The Star of Gettysburg | Page 7

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