The months rolled on, the battle of Manassas had been fought and won, and the Federals, driven back upon Washington in hopeless , with the result that thousands of volunteers left the Confederate service and returned to their homes and their ordinary , thinking that an enemy so easily whipped could be as easily finished off without their further help. Many officers, too, who had hastened to the front at the first call of the , leaving their or their businesses to look after themselves, gladly took advantage of the temporary to snatch a short furlough. Among these latter was Major Markham, who since the first sudden rush upon Harper’s Ferry in April had never once left the field. Now, however, a wound received at Bull Run incapacitating him from further service for the present, he rejoined his wife and son at Markham Hall.  
The descriptions which his father gave him of the leading features of the battle, along with many incidents of personal adventure and , so fired Lucius’s already spirit, that from that 20time onwards he lived in imagination the life of a soldier. He begged, he prayed, he , he even went on his knees to his father to allow him to join the army as a drummer-boy, as a , as a mule-driver, as anything at all, in any capacity . Major Markham laughed at his son at first, but when he realised how absolutely in earnest Lucius was, he bade him, with what show of sternness he could muster—for he could not but admire the boy’s high spirit—never to mention the subject again.
 
at home, Lucius sought from his friend Ephraim, and so worked upon his slower nature with tales of deeds of daring, almost from his own perfervid imagination, that even was stirred to enthusiasm, and flourished his long arms over his head as he declared his intention of whole of Yankees at one fell blow, by means of some compound, the first idea of which was in his fertile brain.
 
At the same time, Ephraim’s common sense stood both him and Lucius in good stead, and held the younger boy back more effectually than the commands of his father or the pleadings of his mother. But when Major Markham rejoined his in December, to take part in the terrible expedition to Romney, Lucius could bear the restraint no longer, and one cold, snowy night he astonished Ephraim by suddenly appearing and boldly proposing that they should run away together.
 
‘Whar ye gwine ter run ter?’ inquired common-sense Ephraim, looking up from the calculations on which he was engaged.
 
‘How do I know?’ flashed Lucius the . 21‘We’ll just go on until we come to one of our armies. They’ll be glad to let us join.’
 
‘A sech ez ye would be!’ said Ephraim with beaming , and without the least trace of .
 
‘Yes,’ Lucius ; ‘they’ll not refuse two such strong and active lads as you and’——
 
‘Sho!’ interrupted Ephraim. ‘Don’t ye count on me. I warn ye.’
 
‘What!’ exclaimed Lucius, in a voice of surprise and grief. ‘Do you mean to say that, after all I have told you, you will let me go alone?’
 
‘I ain’t gwine ter let ye go at all, Luce,’ returned Ephraim, placing a long, hairy arm affectionately round the boy’s neck. ‘See hyar, now,’ he went on, as Lucius shook himself angrily free, ‘thar ain’t nuthin’ ter call fightin’ goin’ on jest now. Nothin’ but marchin’ round and round, and up and down in the snow and the slush. Now, thar ain’t no fun in thet, I reckon.’
 
‘Well, no,’ admitted Lucius reluctantly. He thought for a moment or two, and then burst out: ‘Look here, Grizzly, the real fighting is sure to begin again in spring. If I promise to wait, will you promise to come with me then?’
 
‘I ’low we’ll wait till spring comes along,’ answered Ephraim oracularly. ‘Ef ye’re ez sot upon it then ez ye air now, I’ll see what I do.’
 
‘That’s a bargain, then,’ said Lucius. ‘I just long to see a real good battle. Mind, if you go back on me now, I’ll call you a coward and start without you.’
 
‘I ain’t any coward,’ answered Ephraim quietly, though his pale face flushed slightly; ‘leastways ez fur ez goin’ along with ye is consarned. Ye don’t 22imagine I’d go fer ter lose sight of ye, Luce?’ he finished, with a catch in his voice.
 
‘Oh no,’ said Lucius, mollified. ‘Only I thought that maybe you couldn’t understand my feelings. You’re a dear old thing, Grizzly; but you’re a rough bit of stick, you know, and you haven’t so much at stake as people like us.’ And the young drew himself proudly up.
 
‘Thet’s a fact,’ nodded Ephraim; ‘though I ain’t heard ez the fust families hez been doin’ all the fightin’.’ There was a grin on his face as he .
 
