IN VIRGINIA  
Harry left the valley with the keenest feeling of regret, realizing at the parting how strong a friendship he had formed with this family. But he felt that he could not delay any longer. Affairs must be moving now in the great world in the east, and he wished to be at the heart of them. He had a strong, sure-footed horse, and he had supplies and an extra suit of clothes in his saddle bags. The rifle across his back would attract no attention, as all the men in the mountains carried rifles.
 
Jarvis had instructed Harry carefully about the road or path, and as the boy was already an experienced traveler with an excellent sense of direction, there was no danger of his getting lost in the wilderness.
 
Jarvis, Ike, and Mrs. Simmons gave him farewells which were full of feeling. Aunt Suse had come down the brick walk, tap-tapping with her cane, as Harry stood at the gate ready to mount his horse.
 
"Good-bye, Aunt Susan," he said. "I came a stranger, but this house has been made a home to me."
 
She peered up at him, and Harry saw that once more her old eyes were flaming with the light he had seen there when he arrived.
 
"Good-bye, governor," she said, holding out a wrinkled and trembling hand. "I am proud that our house has sheltered you, but it is not for the last time. You will come again, and you will be thin and pale and in rags, and you will fall at the door. I see you coming with these two eyes of mine."
 
"Hush, Aunt Suse," exclaimed Mrs. Simmons. "It is not Governor Ware, it is his great-grandson, and you mustn't send him away tellin' of terrible things that will happen to him."
 
"I'm not afraid," said Harry, "and I hope that I'll see Aunt Susan and all of you again."
 
He lifted her hand and kissed it in the old-fashioned manner.
 
She smiled and he heard her murmur:
 
"It is the great governor's way. He kissed my hand like that once before, when I went to Frankfort on the lumber raft."
 
"Good-bye, Harry," repeated Jarvis. "If you're bound to fight I reckon that's jest what you're bound to do, an' it ain't no good for me to say anythin'. Be shore you follow the trail jest as I laid it out to you an' in two days you'll strike the Wilderness Road. After that it's easy."
 
When Harry rode away something rose in his throat and choked him for a moment. He knew that he would never again find more kindly people than these simple mountaineers. Then in vivid phrases he heard once more the old woman's prophecy: "You will come again, and you will be thin and pale and in rags, and you will fall at the door." For a moment it shadowed the sunlight. Then he laughed at himself. No one could see into the future.
 
He was now across the valley and his path led along the base of the mountain. He looked back and saw the four standing on the porch, Jarvis, Ike, Mrs. Simmons, and old Aunt Suse. He waved his hand to them and all four waved back. A singular thrill ran through him. Could it be possible that he would come again, and in the manner that the old woman had predicted?
 
The path, in another minute, curved around the mountain, and the valley was shut from view. Nor, as he rode on, did he catch another glimpse of it. One might roam the mountains for months and never see the home of Samuel Jarvis.
 
The two days passed without event. The weather remained fair, and no one interfered with him. He slept the first night at a log cabin that Jarvis had named, having reached it in due time, and the second day he reached, also in due time, the old Wilderness Road.
 
Thence the boy advanced by easy stages into Virginia until he reached a railroad, where he sold his horse and took a train for Richmond, having come in a few days out of the cool, peaceful atmosphere of the mountains into another, which was surcharged everywhere with the fiery breath of war.
 
Harry realized as he approached the capital the deep intensity of feeling in everybody. The Virginians were less volatile than the South Carolinians, and they had long refused to go out, but now that they were out they were pouring into the Southern army, and they were animated by an extraordinary zeal. He began to hear new or unfamiliar names, Early, and Ewell, and Jackson, and Lee, and Johnston, and Hill, and Stuart, and Ashby, names that he would never forget, but names that as yet meant little to him.
 
He had letters from his father and he expected to find his friends of Charleston in Richmond or at the front. General Beauregard, whom he knew, would be in command of the army threatening Washington, and he would not go into a camp of strangers.
 
