Chapter I. The Head of the Family

The Star of Gettysburg

by Joseph A. Altsheler

A youth sat upon a log by a clear stream in the Valley of
Virginia, mending clothes.

He showed skill and rapidity in his homely task. A shining
needle darted in and out of the gray cloth, and the rent that had
seemed hopeless was being closed up with neatness and precision. No
one derided him because he was engaged upon a task that was usually
performed by women. The Army of Northern Virginia did its own
sewing.

"Will the seam show much, Arthur?" asked Harry Kenton, who lay
luxuriously upon the leafy ground beside the log.

"Very little when I finish," replied St. Clair, examining his
work with a critical eye. "Of course I can't pass the uniform off as
wholly new. It's been a long time since I've seen a new one in our
army, but it will be a lot above the average."

"I admire your care of your clothes, Arthur, even if I can't
quite imitate it. I've concluded that good clothes give a certain
amount of moral courage, and if you get killed you make a much more
decent body."

"But Arthur St. Clair, of Charleston, sir, has no intention of
getting killed," said Happy Tom Langdon, who was also resting upon
the earth. "He means after this war is over to go back to his native
city, buy the most magnificent uniforms that were ever made, and tell
the girls how Lee and Jackson turned to him for advice at the crisis
of every great battle."

"We surely needed wisdom and everything else we could get at
Antietam-- leadership, tenacity and the willingness to die," said
Dalton, the sober young Virginia Presbyterian. "Boys, we were in the
deepest of holes there, and we had to lift ourselves out almost by
our own boot straps."

Harry's face clouded. The field of Antietam often returned to
him, almost as real and vivid as on that terrible day, when the dead
lay heaped in masses around the Dunkard church and the Southern army
called forth every ounce of courage and endurance for its very
salvation.

"Antietam is a month away," he said, "and I still shudder at the
name. We didn't think McClellan would come up and attack Lee while
Jackson was away at Harper's Ferry, but he did. How did it happen?
How did he know that our army was divided?"

"I've heard a strange story," said Dalton. "It's come through
some Union prisoners we've taken. They say that McClellan found a
copy of General Lee's orders in Frederick, and learned from them
exactly where all our troops were and what they intended. Then, of
course, he attacked."

"A strange tale, as you say, a most extraordinary chance," said
Harry. "Do you think it's true, George?"

"I've no doubt it fell out that way. The same report comes from
other sources."

"At any rate," said Happy Tom, "it gave us a chance to show how
less than fifty thousand men could stand off nearly ninety thousand.
Besides, we didn't lose any ground. We went over into Maryland to
give the Marylanders a chance to rise for the South. They didn't
rise worth a cent. I suppose we didn't get more than five hundred
volunteers in that state. 'The despot's heel is on thy shore,
Maryland, my Maryland,' and it can stay on thy shore, Maryland, my
Maryland, if that's the way you treat us. I feel a lot more at home
here in Virginia."

"It is fine," said Harry, stirring comfortably on the leaves and
looking down at the clear stream of the Opequon. "One can't fight
all the time. I feel as if I had been in a thousand battles, and two
or three months of the year are left. It's fine to lie here by the
water, and breathe pure air instead of dust."

"I've heard that every man eats a peck of dirt in the course of
his life," said Happy Tom, "but I know that I've already beat the
measure a dozen times over. Why, I took in a bushel at least at the
Second Manassas, but I still live, and here I am, surveying this
peaceful domestic scene. Arthur is mending his best uniform, Harry
stretched on the leaves is resting and dreaming dreams, George is
wondering how he will get a new pair of shoes for the season, and the
army is doing its autumn washing."

Harry glanced up and down the stream, and he smiled at the
homely sight. Thousands of soldiers were washing their ragged clothes
in the little river and the equally ragged clothes of many others
were drying on the banks or on the bushes. The sun-browned lads who
skylarked along the shores or in the water, playing pranks on one
another, bore little resemblance to those who had charged so fiercely
and so often into the mouths of the cannon at Antietam.

Harry marvelled at them and at himself. It seemed scarcely
possible that human nature could rush to such violent extremes within
so short a space. But youth conquered all. There was very little
gloom in this great army which disported itself in the water or in
the shade. Thousands of wounded, still pale, but with returning
strength, lay on the October leaves and looked forward to the day
when they could join their comrades in either games or war.

