The colonel who was in immediate charge of the encampment, a man who had never seen General Jackson, asked Harry where he might find him. Harry pointed to a man sitting on the top rail of a fence beside the road.
“But I asked for General Jackson,” said the colonel.
“That's General Jackson.”
The colonel approached and saluted. General Jackson's clothes were soiled and dusty. His feet, encased in cavalry boots that reached beyond the knees, rested upon a lower rail of the fence. A worn cap with a dented visor almost covered his eyes. The rest of his face was concealed by a heavy, dark beard.
“General Jackson, I believe,” said the officer, saluting.
“Yes. How far have those men marched?” The voice was kindly and approving.
“We've come twenty-six miles, sir.”
“Good. And I see no stragglers.”
“We allow no stragglers.”
“Better still. I haven't been able to keep my own men from straggling, and you'll have to teach them.”