“Oh, General,” she apologized, “please forgive me, I did not understand you.”
His good nature returned, even his jollity. It was his way—a thunderbolt one moment, the next Jupiter himself in all his calmness. He went on talking to himself more than to her.
“A thousand of my Tennesseans have started to-day. Let me see—they should be at Ditto Landing by—”
There was a volley in the yard and loud cheers.
The General sprang up and went quickly out. The dancers flocked to windows, doors and out into the yard. When Juliette went out she saw the General surrounded by a strange crowd. A glance told her it was troops on their way to the front, and Mrs. Jackson, who stood at her side, said:
“Captain Trevellian’s company going South, dear.”
The crowd had surged out into the lawn where General Jackson had gone to greet them, and Juliette found herself also in the crowd, while around her flocked the dancers to see their friends and neighbors off once more to the war.
Their commander had drawn them up in line of battle, a gaunt, sinewy, tanned and splendid sight under the flaring lights of the bonfires. It was not a very straight alignment as it surged forward on both flanks, half surrounding General Jackson and their captain, both of whom they idolized. They had given the General a volley and salute, and now surged forward to hear what he and their captain had to say.
It was a picturesque sight and one never to be forgotten. They were dressed in typical costume of their time, and yet there was a liveness and manliness about it which stirred the deeper emotions. Long hair above swarthy, sunburnt faces, heavy coon skin caps, hunting coats and buckskin trousers, ending in the top of rawhide boots. Powder horns, some of gourds, but nearly all of buffalo horns, hung over their shoulders by a thong of deer hide. In their hands they held, with butts on the ground, the tall Decherd rifle, often taller than the man behind it. In their belts was a weapon no other army since the days of Rome and Britain had ever carried into war. It was a heavy bear knife, often a foot or more long, some of them two-edged, enclosed in a holster of buckskin or calf. In the faces themselves there dwelt a strange mixture of fun and fight, of strange horse talk and stranger horse plays. And so they stood up, a grand and picturesque sight, under the glare of the lights, a more formidable and savage foe than any they had ever driven from the land.
There was another yell and volley of huzzahs as General Jackson came forward. The line was now broken and they thronged around him. It was Bill, Tom and Jim to him as he clasped the hands that shook his. They were friends of his, they loved him and that was enough. The regiment had camped for the night not far off after their first day’s march.