Harry himself had suffered for a while from a great exhaustion.
He had been terribly anxious, too, about his father, but a letter
written just after the battle of Perryville, and coming through with
unusual promptness by the way of Chattanooga and Richmond, had
arrived the day before, informing him of Colonel Kenton's safety. In
this letter his father had spoken of his meeting with Dick Mason in
his home at Pendleton, and that also contributed to his new lightness
of heart. Dick was not a brother, but he stood in the place of one,
and it was good to hear again of him.

The sounds of shouts and laughter far up and down the Opequon
became steady and soothing. The October winds blowing gently were
crisp and fresh, but not too cold. The four boys ceased talking and
Harry on his bed of leaves became drowsy. The forests on the far
hills and mountains burned in vivid reds and yellows and browns,
painted by the master hand of autumn. Harry heard a bird singing on
a bough among red leaves directly over his head, and the note was
piercingly sweet to ears used so long to the roar of cannon and
rifles.

His drowsy lids sank lower and he would have gone to sleep had
he not been roused by a shouting farther down the little river. His
eyes opened wide and he sat up.

"What is it, George?" he said to Dalton.

"I don't know, but here comes Captain Sherburne, and I'll ask
him."

Sherburne was approaching with long strides, his face flushed
with enthusiasm.

"What is it, Captain?" asked Harry. "What are the boys shouting
about?"

"The news has just reached them that Old Jack has been made a
lieutenant- general. General Lee asked the government to divide his
army into two corps, with Old Jack in command of one and Longstreet
in charge of the other. The government has seen fit to do what
General Lee advises it to do, and we are now the Second Army Corps,
two thousand officers, twenty-five thousand men and one hundred and
thirty guns, commanded by Lieutenant-General Thomas Jonathan Jackson,
better known to his enemy as 'Stonewall' Jackson and to his men as
'Old Jack.'"

"Splendid!" exclaimed Harry. "Never was a promotion better
earned!"

"And so say we all of us," said Happy Tom. "But just a moment,
Captain. What is the news about me?"

"About you, Tom?"

"Yes, about me? Didn't I win the victory at the Second
Manassas? Didn't I save the army at Antietam? Am I promoted to be a
colonel or is it merely a lieutenant-colonel?"

"I'm sorry, Tom," replied Sherburne with great gravity, "but
there is no mention of your promotion. I know it's an oversight, and
we'll join in a general petition to Richmond that you be made a
lieutenant-colonel at the very least."

"Oh, never mind. If it has to be done through the begging of my
friends I decline the honor. I don't know that I'd care to be any
kind of a colonel, anyhow. I'd have to pass the boys here, and maybe
I'd have to command 'em, which would make 'em feel bad. Old Jack
himself might become jealous of me. I guess I'm satisfied as I
am."

"I like the modesty of the South Carolinians, Tom," said Dalton.
"There's a story going the rounds that you South Carolinians made the
war and that we Virginians have got to fight it."

"There may be such a story. It seems to me that it was
whispered to me once, but the internal evidence shows that it was
invented by a Virginian. Haven't I come up here and shed some of my
blood and more of my perspiration to save the sacred soil of the
Mother of Presidents from invasion? And didn't I bring with me
Arthur St. Clair, the best dressed man in Charleston, for the Yankees
to shoot at? Hello, what's that? This is a day of events!"

Hoots, cat-calls, and derisive yells arose along a long line. A
trim young officer on a fine bay horse was riding down a path beside
the Opequon. He was as beautifully dressed as St. Clair at his best.
His hands were encased in long white buckskin gloves, and long brown
mustaches curled beautifully up until they touched either cheek. It
was he, this Beau Brummel of the Southern army, who had attracted the
attention of irreverent youth. From the shelter of trees and bushes
came a chorus of cries:

"Take them mice out o' your mouth! I know they're there, 'cause
I see their tails stickin' out!"

"What kind o' hair oil do you use? I know your head's oiled, or
it wouldn't shine so."

"Be sure you keep your gloves on or the sun'll tan your
hands!"

"Oh, my, it's mother's pretty boy, goin' to see his best
girl!"

