anic struggle. He saw all around him the regiments ready for a new
attack, and he plainly heard in front of him the thud of axes as the
Northern men cut down trees for their defense. Now and then stray
moonbeams, penetrating the forest and the smoke, fell over them like
discs of burnished silver, but faded quickly.

The firing of the skirmishers increased. Twigs and leaves cut off by
the bullets fell in little showers to the earth. Harry, on horseback
now, saw an impatient look pass over the general's face. The intrepid
fighter, A. P. Hill, was coming up fast, but not fast enough for
Stonewall Jackson. He turned and rode back toward him, careless of the
danger from the Northern skirmishers, who might at any moment see him.

"General," said one of his staff in protest, "don't expose yourself so
much."

"There is no danger," said the general quickly. "The enemy is routed
and we must push him hard. Hurry to General Hill and tell him to press
forward."

The little group of men, Jackson and his staff, rode on. It was very
dark where they were, in the shade of the stunted forest. No moonlight
reached them there. Jackson paused, listening to the rising fire of
the skirmishers. A rifle suddenly flashed in the thickets before them.
Northern troops, lost in the bush and the darkness, were coming directly
their way.

Jackson turned and, followed by his staff, rode toward his own lines.
The men of a North Carolina regiment, dimly seeing a group of horsemen
coming down upon them, thought they were about to be attacked, and an
officer gave an order to fire. He was obeyed at once, and the most
costly volley fired by Southern troops in the whole war sent the deadly
bullets whistling into Jackson's group.

Officers and horses fell, shot down by their own men. Jackson was
struck in the right hand and received two bullets in his left arm.
One cut an artery and another shattered the bone near the shoulder.
The reins dropped from his hands, and his horse, the famous Little
Sorrel, broke violently away, rushing through the woods toward the
Northern lines. A bough struck Jackson in the face and he reeled in the
saddle. But with a violent effort he righted himself, seized the bridle
in his stricken right hand, and turned back his frightened horse.

Harry had sat still in his saddle, petrified with horror. Then he urged
forward his horse and tried to reach his general, but another aide,
Captain Wilbourn, was before him.