Who was it?" he repeated.

Dalton turned his face away, and was silent.

At sight of this emotion, a sudden, terrible suspicion was born in the
mind of Colonel Leonidas Talbot. It was like a dagger thrust.

"You don't mean--it can't be--" he exclaimed, in broken words.

Harry could control his feelings no longer.

"Yes, Colonel," he burst forth. "It was he, Stonewall Jackson, shot
down in the darkness and by mistake by our own men!"

"Was he hurt badly?"

"One arm was shattered completely, and he was shot through the hand of
the other."

The moonlight shone on Harry's face just then, and the colonel, as he
looked at him, drew in his breath with a deep gasp.

"So bad as that!" he muttered. "I did not think our champion could
fall."

Lieutenant-Colonel Hector St. Hilaire, Langdon and St. Clair, who had
heard him, also turned pale, but were silent.

"We must not tell it," said Harry. "General Jackson did not wish it to
be known to the soldiers, and there is fighting yet to be done. Here
comes General Hill!"

Harry and Dalton flung themselves into the ranks of the Invincibles.
Hill took command in Jackson's place, but was soon badly wounded by a
fragment of shell, and was taken away. Then Stuart, the great horseman,
rode up and led the troops to meet the return attack for which the
Northern forces were massing in their front. Harry saw Stuart as he
came, eager as always for battle, his plumed hat shining in the light
of the moon, which was now clear and at the full.

"If Jackson can lead no longer, then Stuart can," said Colonel Talbot,
looking proudly at the gallant knight who feared no danger. "What time
is it, Hector?"

"Nearly midnight, Leonidas."

"And no time for fighting, but fighting will be done. Can't you hear
their masses gathering in the wood?"

"I do, Hector. The Yankees, despite their terrible surprise, have shown
great spirit. It is not often that routed troops can turn and put on
the defense those who have routed them."

"Yes, and they'll be on us in a minute," said Harry.

It was much lighter now, owing to the clearness of the moon and the
lifting of the smoke caused by a lull in the firing. But Harry was
right in his prediction. Within five minutes the Northern artillery,
sixty massed guns, opened with a frightful crash. Once more that storm
of steel swept through the woods, but now the lack of daylight helped
the Southerners. Many were killed and wounded, but most of