The young officer flushed crimson through his brown, but he knew
it was no use to resent the words of his tormentors, and he rode
steadily on, looking straight before him.

"That's Caswell, a Georgian, of Longstreet's corps," said
Sherburne; "a good soldier and one of the bravest men I ever saw."

"Which proves," said St. Clair, in a tone of conviction, "that
clothes do help make the man."

Caswell passed out of sight, pursued by derisive comment, but
his place was taken quickly by a new victim. A man of middle age, in
civilian clothes, came riding slowly on a fat horse. He was a
well-known sutler named Williams and the wild lads did not confine
themselves to hidden cries, but rushed from the shelter of trees and
bushes, and held up worn articles of apparel, shouting in his
ears:

"Hey, Mr. Williams! The soles of these shoes are made of paper,
not leather. I bought leather, not paper."

"What's the price of blue silk neckties? I've got a Yankee
sweetheart in New York, and I want to look well when our conquering
army marches into that city!"

"A pair of blankets for me, Mr. Williams, to be paid for when we
loot the Yankee treasury!"

But Williams was not disconcerted. He was used to such
badinage. He spread out his large hands soothingly.

"Boys," he said, "those shoes wore out so fast because you
chased the Yankees so hard. They were made for walking, not for foot
races. Why do you want to buy blankets on time when you can get them
more cheaply by capturing them from the enemy?"

His answers pleased them, and some one called for three cheers
for Williams, which were given with a will, and he rode on,
unmolested. But in a few minutes another and greater roar arose. Now
it was swelling, continuous, and there was in it no note whatever of
criticism or derision. It was made up wholly of affection and
admiration, and it rolled in unceasing volume along the stream and
through the forest.

The four lads and Sherburne sprang to their feet, shading their
eyes with their hands as they looked.

"By the great Jupiter!" exclaimed Sherburne, "it's Old Jack
himself in a new uniform on Little Sorrel! The boys, I imagine, have
heard that he's been made lieutenant-general."

"I knew that nothing could stir up the corps this way except Old
Jack or a rabbit," said Happy Tom, as he sprang to his feet--he meant
no disrespect to his commander, as thousands would give chase to a
rabbit when it happened to be roused out of the bushes.

"Thunderation! What a change!" exclaimed St. Clair, as he ran
with the others to the edge of the road to see Stonewall Jackson, the
victor of twenty battles, go past in a uniform that at first had
almost disguised him from his amazed soldiers. Little Sorrel was
galloping. He had learned to do so whenever the soldiers cheered his
rider. Applause always embarrassed Jackson, and Little Sorrel, of
his own volition, now obeyed his wish to get by it as soon as
possible.

"What splendor!" exclaimed Harry. "Did you ever see Old Jack
looking like this before?"

"Never! Never!" they exclaimed in chorus.

Stonewall Jackson wore a magnificent uniform of the richest
gray, with heavy gold lace wherever gold lace could be used, and
massive epaulets of gold. A thick gold cord tied in a bow in front
surrounded the fine gray hat, and never did a famous general look
more embarrassed as the faithful horse took him along at an easy
gallop.

All through the woods spread the word that Stonewall Jackson was
riding by arrayed in plumage like that of the dandy, Jeb Stuart
himself. It was wonderful, miraculous, but it was true, and the
cheers rolled continuously, like those of troops about to go into
battle and confident of victory.

Harry saw clearly that his commander was terribly abashed.
Blushes showed through the tan of his cheeks, and the soldiers, who
would not have dared to disobey a single word of his on the
battlefield, now ran joyously among the woods and bushes. Harry and
the other three lads, being on Jackson's staff, hid discreetly behind
the log as he passed, but they heard the thunder of the cheering
following him down the road.

It was in truth a most singular scene. These were citizen
soldiers, welded into a terrible machine by battle after battle and
the genius of a great leader, but with their youth they retained
their personality and independence. Affection was strongly mingled
with their admiration for Jackson. He was the head of the family,
and they felt free to cheer their usually dingy hero as he rode
abroad in his magnificent new uniform.

"I think we'd better cut across the woods to headquarters," said
Harry. "I want to see the arrival of Old Jack, and I'd wager any of
you five cents to a cent that he'll never wear that uniform again.
Why, he doesn't look natural in it at all."

