captured. He would suffer anything, any chance, rather than that.
He had lately come into contact with a man who had breathed into him the
fire and spirit belonging to legendary heroes. To this man, short of
words and plain of dress, nothing was impossible, and Harry caught from
him not merely the belief, but the conviction also.

Late in the autumn the Invincibles, who had suffered severely at Bull Run
and afterward had been cut down greatly in several small actions in the
mountains, had been transferred to the command of Stonewall Jackson in
the Shenandoah Valley. Disease and the hospital had reduced the regiment
to less than three hundred, but their spirits were as high as ever.
Their ranks were renewed partly with Virginians. Colonel Talbot and
Lieutenant-Colonel St. Hilaire had recovered from small wounds, and
St. Clair and Langdon were whole and as hard as iron. After a period of
waiting they were now longing for action.

There was some complaint among the Invincibles when they were detached
from the main army to the service of Jackson, but Harry did not share in
it. When he heard of the order he remembered that dread afternoon at
Bull Run, when all seemed lost, and the most vivid of his memories was
the calm figure riding back and forth just beyond the pines among which
he stood, and gathering for a fresh charge the stern ranks of his men
who were to turn almost sure defeat into absolutely sure victory. The
picture of the man in the heart of that red glare among the showers of
bullets had been burned so deeply into Harry's memory that he could call
it up, almost as vivid as life itself at any time. Surely that was a
leader to follow, and he, at least, would wish to ride where Stonewall
led.

But action did not come as soon as he had expected. Jackson was held by