sent curving shells in reply. But the burning bridge roared louder and the pyramid of flame rose higher. The rain, which had never ceased to pour in a deluge, merely seemed to feed it.
“Ah, she's about to go now,” exclaimed Sherburne.
The bridge seemed to Harry to rear up before his eyes like a living thing, and then draw together a mass of burning timbers. The next moment the whole went with a mighty crash into the river, and the blazing fragments floated swiftly away on the flood. The deep and rapid Shenandoah flowed a barrier between the armies of Jackson and Fremont.
“A river can be very beautiful without a bridge, Harry, can't it?” said a voice beside him.
It was St. Clair, a heavy bandage over his left shoulder, but a smoking rifle in his right hand, nevertheless.
“I couldn't stand it any longer, Harry,” he said. “I had to get up and join the Invincibles, and you see I'm all right.”
Harry was compelled to laugh at the sodden figure, from which the rain ran in streams. But he admired St. Clair's spirit.
“It was by a hair's breadth, Arthur,” he said.
“But we won across, just the same, and now I'm going back to that wagon to finish my cure. I fancy that we'll now have a rest of six or eight hours, if General Jackson doesn't think so much time taken from war a mere frivolity.”
The Southern army drew off slowly, but as soon as it was out of sight the tenacious Northern troops undertook to follow. They attempted to build a bridge of boats, but the flood was so heavy that they were swept away. Then Fremont set men to work to rebuild the bridge, which they could do in twenty-four hours, but Jackson, meanwhile, was using every one of those precious hours.
CHAPTER XIV. THE DOUBLE BATTLE
The twenty-four hours were a rest, merely by comparison. There was no pursuit, at least, the enemy was not in sight, but the scouts brought word that the bridge over the Shenandoah would be completed in a day and night, and that Fremont would follow. Jackson's army triumphantly passed the last defile of the Massanuttons and the army of Shields did not appear issuing from it. It was no longer possible for them to be struck in front and on the flank at the same time, and the army breathed a mighty sigh of relief. At night of the next day Harry was sitting by the camp of the Invincibles, having received a brief leave of absence from the staff, and he detailed the news to his eager friends.
“General Jackson is stripping again for battle,” he said to Colonel Leonidas Talbot and Lieutenant-Colonel Hector St. Hilaire. “He's sent all the sick and wounded across a ferry to Staunton, and he's dispatched his prisoners and captured stores by another road. So he has nothing left but men fit for battle.”
“Which includes me,” said St. Clair proudly, showing his left shoulder from which the bandage had been taken, “I'm as well as ever.”
“Men get well fast with Stonewall Jackson,” said Colonel Talbot. “I'll confess to you lads that I thought it was all up with us there in the lower valley, when we were surrounded by the masses of the enemy, and I don't see yet how we got here.”
“But we are here, Leonidas,” said Lieutenant-Colonel Hector St. Hilaire, “and that's enough for us to know.”
“Right, Hector, old friend. It's enough for us to know. Do you by chance happen to have left two of those delightful cigarettes?”
“Just two, Leonidas, one for you and one for me, and now is a chance to smoke 'em.”
The young lieutenants drew to one side while the two old friends smoked and compared notes. They did not smoke, but they compared notes also, as they rested on the turf. The rain had ceased and the grass was dry. They saw through the twilight the dark mass of the Massanuttons, the extreme southern end, and Happy Tom Langdon waved his hand toward the mountain, like one who salutes a friend.
“Good old mountain,” he said. “You've been a buffer between us and the enemy more than once, but it took a mind like Stonewall Jackson's to keep moving you around so you would stand between the armies of the enemy and make the Yankees fight, only one army at a time.”
“You're right,” said Harry, who was enjoying the deep luxury of rest. “I didn't know before that mountains could be put to such good use. Look, you can see lights on the ridge now.”
They saw lights, evidently those of powerful lanterns swung to and fro, but they did not understand them, nor did they care much.
“Signals are just trifles to me now,” said Happy Tom. “What do I care for lights moving on a mountain four or five miles away, when for a month, day and night without stopping, a million Yankees have been shooting rifle bullets at me, and a thousand of the biggest cannon ever cast have been pouring round shot, long shot, shell, grape, canister and a hundred other kinds of missiles that I can't name upon this innocent and unoffending head of mine.”
“They'll be on us tomorrow, Happy,” said St. Clair, more gravely. “This picnic of ours can't last more than a day.”
“I think so, too,” said Harry. “So long, boys, I've got to join Captain Sherburne. The general has detached me for service with him under Ashby, and you know that when you are with them, something is going to happen.”
Harry slept well that night, partly in a camp and partly in a saddle, and he found himself the next day with Ashby and Sherburne near a little town called Harrisonburg. They were on a long hill in thick forest, and the scouts reported that the enemy was coming. The Northern armies were uniting now and they were coming up the valley, expecting to crush all opposition.
“Take your glasses, Harry,” said Sherburne, “and you'll see a strong force crossing the fields, but it's not strong enough. We've a splendid position here in the forest and you just watch. Ah, here come your friends, the Invincibles. See, Ashby is forming them in the center, while we, of the horse, take the flanks.”
The men in blue, catching sight of the Confederate uniforms in the wood, charged with a
Comments (0)