"I won't take your bet," said Happy Tom, "because I'm thinking
just as you do. Arthur, here, would look all right in it--he needs
clothes to hold him up, anyway, but it doesn't suit Old Jack."

Their short cut took them through the woods to the general's
quarters in time to see him arrive and spring hurriedly from Little
Sorrel. The man whose name was a very synonym of victorious war was
still embarrassed and blushing, and as Harry followed him into the
tent he took off the gorgeous uniform and hat and handed them to his
young aide. Then as he put on his usual dingy gray, he said to an
officer who had brought him the new clothes:

"Give my thanks to General Stuart, Major, but tell him that the
uniform is far too magnificent for me. I value the gift, however,
and shall keep it in recollection of him."

The major and Harry took the uniform and, smoothing it
carefully, laid it away. But Harry, having further leave of absence
went forth and answered many questions. Was the general going to
wear that uniform all the time? Would he ride into battle clothed in
it? When Harry replied that, in his belief, he would never put it on
again, the young soldiers seemed to feel a kind of relief. The head
of the family was not going to be too splendid for them. Yet the
event had heightened their spirits, already high, and they began to
sing a favorite song:

"Come, stack arms, men, pile on the rails; Stir up
the camp fires bright. No matter if the canteen fails,
We'll make a roaring night. Here Shenandoah brawls along,
There lofty Blue Ridge echoes strong To swell the brigade's
rousing song Of Stonewall Jackson's way." "It's a bully
song!" exclaimed Happy Tom, who had a deep and thunderous voice.
Then snatching up a long stick he began to wave it as a baton, and
the others, instinctively following their leader, roared it forth,
more than ten thousand strong.

Langdon in his glory led his cohorts in a vast circle around
Jackson's quarters, and the mighty chorus thundered through verse
after verse, until they closed in a lower tone with the lines:

"Silence! ground arms! kneel all! caps off! Old Blue
Light's going to pray; Strangle the fool that dares to scoff!
Attention! it's his way! Appealing from his native sod
In forma pauperis to God Lay bare thine arm--stretch forth thy
rod, Amen! That's Stonewall Jackson's way." Then Happy Tom
threw down his stick and the men dispersed to their quarters. But
they had paid Stonewall Jackson a tribute that few generals ever
received.

"You're a wild and foolish fellow, Tom Langdon," said Dalton,
"but I like you for this thing you've done."

"You'll notice that Old Jack never appeared while we were
singing," said Langdon. "I don't see why a man should be so modest
and bashful. Why, if I'd done half what he's done I'd ride the
tallest horse in the country; I'd have one of those Mexican saddles
of yellow leather studded with large golden-headed nails; the
stirrups would be of gold and the bridle bit would be gold, too. I'd
have twelve uniforms all covered with gold lace, and I'd have hats
with gold-colored ostrich plumes waving in them after the fashion of
Jeb Stuart."

"Don't you worry, Tom," said Dalton. "You'll never have any
excuse for wearing so much gold. Have you heard what one of the boys
said after the chaplain preached the sermon to us last Sunday about
leading the children of Israel forty years through the
wilderness?"

"No, George; what was it?"

"Forty years going through the wilderness," he growled. "Why,
Stonewall Jackson would have double-quicked 'em through in three
days, and on half rations, too."

"And so he would," exclaimed Harry with emphasis. The great
affection and admiration in which his troops held Jackson began to be
tinged with something that bordered upon superstition. They regarded
his mental powers, his intuition, judgment and quickness as something
almost supernatural. His great flanking movement at the Second
Manassas, and his arrival in time to save the army at Antietam,
inspired them with awe for a man who could do such things. They had
long since ceased to grumble when he undertook one of his tremendous
marches, and they never asked why they were sent to do a thing--they
had absolute confidence in the one who sent them to do it.

The great excitement of Jackson in his new uniform passed and
the boys resumed their luxurious quarters on the leaves beside the
Opequon. Sherburne, who had left them a while, returned, riding a
splendid bay horse, which he tethered to a bush before rejoining
them.

"That's not the horse I saw you riding at Antietam, Captain,"
said Langdon. "I counted that fellow's ribs, and none show in this
one. It's no business of mine, but I want to know where you got that
fine brute."

