ad been killed under him, and ran toward the officer in charge of the
stricken troops. But they were retreating already. They moved slowly,
but they moved backward.

Harry joined with the officers in their entreaties to the men to stand,
but the pressure upon them was too great. General Garnett, the commander
of the Stonewall Brigade, had given an order of his own accord to
retreat, and all that part of the line was falling back. The Northern
leader, seeing the breach, continually pushed forward fresh troops and
more cannon, while the deadly riflemen in the thickets did more harm
than the great guns.

The Southerners were compelled to fall back. One gun was lost. Jackson
from the crest of the hill had seen with amazement the retreat of the
famous Stonewall Brigade that he had once led in person. He galloped
across the field, reckless of bullets, and fiercely bade Garnett turn
and hold his ground. A drummer stood near and Jackson, grasping him by
the shoulder with a firm right hand, fairly dragged him to the crest of
a little hill, and bade him beat the rally.

While Jackson still held him he gave the call to stand and fight. But
the Southerners could not. The men in blue, intoxicated with victory,
pushed forward in thousands and thousands. Their heavy masses overbore
all resistance. Jackson, Garnett, Harry and all the officers, young
and old were swept from the field by that flood, crested with fire and
steel. It was impossible to preserve order and cohesion. The broken
regiments were swept back in a confused mass.

Jackson galloped about, trying to rally his men, and his staff gave all
the help they could. Harry was on foot once more, waving the sword of
which he was so proud. But nothing could stay the tremendous pressure of
the Union army. Their commanders always pushed them forward and always
fresh men were coming. Skilled cannoneers sent grape shot, shell and
round shot whistling through the Southern ranks. The Northern cavalry
whipped around the Southern flanks and despite the desperate efforts of
Ashby, Sherburne, and the others, began to clip off its wings.

Harry often wondered afterward how his life was preserved. It seemed
impossible that he could have escaped such a storm from rifle and
cannon, but save for the slight scratches, sustained earlier in the
action, he remained untouched. He did not think of it at the time, only
of the avalanche that was driving them back. He saw before him a vast
red flame,