‘Of course not,’ said Lucius hastily. ‘Our fellows are stark fighters all round; but it’s men like my father and Jackson and the rest who lead the way. You know that well enough.’
 
Ephraim stretched out his brown hairy paw and drew Lucius towards him. ‘I only know I’d die fer ye glad and willin’ ef ye war ahead, Luce,’ he said tenderly.
 
‘Shucks!’ exclaimed Lucius impatiently; ‘who said anything about dying? Now it’s all settled, and you’ll come.’
 
‘I’ll be on time,’ said Ephraim. He was silent for a moment, during which he thought deeply. Finally he said,’Ye air jest sot ter see a battle, ain’t ye, Luce?’
 
‘Yes,’ answered Lucius. ‘Didn’t I tell you so?’
 
‘Waal,’ resumed Ephraim, ‘wouldn’t ye be content jest ter see , without arskin’ ter take a hand in the fightin’?’
 
‘Whatever do you mean by that?’ Lucius. ‘I don’t understand you.’
 
23‘Waal, it don’t matter,’ said Ephraim, ’fer I reckon I han’t got no very cl’ar idee of what I mean myself ez yet. Anyway thar’s heaps of time. We’re on’y beginnin’ December now, and thar’ll be nuthin’ this long while. Ef ye’re still sot in spring, why, we’ll see.’
 
‘See what?’ demanded Lucius impatiently. ‘Can’t you explain?’
 
But Ephraim either could not or would not, and presently Lucius took his departure in high dudgeon.
 
Ephraim sat thinking to himself for a long while, and finally he took down a volume from his shelves and buried himself in it, until the voice of the old woman in the next room disturbed him by querulously demanding ‘Ef he warn’t never goin’ to bed.’
 
‘I b’lieve I could do it,’ he thought to himself as he undressed; ‘but’—— He pulled a trunk from under his bed, and unlocking it, drew out a small cash-box. This in turn he opened and studied the little pile of dollars it contained with an anxious face.
 
‘Thet’s the only way ter do it,’ he muttered, passing the coins and forwards through his fingers. ‘Thar’s not much more than enough thar, if thar is enough. Imagine! Only that little lot in five long years. Seems a pity, jest fer a . But it’s fer Luce. It’s ter pleasure Luce. He’s that sot on it, and he nat’ally looks ter me. No matter, I guess I’ll work it up again.’
 
He stood looking into the box with eyes that did not see, for he was far away in spirit in the little Massachusetts town, where stood the famous college he so desired to enter.
 
Splash! A great tear fell into the box of dollars.
 
24‘What ye doin’?’ Ephraim apostrophised himself with great . ‘Ain’t it fer Luce? Ain’t he wuth it? Ef ye can’t do a little thing like that fer yer friend, it’s time ye’——
 
He broke off suddenly, snapped the lid of the box, and threw it back into the trunk.
 
‘Ef ye can’t do a little thing like that without makin’ a fuss about it,’ he repeated, ‘it’s time ye—it’s time ye’——
 
He choked over the words, a rain of tears from his eyes, and with a low cry he flung himself upon his bed.
 
The year came to an end, and plague and worry him as he would, Lucius could extract nothing from Ephraim to throw light on the mysterious remark. Indeed Grizzly was now seldom or never to be found in his workshop; nor could Aunty Chris explain his absence, or disclose his whereabouts, for, as she confessed, she knew nothing whatever about him. Lucius, of course, whenever he could him, questioned and cross-questioned him as to what he was engaged upon in his spare time and where; but Grizzly invariably replied with a wag of his head: ‘Ye’ll git thar in time, Luce. On’y ye’ll hev ter hang on till the time comes.’ With which Delphic Lucius was obliged to be content.
 
Meantime the war was not still. Manassas had, after all, not up the North, and early in ’62 the people of the valley were rudely to the fact by the appearance among them of no less than three Federal generals, with an force of sixty-four thousand men. And to these Stonewall Jackson could oppose but thirteen thousand! But 25though the excitement was great, there was little anxiety; for the reputation which Jackson and his brigade had won at Manassas, and their stern and soldierly endurance of the terrible hardships of the severe winter just ended, inspired a confidence in their prowess, which would scarcely have been shaken had all the armies of the North been combined against them.
 