"No, it's none of your business, Tom," replied Sherburne, as he
settled himself comfortably, "you haven't anything in the world to do
with it, but that's no reason why you shouldn't ask and I shouldn't
answer."

"Drop the long-winded preliminaries, then, and go ahead."

"I got him on a wild ride with the general, General Stuart.
What a cavalryman! I don't believe there was ever such another
glutton for adventure and battle. General Lee wasn't just sure what
McClellan meant to do, and he ordered General Stuart to pick his men
and go see.

"The general took six hundred of us, and four light guns, and we
crossed the Potomac at dawn. Then we rode straight toward the north,
exchanging shots here and there with Northern pickets. We went
across Maryland and clear up into Pennsylvania, a hundred miles it
must have been, I think, and at a town called Chambersburg we got a
great supply of Yankee stores, including five hundred horses, which
came in mighty handy, I can tell you. I got Bucephalus there. He's
a fine steed, too, I can tell you. He was intended to carry some fat
Pennsylvania colonel or major, and instead he has me for a rider, a
thinner and consequently a lighter man. I haven't heard him
expressing any sorrow over the exchange."

"What did you do after you got the remounts?" asked Harry.

"We began to curve then. We passed a town called Gettysburg,
and we went squarely behind the Union army. Mountainous and hilly
country up there, but good and cultivated beautifully. Those
Pennsylvania Germans, Harry, beat us all hollow at farming. I'm
beginning to think that slaves are not worth owning. They ruin our
land."

"Which may be so," interrupted Langdon, "but we're not the kind
of people to give them up because a lot of other people order us to
do it."

"Shut up, Tom," exclaimed Harry. "Let the captain go on with
his story."

"We went on around the Union rear, rode another hundred miles
after leaving Chambersburg, coming to a place called Hyattstown, near
which we cut across McClellan's communications with Washington.
Things grew warm, as the Yankees, learning that we were in the
country, began to assemble in great force. They tried to prevent our
crossing the Monocacy River, and we had a sharp fight, but we drove
them off before they could get up a big enough force to hold us.
Then we came on, forded the Potomac and got back after having made an
entire circuit of McClellan's army."

"What a ride!" exclaimed St. Clair, his eyes sparkling. "I wish
I had been with you. It would have been something to talk about."

"We did stir 'em up," said Sherburne with pardonable pride, "and
we got a lot of information, too, some of it beyond price. We've
learned that there will be no more attempts on Richmond by sea. The
Yankee armies will come across Virginia soil or not at all."

"I imagine McClellan won't be in any hurry to cross the
Potomac," said Harry. "He certainly got us into a hot corner at
Antietam, and if the reports are true he had plenty of time to come
up and wipe out General Lee's whole force, while Old Jack was tied up
at Harper's Ferry. They feel that way about McClellan in the North,
too. I've got an old Philadelphia newspaper and I'll read to you
part of a poem that's reprinted in it. The poem is called 'Tardy
George.' Listen:

"What are you waiting for, George, I pray? To scour
your cross belts with fresh pipe clay? To burnish your buttons,
to brighten your guns? Or wait for May-day, and warm spring
suns? Are you blowing your fingers because they're cold, Or
catching your breath ere you take a hold? Is the mud knee-deep
in valley and gorge? What are you waiting for, Tardy George?"
"That's pretty bitter," said Harry, "but it must have been written
before the Seven Days. You notice what the author says about waiting
for May-day."

"Likely enough you're right, but it applies just the same or
they wouldn't be reprinting it in their newspapers. Some of them
claim a victory over us at Antietam, and nearly all are angry at
McClellan because he wouldn't follow us into Virginia. They think he
ought to have crossed the Potomac after us and smashed us."

"He might have got smashed himself."

"Which people are likely to debate all through this generation
and the next. But they're bitter against McClellan, although he's
done better than any other Yankee general in the east. Just listen
to this verse, will you?

"Suppose for a moment, George, my friend, Just for a
moment you condescend To use the means that are in your hands
The eager muskets and guns and brands; Take one bold step on
the Southern sod, And leave the issue to watchful God! For
now the nation raises its gorge, Waiting and watching you, Tardy
George." Harry carefully folded up the paper and put it back in his
pocket. The contrast between these verses and the song that he had
just heard ten thousand men sing, as they whirled around Stonewall
Jackson's headquarters, impressed him deeply.

