“Keep by my side,” said Jackson curtly, and the two rode in silence from the camp, watched in wonder by the sentinels, who saw their general and his lone attendant disappear in the forest to the south.
It was then one o'clock in the morning of a moonlight night, and the errand of Jackson was an absolute secret. Three or four miles from the camp a sentinel slipped from the woods and stopped them. He was one of their own pickets, on a far out-lying post, but to the amazement of Harry, Jackson did not tell who he was.
“I'm an officer on Stonewall Jackson's staff, carrying dispatches,” he said. “You must let me pass.”
“It's not enough. Show me an order from him.”
“I have no order,” replied the equable voice, “but my dispatches are of the greatest importance. Kindly let me pass immediately.”
The sentinel shook his head.
“Draw back your horses,” he said. “Without an order from the general you don't go a step further.”
Harry had not spoken a word. He had ceased to wonder why Jackson refused to reveal his identity. If he did not do so it must be for some excellent reason, and, meanwhile, the boy waited placidly.
“So you won't let us pass,” said Jackson. “Is the commander of the picket near by?”
“I can whistle so he'll hear me.”