What were men’s feelings then, when the news spread like wildfire from town to town: ‘Jackson has us in our . He has fled through the gaps to the east side of the Blue !’
 
The report was not unfounded. It certainly was true that Jackson had disappeared from the valley. Only Colonel Ashby, the famous leader, remained behind with a thousand sabres at his back.
 
Men laughed bitterly. What was this little force to do for their protection against an army so gigantic? But Ashby with troops was here, there, and everywhere. Now at McDowell, now at Strasburg, now at Franklin, yesterday at Front Royal, to-morrow at Luray. But what he learned in his reconnaissances, and where he sent the information which he acquired, no man knew, no man had the heart to ask. In Staunton itself the wildest confusion ; for no sooner had the news of Jackson’s flight been conveyed to the Federal generals, than they set their masses in motion, and began to advance along lines upon the little town. That it was to be occupied was regarded as certain, and in the universal terror much that was valuable in the way of military stores was removed or destroyed; while General Johnson with six regiments from his strong position on the 26Shenandoah Mountain, intent only on saving his small force by effecting a with the vanished Jackson wherever he might find him.
 
Then came the day when Staunton, abandoned and defenceless, lay awaiting its fate, with Milroy and twelve thousand Federals not two-and-twenty miles away, and Frémont coming on with thirty thousand more.
 
It was a Sunday, and the churches were full of worshippers, praying doubtless that the chastening rod held over them might be in its descent. Suddenly a strange and terrible sound arose—a noise of thousands, the clink of steel against steel as scabbard and stirrup jangled together, the of squadrons upon the road, the and of . People looked at one another in dismay. Despite their supplications the blow had fallen: they were in the hands of the enemy.
 
Slowly, with mournful hearts and dejected , they filed out of church, their downcast eyes refusing to look at the bitter sight. Then, as one head after another was lifted, of deep surprise broke here and there.
 
Where were the stars and stripes? Where was the blue of the Federals? The marching columns were gray! The stars and bars waved proudly in the breeze, and here and there in the midst of a regiment the star shone upon flag and pennon.
 
What a shout of joy went up from the multitude: ‘Confederates! Confederates! They are our own boys back again! Old Stonewall is here! Thank God! ! Hurrah!’
 
27The excitement was tremendous. Nerves were strung to highest tension; emotions touched the breaking point. Men leaped and danced for very joy. Women flung themselves into each other’s arms and wept for sheer happiness. And through it all the gray hosts rolled on.
 
Then, as suddenly as it had arisen, the . reigned once more, and the eager questions passed from lip to lip: ‘What are they doing here? Have they been routed? Are they only in retreat?’
 
No, the soldiers answered, they were not running away. They had not seen or heard of the enemy for days. What were they doing here, then? Again they did not know. Nobody knew except old Stonewall. He knew of course. It was one of his tricks. He had got something under his hat.
 
Then the crowd surged to the railway station to watch the debarking troops as train after train rolled in. Here the same ignorance prevailed. Nobody knew; nobody could understand. To their personal friends the officers were dumb, for they were in darkness like the men. Only the General knew; and those who knew the General knew also how hopeless it would be to question him.
 
The in the country, who had come into town for church, hastened away, full of their news, to tell the folk who had been left at home. They did not get far. All around the town a strong of soldiers had been drawn who forced them back. What! they asked, might they not even return to their own homes? No, they might not—at least, not yet. Why? Nobody knew. Simply the General had 28ordered it so. Probably he did not wish the news of his arrival to be spread abroad. But to everything, the one , answer, ‘We do not know.’
 
Then at last the people understood. Silent as ever as to his plans, mysterious in his movements, Jackson’s flight had been but a clever feint. He had stolen back swiftly and without attracting attention; and now, while the Federals fondly supposed him east of the Blue Ridge, here he was, ready and able to deal them one of his flank blows. It was ‘Stonewall Jackson’s way.’
 
As soon as the soldiers began to arrive, Lucius and Ephraim, who both sang in the of their church, hurried out and raced to the station. Long before they got there Lucius had shouted himself hoarse, while, though he took things more quietly, Ephraim’s cheeks were burning, and his eyes blazing with unwonted fire.
 
‘Say, Grizzly, isn’t it splendid?’ panted Lucius.
 
