He approached the little opening in which Lee and his staff lay, although he kept back from the sentinels who watched over the sleeping leader.  But Shepard knew that it was the great Confederate chieftain who lay in the shadow of the oak and he could identify him by the glances of the sentinels so often directed toward the figure.

There were wild thoughts for a moment or two in the mind of Shepard.  A single bullet fired by an unerring hand would take from the Confederacy its arm and brain, and then what happened to himself afterward would not matter at all.  And the war would be over in a month or two.  But he put the thought fiercely from him.  A spy he was and in his heart proud of his calling, but no such secret bullet could be fired by him.

He turned away from the little opening, wandered an hour through the camp and then, diving into the deep bushes, vanished like a shadow through the Confederate lines, and was gone to Grant to report that Lee’s army was advancing swiftly to attack, and that the command of Ewell would come in touch with him first.

Not long after dawn Harry was again on the march, riding behind his general.  From time to time Lee sent messengers to the various divisions of his army, four in number, commanded by Longstreet, Early, Hill and Stuart, the front or Stuart’s composed of cavalry.  Harry’s own time came, when he received a dispatch of the utmost importance to take to Ewell.  He memorized it first, and, if capture seemed probable, he was to tear it into bits and throw it away.  Harry was glad he was to go to Ewell.  In the great campaign in the valley he had been second to Jackson, his right arm, as Jackson had been Lee’s right arm.  Ewell had lost a leg since then, and his soldiers had to strap him in the saddle when he led them into battle, but he was as daring and cheerful as ever, trusted implicitly by Lee.

Harry with a salute to his chief rode away.  Part of the country was familiar to him and in addition his directions were so explicit that he could not miss the way.

The four divisions of the army were in fairly close touch, but in a country of forests and many waters Northern scouts might come between, and he rode with caution, his hand ever near the pistol in his belt.  The midday sun however clouded as the afternoon passed on.  The thickets and forests grew more dense.  From the distance came now and then the faint, sweet call of a trumpet, but everything was hidden from sight by the dense tangle of the Wilderness, a wilderness as wild and dangerous as any in which Henry Ware had ever fought.  How it all came back to him!  Almost exactly a year ago he had ridden into it with Jackson and here the armies were gathering again.

Imagination, fancy, always so strong in him, leaped into vivid life.  The year had not passed and he was riding to meet Stonewall Jackson, who was somewhere ahead, preparing for his great curve about Hooker and the lightning stroke at Chancellorsville.  Rabbits sprang out of the undergrowth and fled away before his horse’s hoofs.  In the lonely wilderness, which nevertheless had little to offer to the hunter, birds chattered from every tree.  Small streams flowed slowly between dense walls of bushes.  Here and there in the protection of the thickets wild flowers were in early bloom.