his left hand, palm out,--an usual gesture,--and turned to
speak to Imboden, whose profanity he had apparently forgiven. As in any
other July hour a cloud of gnats might have swum above that hill, so, on
this one summer day, death-dealing missiles filled the air. Some
splinter from one of these struck the lifted hand. Jackson let it fall,
the blood streaming. Imboden uttered an ejaculation. "It's nothing,"
said the other; then, with slow earnestness, "Captain Imboden, I would
give--I will give--for this cause every drop of blood that courses
through my heart." He drew out a handkerchief, wrapped it around the
wound, and rode on down the right of his line.

Up to meet him from the foot of the hill, out of the dun smoke hiding
the wrestle, came at a gallop a roan horse bearing a rider tall and well
made, black-eyed and long-haired, a bright sash about his waist, a
plumed hat upon his head. Panting, he drew rein beside Little Sorrel. "I
am Bee.--General Jackson, we are driven--we are overwhelmed! My God!
only Evans and Bartow and I against the whole North and the Regulars! We
are being pushed back--you must support.--In three minutes the battle
will be upon this hill--Hunter and Heintzleman's divisions. They're hot
and huzzaing--they think they've got us fast! They have, by God! if our
troops don't come up!" He turned his horse. "But you'll support--we
count on you--"

"Count only upon God, General Bee," said Jackson. "But I will give them
the bayonet."

Bee struck spur into the roan and galloped across the plateau. Out of
one of the furrowing ravines, a sunbaked and wrinkled trough springing
from the turnpike below and running up and across the Henry Hill toward
the crest of pine and oak, came now a handful of men, grey shadows,
reeling, seeking the forest and night. Another followed--another--then a
stream, a grey runlet of defeat which grew in proportions. A moment
more, and the ravine, fed from the battle-ground below, overflowed. The
red light shifted to the Henry Hill. It was as though a closed fan, laid
upon that uneven ground, had suddenly opened. The rout was not hideous.
The men had fought long and boldly, against great odds; they fled now
before the storm, but all cohesion was not lost, nor presence of mind.
Some turned and fired, some listened to their shouting officer, and
strove to form about the tossed colours, some gave and took advice. But
every gun of the Federal batteries poured shot and shell upon th