It was now early in June, and the country was at its best. On both sides of the railway spread the fair Virginia fields, and the earth, save where the ploughed lands stretched, was in its deepest tints of green. Harry, thrusting his head from the window, looked eagerly ahead at the city rising on its hills. Then a shade smaller than Charleston, it, too, was a famous place in the South, and it was full of great associations. Harry, like all the educated boys of the South, honored and admired its public men. They were mighty names to him. He was about to tread streets that had been trod by the famous Jefferson, by Madison, Monroe, Randolph of Roanoke, and many others. The shades of the great Virginians rose in a host before him.
 
He arrived about noon, and, as he carried no baggage except his saddle bags and weapons, he was quickly within the city, his papers being in perfect order. He ate dinner, as the noonday meal was then called, and decided to seek General Beauregard at once, having learned from an officer on the train that he was in the city. It was said that he was at the residence of President Davis, called the White House, after that other and more famous one at Washington, in which the lank, awkward man, Abraham Lincoln, now lived.
 
But Harry paused frequently on the way, as there was nothing to hurry him, and there was much to be seen. If Charleston had been crowded, Richmond was more so. Like all capitals on the verge of a great war, but as yet untouched by its destructive breath, it throbbed with life. The streets swarmed with people, young officers and soldiers in their uniforms, civilians of all kinds, and many pretty girls in white or light dresses, often with flowers in their hair or on their breasts. Light-heartedness and gaiety seemed predominant.
 
Harry stopped a while to look at the ancient and noble state house, now the home also of the Confederate Congress, standing in Capitol Square, and the spire of the Bell Tower, on Shockoe Hill. He saw important looking men coming in or going out of the square, but he did not linger long, intending to see the sights another time.
 
He was informed at the "White House" that General Beauregard was there, and sending in his card he was admitted promptly. Beauregard was sitting with President Davis and Secretary Benjamin in a room furnished plainly, and the general in his quick, nervous manner rose and greeted him warmly.
 
"You did good service with us at Charleston," he said, "and we welcome you here. We have already heard from your father, who was a comrade in war of both President Davis and myself."
 
"He wrote us that you were coming across the mountains from Frankfort," said Mr. Davis.
 
Harry thought that the President already looked worn and anxious.
 
"Yes, sir," replied the boy, "I came chiefly by the river and the Wilderness Road."
 
"Your father writes that they worked hard at Frankfort, but that they failed to take Kentucky out," continued the head of the Confederacy.
 
"The Southern leaders did their best, but they could not move the state."
 
"And you wish, then, to serve at the front?" continued the President.
 
"If I may," returned Harry. "In South Carolina I was with Colonel Leonidas Talbot. I have had a letter from him here, and, if it is your pleasure and that of General Beauregard, I shall be glad to join his command."
 
General Beauregard laughed a little.
 
"You do well," he said. "I have known Colonel Talbot a long time, and, although he may be slow in choosing he is bound to be in the very thick of events when he does choose. Colonel Talbot is at the front, and you'll probably find him closer than any other officer to the Yankee army. We need everybody whom we can get, especially lads of spirit and fire like you. You shall be a second lieutenant in his command. A train will leave here in four hours. Be ready. It will take you part of the way and you will march on for the rest."
 
Mr. Benjamin did not speak throughout the interview, but he watched Harry closely. Neither did he speak when he left, but he offered him a limp hand. The boy's view of Richmond was in truth brief, as before night he saw its spires and roofs fading behind him. The train was wholly military. There were four coaches filled with officers and troops, and two more coaches behind them loaded with ammunition.
 
Harry heard from some of the officers that the army was gathered at a place called Manassas Junction, where Beauregard had taken command on June 1st, and to which he would quickly return. But Harry did not know any of these officers and he felt a little lonely. He slept after a while in the car seat, awakened at times by the jolting or stopping of the train, and arrived some time the next day in a country of green hills and red clay roads, muddy from heavy rains.
 