"It's hard, boys," he said, "for a general to see things like
this printed about him, even if he should deserve them. McClellan,
so all the prisoners say, has the confidence of his men. They
believe that he can win."

"And we know that we can and do win!" exclaimed Langdon. "We've
got the soldiers and the generals, too. Hurrah for Bobby Lee, and
Stonewall Jackson and Jim Longstreet, and old Jubal Early, and A. P.
Hill and D. H. Hill and Jeb Stuart and--and----"

"And for Happy Tom Langdon, the greatest soldier and general of
them all," interrupted Dalton.

"That's true," said Langdon, "only people don't know it yet.
Now, by the great horn spoon, what is that? What a day this is!"

A great uproar had begun suddenly, and, as if by magic, hundreds
of men had risen from the ground and were running about like mad
creatures. But the boys knew that they were not mad. They understood
in an instant what it was all about as they heard innumerable voices
crying, "Rabbit! Rabbit!"

Rabbits were numerous in the underbrush and they made good stew.
The soldiers often surrounded them and caught them with their bare
hands, but they dared not shoot at them, as, owing to the number of
pursuers, somebody would certainly have been hurt.

Harry and his comrades instantly joined in the chase, which led
into the deep woods. The rabbit, frightened into unusual speed by
the shouts, darted into the thick brush and escaped them all.

"Poor little rascal," said Harry, "I'm glad he got away after
all. What good would one rabbit be to an army corps of twenty-five
thousand men?"

As they were returning to their place on the creek bank an
orderly came for Harry, and he was summoned to the tent of Jackson.
It was a large tent spread in the shade of an old oak, and Harry
found that Captain Sherburne had already preceded him there. All
signs of splendor were hidden completely. Jackson once more wore
with ease his dingy old gray clothes, but the skin of his brow was
drawn into a tiny knot in the center, as if he were concentrating
thought with his utmost power.

"Sit down, Mr. Kenton," he said kindly. "I've already been
speaking to Captain Sherburne and I'll tell you now what I want.
General McClellan's army is still beyond the Potomac. As nearly as
our spies can estimate it has, present and fit for duty, one hundred
and thirty-five thousand men and three hundred and fifty cannon.
McClellan, as we well know, is always overcautious and overestimates
our numbers, but public opinion in the North will force him to
action. They claim there that Antietam was a victory for them, and
he will surely invade Virginia again. I shall send Captain Sherburne
and his troop to find out where and when, and you are to go with him
as my aide and personal representative."

"Thanks, sir," said Harry.

"When can you start?"

"Within five minutes."

"Good. I was going to allow you ten, but it's better to take
only five. Captain Sherburne, you have your instructions already.
Now go, and bear in mind, both of you, that you are to bring back
what you are sent to get, no matter what the cost. Prepare no
excuses."

There was a stern and ominous ring in his last words, and Harry
and Sherburne, saluting, retired with all speed. Harry ran to his
own tent, snatched up his arms and blanket-roll, saddled and bridled
his horse, and well within five minutes was riding by the side of
Captain Sherburne. He shouted to St. Clair, who had run forward in
amazement:

"Gone on a mission for Old Jack. Will be back--some time."

The cavalry troop of two hundred splendid men, led by Sherburne,
one of the finest of the younger leaders, trotted fast through the
oak forest. They were fully refreshed and they were glad of action.
The great heats of that famous summer, unusually hot alike in both
east and west, were gone, and now the cool, crisp breezes of autumn
blew in their faces.

"Have you heard at what point on the Potomac the Union army is
gathered?" Harry asked.

"At a village called Berlin, so our spies say. You know
McClellan really has some high qualities. We found a heavy
reconnoitering force of cavalry not far in our front two or three
days ago, and we did not know what it meant, but General Jackson now
has an idea that McClellan wanted to find out whether we were near
enough to the Potomac to dispute his passage."

"We are not."

"No, we're not, and I don't suppose General Lee and General
Jackson wish to keep him on the other side. But, at any rate, we're
sent to find out whether he is crossing."

"And we'll see."

"We surely will."