Ephraim did not answer, for just then a roar of delight rent the air. ‘Here he comes! Here’s the General! Hurrah! Stonewall Jackson! Stonewall! Cheer, boys! Hurrah! God bless you, General! Hurrah! Hurrah!’
 
Clad in his old gray coat, soiled and smirched with the stains of the dreadful march to Romney in December, and with his queer slouched hat cocked over his forehead, ‘Old Stonewall,’ then but thirty-eight years of age, rode in the midst of his staff. His shrewd, face wore a smile of almost womanly sweetness, and his keen blue eyes, which, it is said, glowed when the battle rage was upon him 29with a terrible light that both friend and , now beamed mildly on the shouting crowd who sought to do him honour. He bowed continually right and left, and was evidently pleased at his welcome, as well as touched by the confidence of the people in him.
 
So was Lucius in his that at last he attracted the notice of the General, who after regarding him good-naturedly for a moment, broke into an amused laugh, saying, as he nodded pleasantly: ‘Thank you, my lad, for your welcome. It does one’s heart good to see such a face as yours.’ For a moment Lucius could not believe his ears. Then, as he realised that the General had indeed spoken to him, his face with delight, and forgetting everything in his exaltation, he rushed into the road and clung to Jackson’s stirrup leather, as though to detain him by main force.
 
‘Take me with you, General!’ he cried at the top of his voice. ‘Take me with you. I want to fight, and they won’t let me.’
 
‘Hurrah!’ shouted the crowd, moved by this novel sensation, while Ephraim, glowing with pride, craned his long neck to see his hero, as he expected, caught up in front of the General and borne away to the wars.
 
‘By time!’ he muttered, ‘ain’t he jest cl’ar ? Ain’t he noble? And he’s my friend.’ Great tears rose in his honest eyes and his sight as the General in his charger and over to Lucius.
 
‘Take you with me, my boy?’ said Jackson kindly, laying his hand upon the fair, curly head as he spoke. 30‘Take you with me? God forbid! We don’t want children amid such scenes as we are forced to go through.’
 
‘Why not?’ Lucius. ‘I’m sixteen; I’d make one more anyway. I don’t mind being shot any more than the next man.’
 
‘Gloryful gracious!’ murmured Ephraim, his eyes fairly brimming over; while Jackson, bending lower still, said somewhat huskily: ‘God bless you, lad, for your true heart.’ Then straightening himself in his saddle, he cried in ringing tones to his officers: ‘When our men grow from the stuff this boy is made of, gentlemen, it is no wonder that the victory is ours.’
 
The crowd cheered again lustily at this, and Jackson, turning once more to Lucius, said: ‘Tell me your name, my boy. I should like to remember it.’
 
‘Lucius Markham, sir,’ replied the boy. ‘That is my father coming up now.’
 
‘What, the son of Major Markham!’ said Jackson. ‘Ha! a chip of the old block.—Major!’ he hailed, as a fine-looking bronzed officer rode by with his battery. ‘So this is your son?’
 
‘I am afraid so, sir,’ returned Major Markham, smiling and nodding at Lucius. ‘What has the young scapegrace been doing? He is always wanting to follow the drum.’
 
‘Nay,’ protested Jackson, ‘I won’t allow you to call him names. He is a fine fellow, and wants to come and be a soldier under me.’
 
‘May I, father?’ asked Lucius eagerly. ‘Do say yes.—I know most of the drill, sir,’ he added to the General, ‘and I can shoot pretty straight.’
 
There was a laugh among the officers at this, but 31Jackson checked it with a look, and, turning to Lucius, said impressively: ‘Listen to me, Lucius. You are too young to come with me, but still you can be a soldier, and a bold one, if you choose.’
 
‘In what regiment, sir?’ asked Lucius, looking up at him eagerly.
 
‘In the faithful regiment,’ answered Stonewall gravely, ‘under the banner of the Cross, and with Christ for Commander. The war is the holy war, and the battles are fought for God and against self and the wrong every day. And remember, Lucius,’ he concluded, ‘the first duty of a soldier is .’
 
He rode on, followed by the cheers of the crowd, while Major Markham slipped back to his place.
 
Lucius stared dreamily after them, heedless of the curious and interested looks cast at him, till all at once a hand gripped his arm, and Ephraim’s voice whispered in his ear: ‘Come away out of the crowd, Luce. I’se suthin’ mighty partic’ler to say ter ye.’