ey trusted beyond all others had been struck down,
that he was lying wounded, helpless, far away in rear. Yet his spirit
was still with them. Stuart, galloping along the ranks, recalled him
with ringing words to their memories, and as the bugles sounded the
onset, it was with a cry of "Remember Jackson!" that his soldiers
rushed fiercely upon the Federal breastworks.

The advanced line, within the forest, was taken at the first rush;
the second, at the foot of the Fairview heights, protected by a
swampy stream, a broad belt of abattis, and with thirty guns on the
hill behind, proved far more formidable, and Hill's division was
forced back. But Rodes and Colston were in close support. The fight
was speedily renewed; and then came charge and counter-charge; the
storm of the parapets; the rally of the defenders; the rush with the
bayonet; and, mowing down men like grass, the fearful sweep of case
and canister. Twice the Confederates were repulsed. Twice they
reformed, brigade mingled with brigade, regiment with regiment, and
charged again in the teeth of the thirty guns.

On both sides ammunition began to fail; the brushwood took fire, the
ground became hot beneath the foot, and many wounded perished
miserably in the flames. Yet still, with the tangled abattis dividing
the opposing lines, the fight went on; both sides struggling
fiercely, the Federals with the advantage of position, the
Confederates of numbers, for Hooker refused to reinforce his gallant
troops. At length the guns which Stuart had established on Hazel
Grove, crossing their fire with those of McLaws and Anderson, gained
the upper hand over the Union batteries. The storm of shell, sweeping
the Fairview plateau, took the breastworks in reverse; the Northern
infantry, after five hours of such hot battle as few fields have
witnessed, began sullenly to yield, and as Stuart, leading the last
charge, leapt his horse over the parapet, the works were evacuated,
and the tattered colours of the Confederates waved in triumph on the
hill.

"The scene," says a staff-officer, "can never be effaced from the
minds of those that witnessed it. The troops were pressing forward
with all the ardour and enthusiasm of combat. The white smoke of
musketry fringed the front of battle, while the artillery on the
hills in rear shook the earth with its thunder and filled the air
with the wild shrieking of the shells that plunged into the masses of
the retreating foe. To add greater