"I see him! I see him!" he cried. "It's old Stonewall himself! There
on the hillock, on the little horse!"

The vision was but for an instant. Dick gazed with all his eyes, and he
saw several hundred yards away a thickset man on a sorrel horse. He was
bearded and he stooped a little, seeming to bend an intense gaze upon the
Northern lines.

There was no time for anyone to fire, because in a few seconds the smoke
came back, a huge, impenetrable curtain, and hid the man and the hillock.
But Dick had not the slightest doubt that it was the great Southern
leader, and he was right. It was Stonewall Jackson on the hillock,
rallying his men, and Dick's own cousin, Harry Kenton, rode by his side.

They reloaded, but a staff officer galloped up and delivered a written
order to Colonel Winchester. The whole regiment left the line, another
less seasoned taking its place, and they marched off to one flank,
where a field of wheat lately cut, and a wood on the extreme end, lay
before them. Behind them they heard the battle swelling anew, but Dick
knew that a new force of the foe was coming here, and he felt proud that
his own regiment had been moved to meet an attack which would certainly
be made with the greatest violence.

"Who are those men down in the wheat-field?" asked Pennington.

"Our own skirmishers," replied Warner. "See them running forward,
hiding behind the shocks of straw and firing!"

The riflemen were busy. They fired from the shelter of every straw stack
in the field, and they stung the new Southern advance, which was already