Harry came back about midnight from one of his messages, to Jackson, who was again riding on the turnpike. Most of his staff were gone on like errands, but General Taylor who led the Acadians was now with him. Off in front the rifles were flashing, and again and again, bullets whistled near them. Harry said nothing but fell in behind Jackson and close to him to await some new commission.
They heard the thunder of a horse's hoofs behind them, and a man galloped up, he as well as his horse breathing hard.
He was the chief quartermaster of the army, and Jackson recognized him at once, despite the dark.
“Where are the wagon trains?” exclaimed Jackson, shouting forth his words.
“They're far behind. They were held up by a bad road in the Luray valley. We did our best, sir,” replied the officer, his voice trembling with weariness and nervousness.
“And the ammunition wagons, where are they?”
The voice was stern, even accusing, but the officer met Jackson's gaze firmly.
“They are all right, sir,” he replied. “I sacrificed the other wagons for them, though. They're at hand.”
“You have done well, sir,” said Jackson, and Harry thought he saw him smile. No food for his veterans, but plenty of powder. It was exactly what would appeal to Stonewall Jackson.
“Supply more powder and bullets to the men,” said Jackson presently. “Keep on pushing the enemy! Never stop for a moment.”