hunder began to mutter; by the time a
part of the Light Division and a brigade of Ewell's came into touch with
Reno and Kearney, the afternoon, already advanced, was of the hue of
twilight. Presently there set in a violent storm of thunder and
lightning, wind and rain. The trees writhed like wounded soldiers, the
rain came level against the face, stinging and blinding, the artillery
of the skies out-thundered man's inventions. It grew darker and darker,
save for the superb, far-showing lightning flashes. Beneath these the
blue and the grey plunged into an engagement at short range.

What with the howling of the storm, the wind that took voices and
whirled them high and away, the thunder above and the volleying musketry
below, to hear an order was about the most difficult feat imaginable.
Stafford gathered, however, that Lawton, commanding since Ewell's wound,
was sending him to Jackson with a statement as to affairs on this wing.
He went, riding hard against the slanting rain, and found Jackson
standing in the middle of the road, a piece of bronze played round by
lightning. One of the brigadiers was speaking to him. "The cartridges
are soaking wet, sir. I do not know that I can hold my position."
Jackson's voice came deep and curt. "Yes, sir, you can. If your muskets
won't go off, neither will the enemy's. You are to hold it, whether you
can or not. Go and do it."

The brigadier went. Stafford gave his information, and received an
order. "Go back along the road until you find the horse artillery. Tell
Major Pelham to bring his guns to the knoll yonder with the blasted
tree."

Stafford turned his horse and started. The rain and wind were now at his
back--a hundred paces, and the road, lonely save for stragglers, the
grey troops, the battle in front, was all sheeted and shrouded in the
darkly drifting storm. The fitful bursts of musketry were lost beneath
the artillery of the clouds. He travelled a mile, found Pelham and gave
his order, then stood aside under the tossing pines while the horse
artillery went by. It went by in the dusk of the storm, in the long howl
of the wind and the dash of the rain, like the iron chariots of Pluto,
the horses galloping, the gunners clinging wherever they might place
hand or foot, the officers and mounted men spurring alongside. Stafford
let them all turn a bend in the road, then followed.

All this stretch of road and field and wood had been skirmished over,
Stuart and the blue cava