But the Invincibles and the cavalry were almost exhausted. Harry found St. Clair wounded, not badly, but with enough loss of blood for Colonel Talbot to send him to one of the wagons. He insisted that he was still fit to help hold the road, but Colonel Talbot ordered two of the soldiers to put him in the wagon and he was compelled to submit.
“We can't let you die now from loss of blood, you young fire-eater,” said Colonel Talbot severely, “because you may be able to serve us better by getting killed later on.”
St. Clair smiled wanly and with his formal South Carolina politeness said:
“Thanks, sir, it helps a lot when you're able to put it in such a satisfactory way.”
Harry, who was unhurt, gave St. Clair a strong squeeze of the hand.
“You'll be up and with us again soon, Arthur,” he said consolingly, and then he rode away to Ashby.
“You may tell General Jackson that we can hold them back,” said the cavalry leader grimly. “You have just seen for yourself.”
“I have, sir,” replied Harry, and he galloped away from the rear. But he soon met the general himself, drawn by the uncommonly heavy firing. Harry told him what had happened, but the expression of Jackson's face did not change.
“A rather severe encounter,” he said, “but Ashby can hold them.”
All that day, nearly all that night and all the following day Harry passed between Jackson and Ashby or with them. It was well for the Virginians that they were practically born on horseback and were trained to open air and the forests. For thirty-six hours the cavalry were in the saddle almost without a break. And so was Harry. He had forgotten all about food and rest. He was in a strange, excited mood. He seemed to see everything through a red mist. In all the thirty-six hours the crash of rifles or the thud of cannon ceased scarcely for a moment. It went on just the same in day or in night. The Northern troops, although led by no such general as Stonewall Jackson, showed the splendid stuff of which they were made. They were always eager to push hard and yet harder.