They left the train, marched over the hills along one of the muddy roads, and presently saw a vast array of tents, fires, and earthworks, stretching to the horizon. Harry's heart leaped again. This was the great army of the South. Here were regiments and regiments, thousands and thousands of men and here he would find his friends, Colonel Talbot and Major St. Hilaire, and St. Clair and Langdon.
 
The whole scene was inspiring in the extreme to the heart of youth. Far to the right he saw cavalry galloping back and forth, and to the left he saw infantry drilling. From somewhere in front came the strains of a regimental band playing:
 
"The hour was sad, I left the maid,
A lingering farewell taking,
Her sighs and tears my steps delayed,
I thought her heart was breaking.
In hurried words her name I blessed,
I breathed the vows that bind me
And to my heart in anguish pressed
The girl I left behind me."
 
It was a favorite air of the Southern bands, and, much as it stirred Harry now, he was destined to hear it again in moments far more thrilling. He presented his order from General Beauregard to a sentinel, who passed him to an officer, who in turn told him to go about a quarter of a mile westward, where he would find the regiment of Colonel Talbot quartered.
 
"It's a mixed regiment," he said, "made up of Virginians, South Carolinians, North Carolinians, and a few Kentuckians and Tennesseeans, but it's already one of the best in the service. Colonel Talbot and his second in command, Lieutenant-Colonel St. Hilaire, have been thrashing it into shape in great fashion. They're mostly boys and already they call themselves 'The Invincibles.' You can see the tents of their commanding officers over there by that little creek."
 
Harry's eyes followed the pointing finger, and again his heart leaped. His friends were there, the two colonels for whom he had such a strong affection, and the two lads of his own age. Theirs looked like a good camp, too. It was arranged neatly, and by its side flowed the clear, cool waters of Young's Branch, a tributary of the little Manassas River. He walked briskly, crossed the brook, stepping from stone to stone, and entered the grounds of the Invincibles. A tall youth rushed forward, seized his hand and shook it violently, meanwhile uttering cries of welcome in an unbroken stream.
 
"By all the powers, it's our own Harry!" he exclaimed, "the new Harry of the West, whom we were afraid we should never see again. Everything is for the best, but we hardly hoped for this! How did you get here, Harry? And you didn't bring Kentucky rushing to our side, after all! Well, I knew it wasn't your fault, old horse! Ho, St. Clair, come and see who's here!"
 
St. Clair, who had been lying in the grass behind a tent, appeared and greeted Harry joyfully. But while Langdon was just the same he had changed in appearance. He was thinner and graver, and his intellectual face bore the stamp of rapid maturity.
 
"It's like greeting one of our very own, Harry," he said. "You were with us in Charleston at the great beginning. We were afraid you would have to stay in the west."
 
"The big things will begin here," said Harry.
 
"There can be no doubt of it. Do you know, Harry, that we are less than thirty miles from Washington! If there were any hill high enough around here we could see the white dome of the Capitol which we hope to take before the summer is over. But we'll take you to the Colonel and Major Hector St. Hilaire, that was, but Lieutenant-Colonel Hector St. Hilaire that is."
 
Colonel Talbot was sitting at a small table in a tent, the sides of which had been raised all around, leaving only a canvas roof. Lieutenant-Colonel St. Hilaire sat opposite him across the table, and they were studying intently a small map of a region that was soon to be sown deep with history. They looked up when Harry came with his two friends, and gave him the welcome that he knew he would always receive from them.
 
"I've had a letter from your father," said Colonel Leonidas Talbot, "and I've been expecting you. You are to be a lieutenant on my staff, and the quartermaster will sell you a new uniform as glossy and fine as those of which St. Clair and Langdon are so proud."
 
He asked him a few more questions about Kentucky and his journey over the mountains, and then, telling St. Clair and Langdon to take care of him, he and Lieutenant-Colonel St. Hilaire went back to the study of their map. Harry noted that both were tanned deeply and that their faces were very serious.
 
"Come along, Harry," said Langdon. "Let the colonel and the major bear all the troubles. For us everything is for the............