The Scouts of Stonewall | Page 7

the spirit of high romance.
"You ask us to go back to the village and help defend the stores?" said
Philip Sherburne.
"That's just what I do ask--and expect."

"Of course. We'd have done it without the asking, and glad of it. What
a chance for us, as well as for you!"
He turned and faced his men. The golden glow of the sun was gone
now, but a silver tint from the twilight touched his face. Harry saw
there the blaze of the knightly spirit that craved adventure.
"Men," he said in clear, happy tones, "we've ridden for days and days in
quests that brought nothing. Now the enemy is at hand, nearly a
thousand strong, and means to destroy our stores. There are two
hundred of you and there are two hundred more guarding the stores. If
there's a single one among you who says he must ride on to Winchester,
let him hold up his hand."
Not a hand was raised, and the bold young captain laughed.
"I don't need to put the other side of the question," he said to Harry.
"They're as eager as I am to scorch the faces of the Yankees."
The order was given to turn and ride. The "men," not one of whom was
over twenty-five, obeyed it eagerly, and galloped for the village, every
heart throbbing with the desire for action. They were all from the rich
farms in the valleys. Splendid horsemen, fine marksmen, and alive with
youth and courage, no deed was too great for them. Harry was proud to
ride with them, and he told more of the story to Sherburne as they
covered the short distance to the village.
"Old Jack would order us to do just what we're doing," said Sherburne.
"He wants his officers to obey orders, but he wants them to think, too."
Harry saw his eyes flash again, and something in his own mind
answered to the spirit of adventure which burned so brightly in this
young man. He looked over the troop, and as far as he could see the
faces of all were flushed with the same hope. He knew with sudden
certainty that the Union forces would never take that warehouse and its
precious contents. These were the very flower of that cavalry of the
South destined to become so famous.

"You know the village?" said Sherburne to Harry.
"Yes, I passed there last night."
"What defense has it?"
"About two hundred men. They are strangers to the region, drawn from
the Tidewater country, and I don't think they're as good as most of
General Jackson's men."
"Lack of discipline, you think?"
"Yes, but the material is fine."
"All right. Then we'll see that they acquire discipline. Nothing like the
enemy's fire to teach men what war is."
They were riding at good speed toward the village, while they talked,
and Harry had become at once the friend and lieutenant of young
Captain Sherburne. His manner was so pleasant, so intimate, so full of
charm, that he did not have the power or the will to resist it.
They soon saw Hertford, a village so little that it was not able to put
itself on the map. It stood on the crest of a low hill, and the tobacco
barn was about as large as all the other buildings combined. The
twilight had now merged into night, but there was a bright sky and
plenty of stars, and they saw well.
Captain Sherburne stopped his troop at a distance of three or four
hundred yards, while they were still under cover of the forest.
"What's the name of the commander there?" he asked.
"McGee," Harry replied. "Means well, but rather obstinate."
"That's the way with most of these untrained men. We mustn't risk
being shot up by those whom we've come to help. Lasley, give them a
call from the bugle. Make it low and soft though. We don't want those
behind us to hear it."

Lasley, a boy no older than Harry, rode forward a dozen yards in front
of the troop, put his bugle to his lips and blew a soft, warning call.
Harry had been stirred by the first sound of a hostile trumpet hours
before, and now this, the note of a friend, thrilled him again. He gazed
intently at the village, knowing that the pickets would be on watch, and
presently he saw men appear at the edge of the hill just in front of the
great warehouse. They were the pickets, beyond a doubt, because the
silver starshine glinted along the blades of their bayonets.
The bugler gave one more call. It was a soft and pleasing sound. It said
very plainly that the one who blew and those with him were friends.
Two men in