Dick knew that it was a rallying
call, and then he heard Pennington utter a wild shout.
"I see him! I see him!" he cried. "It's old Stonewall himself! There
on the hillock, on the little horse!"
The vision was but for an instant. Dick gazed with all his eyes, and he
saw several hundred yards away a thickset man on a sorrel horse. He was
bearded and he stooped a little, seeming to bend an intense gaze upon the
Northern lines.
There was no time for anyone to fire, because in a few seconds the smoke
came back, a huge, impenetrable curtain, and hid the man and the hillock.
But Dick had not the slightest doubt that it was the great Southern
leader, and he was right. It was Stonewall Jackson on the hillock,
rallying his men, and Dick's own cousin, Harry Kenton, rode by his side.
They reloaded, but a staff officer galloped up and delivered a written
order to Colonel Winchester. The whole regiment left the line, another
less seasoned taking its place, and they marched off to one flank,
where a field of wheat lately cut, and a wood on the extreme end, lay
before them.
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