BULL RUN
KERNSTOWN
CROSS KEYS
WINCHESTER
PORT REPUBLIC
THE SEVEN DAYS
MILL SPRING
FORT DONELSON
SHILOH
PERRYVILLE
STONE RIVER
THE SECOND MANASSAS
ANTIETAM
FREDERICKSBURG
CHANCELLORSVILLE
GETTYSBURG
CHAMPION HILL
VICKSBURG
CHICKAMAUGA
MISSIONARY RIDGE
THE WILDERNESS
SPOTTSYLVANIA
COLD HARBOR
FISHER'S HILL
CEDAR CREEK
APPOMATTOX

CONTENTS

I. IN THE VALLEY

II. THE FOOT CAVALRY

III. STONEWALL JACKSON'S MARCH

IV. WAR AND WAITING

V. THE NORTHERN ADVANCE

VI. KERNSTOWN

VII. ON THE RIDGES

VIII. THE MOUNTAIN BATTLE

IX. TURNING ON THE FOE

X. WINCHESTER

XI. THE NIGHT RIDE

XII. THE CLOSING CIRCLE

XIII. THE SULLEN RETREAT

XIV. THE DOUBLE BATTLE

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.

Harry