"On your feet, boys!" exclaimed Happy Tom, glancing back. "Here comes Old Jack on one of his tours of inspection."
Jackson was riding slowly along near the edge of the river. He could never appear without rolling cheers from the thirty thousand veteran troops who were eager to follow wherever he led. The mighty cheering swept back and forth in volumes, and when a lull came, one among their friends, the Yankee pickets on the other side of the river, called at the top of his voice:
"Hey, Johnnies, what's the racket about?"
"It's Stonewall Jackson!" Harry roared back, pointing to the figure on the horse.
Then, to the amazement of all, a sudden burst of cheering came from the far bank of the Rappahannock, followed by the words, shouted in chorus: "Hurrah for Stonewall Jackson! Hurrah for Jackson!" Thus did the gallant Northern troops show their admiration for their great enemy whose genius had defeated them so often. Some riflemen among them lying among the bushes at the water's edge might have picked him off, but no such thought entered the mind of anyone.
Jackson flushed at the compliment from the foe, but rode quietly on, until he disappeared among some woods on the left.
"We'd better be going back to headquarters," said Harry to Dalton. "It'll be wise for us to be there when the general arrives."
"That's right, lazy little boys," said Happy Tom. "Wash your faces, run to school, and be all bright and clean when teacher comes."
"It's what we mean to do," said Harry, "and if Arthur says anything more about this silly dueling business, send for us. We'll come back, and we three together will pound his foolish head so hard that he won't be able to think about anything at all for a year to come."
"I'll behave," said St. Clair, "but you fellows look to Bertrand."