THE SCOUTS OF STONEWALL
THE STORY OF THE GREAT VALLEY CAMPAIGN
By Joseph A. Altsheler
FOREWORD
“The Scouts of Stonewall,” while an independent story, is in effect a continuation of the series which began with “The Guns of Bull Run” and which was carried on in “The Guns of Shiloh.” The present romance reverts to the Southern side, and is concerned with the fortunes of Harry Kenton and his friends.
THE CIVIL WAR SERIES
CONTENTS
FOREWORD
THE SCOUTS OF STONEWALL
CHAPTER I. IN THE VALLEY
CHAPTER II. THE FOOT CAVALRY
CHAPTER III. STONEWALL JACKSON'S MARCH
CHAPTER IV. WAR AND WAITING
CHAPTER V. THE NORTHERN ADVANCE
CHAPTER VI. KERNSTOWN
CHAPTER VII. ON THE RIDGES
CHAPTER VIII. THE MOUNTAIN BATTLE
CHAPTER IX. TURNING ON THE FOE
CHAPTER X. WINCHESTER
CHAPTER XI. THE NIGHT RIDE
CHAPTER XII. THE CLOSING CIRCLE
CHAPTER XIII. THE SULLEN RETREAT
CHAPTER XIV. THE DOUBLE BATTLE
CHAPTER XV. THE SEVEN DAYS
THE SCOUTS OF STONEWALL
CHAPTER I. IN THE VALLEY
A young officer in dingy Confederate gray rode slowly on a powerful bay horse through a forest of oak. It was a noble woodland, clear of undergrowth, the fine trees standing in rows, like those of a park. They were bare of leaves but the winter had been mild so far, and a carpet of short grass, yet green, covered the ground. To the rider's right flowed a small river of clear water, one of the beautiful streams of the great Virginia valleys.
Harry Kenton threw his head back a little and drew deep breaths of the cool, crisp air. The light wind had the touch of life in it. As the cool puffs blew upon him and filled his lungs his chest expanded and his strong pulses beat more strongly. But a boy in years, he had already done a man's work, and he had been through those deeps of passion and despair which war alone brings.
A year spent in the open and with few nights under roof had enlarged Harry Kenton's frame and had colored his face a deep red. His great ancestor, Henry Ware, had been very fair, and Harry, like him, became scarlet of cheek under the beat of wind and rain.
Had anyone with a discerning eye been there, to see, he would have called this youth one of the finest types of the South that rode forth so boldly to war. He sat his saddle with the ease and grace that come only of long practice, and he controlled his horse with the slightest touch of the rein. The open, frank face showed hate of nobody, although the soul behind it was devoted without any reserve to the cause for which he fought.
