e once or twice, he would ride
along the battle front on his little sorrel horse, making no gestures.

It was not until the soldiers saw Stuart in the light that they knew
of Jackson's fall. Then the news spread among them with astonishing
rapidity, and while they liked Stuart, their hearts were with the great
leader who lay wounded behind them. But eagerness for revenge added to
their warlike zeal. Along the reformed lines ran a tremendous swelling
cry: "Remember Jackson!"

They wheeled a little further to the right in order to come into close
contact with Lee, and then, as the first red touch of the dawn showed in
the Wilderness, the trumpets sounded the charge. The batteries blazed
as they sent forth crashing volleys, and in a minute the thunder of guns
came from the east and south, where Lee also attacked as soon as he
heard the sounds of his lieutenant's charge.

Nothing could withstand the terrible onset of the troops who were still
shouting "Remember Jackson!" and who were led on by a plumed knight out
of the Middle Ages, shaking a great sabre and now singing at the top of
his voice his favorite line, "Old Joe Hooker, won't you come out of the
Wilderness?"

They swept away the skirmishers and seized the plateau of Hazel Grove
which had been of such use to Hooker the night before, and the Southern
batteries, planted in strength upon it, rained death on the Northern
ranks. The veterans with Lee rushed forward with equal courage and fire,
and from every point of the great curve cannon and rifles thundered on
the Union ranks.

Harry and Dalton stayed as closely as they could with their new chief,
who, reckless of the death which in truth he seemed to invite, was
galloping in the very front ranks, still brandishing his great sabre,
and now and then making it whirl in a coil of light about his head.
He continually shouted encouragement to his men, who were already full
of fiery zeal, but it was the spirit of Jackson that urged them most.
It seemed to Harry, excited and worshipping his hero, that the figure
of Jackson, misty and almost impalpable, still rode before him.

But it was no mere triumphal march. They met stern and desperate
resistance. It was American against American. Once more the superb
Northern batteries met those of the South with a fire as terrible as
their own. The Union gunners willingly exposed themselves to death to
save their army, and from their breastworks sixty thousand riflemen