“I don't know.”
“Do you think he's feeble-minded like yourself?”
“I don't know.”
“What! You dare to intimate that Stonewall Jackson, the greatest general the world has ever known, is feeble-minded! You have insulted him, and in his name I challenge you to fight me, sir. Do you accept?”
“I don't know.”
The two looked at each other and grinned. The ignorance of the army grew dense beyond all computation. Long afterward, “I don't know,” became a favorite and convenient reply, even when the knowledge was present.
It was nearly two weeks after Port Republic before the troops had any idea where they were going. They came to a little place called Hanover Junction and they thought they were going to turn there and meet McDowell, but they passed on, and one evening they encamped in a wood. As they were eating supper they heard the muttering thunder of guns toward the south, and throughout the brigades the conviction spread that they were on the way to Richmond.
The next night, Harry, who was asleep, was touched by a light hand. He awoke instantly, and when he saw General Jackson standing over him, he sprang up.
“I am going on a long ride,” said the general briefly, “and I want only one man to go with me. I've chosen you. Get your horse. We start in five minutes.”
Harry, a little dazed yet from sleep and the great honor that had been thrust upon him, ran, nevertheless, for his horse, and was ready with a minute to spare.