steel draw around his hard-pressed men and planted his regiments with
desperate determination to hurl them back.

Far off in the distance rose a new cloud of dust in the direction of the
Manassas railroad. At their head was lifted a flag whose folds drooped
in the hot, blistering July air. They were moving directly on the rear
of McDowell's circling right wing.

If they were Union reserves the day was lost.

The Southerner lifted his field glasses and watched the drooping flag
now shrouded in dust--now emerging in the blazing sun. His glasses were
not strong enough. He could not make out its colors.

Beauregard turned to Colonel Evans, whose little regiment had fought
with sullen desperation since sunrise.

"I can't make out that flag. If it's Patterson's army from the
valley--God help us--"

"It may be Elzey and Kirby Smith's regiments," Evans replied. "They're
lost somewhere along the road from Winchester."

Again Beauregard strained his eyes on the steadily advancing flag. It
was a moment of crushing agony.

"I'm afraid it's Patterson's men. We must fall back on our last
reserve--"

He quickly lowered his glasses.

"I haven't a courier left, Colonel. You must help me--"

"Certainly, General."

"Find Johnston, and ask him to at once mass the reserves to support and
protect our retreat--"

Evans started immediately to execute the order.

"Wait!" Beauregard shouted.

His glasses were again fixed on the advancing flag. A gust of wind
suddenly flung its folds into the bright Southern sky line--the Stars
and Bars of the Confederacy!

"Glory to God!" the commander exclaimed. "They're our men!"

The dark face of the little General flashed with excitement as he turned
to Evans:

"Ride, Colonel--ride with all your might and order General Kirby Smith
to press his command forward at double quick and strike that circling
line in the flank and rear!"

There were but two thousand in the advancing column but the moral effect
of their sudden assault on the rear of the advancing victorious men,
unconscious of their presence, would be tremendous. A charge at the same
moment by his entire army confronting the enemy might snatch victory out
of the jaws of defeat.

Beauregard placed himself at the head of his hard-pressed front, and
waited the thrilling cry of Smith's men. At last it came, the
heaven-piercing, hell-quivering, Rebel yell--the triumphant cry of the
Southern hunter in sight of his game!

Jackson,