fusillade poured in their very faces gave them check at last. In
disorder, colours left upon the field, they surged back to the wood and
to the cover of a fence at right angles with that held by the
Confederates. Now began upon the left the fight of the stone wall--hours
of raging battle, of high quarrel for this barrier. The regiments
composing the grey centre found time to cheer for Fulkerson; the rumour
of the fight reached the right where Ashby's squadron held the pike.
Jackson himself came on Little Sorrel, looked at the wall and the line
of men, powder grimed about the lips, plying the ramrods, shouldering
the muskets, keeping back Tyler's regiments, and said "Good! good!"

Across a mile of field thundered an artillery duel, loud and prolonged.
The blue had many guns; the grey eighteen in action. There were indeed
but seventeen, for a Tredegar iron gun was disabled in crossing the
meadow. The blue were the stronger cannon, modern, powerful. The grey
were inferior there; also the grey must reach deeper and deeper into
caisson and limber chest, must cast anxious backward glances toward
ordnance wagons growing woefully light. The fire of the blue was
extremely heavy; the fire of the grey as heavy as possible considering
the question of ammunition. Rockbridge worked its guns in a narrow
clearing dotted with straw stacks. A section under Lieutenant Poague was
sent at a gallop, half a mile forward, to a point that seemed of
vantage. Here the unlimbering guns found themselves in infantry company,
a regiment lying flat, awaiting orders. "Hello, 65th!" said the gunners.
"Wish people going to church at home could see us!"

A shell fell beside the howitzer and burst with appalling sound. The gun
was blown from position, and out of the smoke came a fearful cry of
wounded men. "O God!--O God!" The smoke cleared. All who had served that
gun were down. Their fellows about the six-pounder, the other gun of the
section, stood stupefied, staring, their lips parted, sponge staff or
rammer or lanyard idle in their hands. A horse came galloping. An aide
of Jackson's--Sandy Pendleton it was said--leaped to the ground. He was
joined by Richard Cleave. The two came through the ring of the wounded
and laid hold of the howitzer. "Mind the six-pounder, Poague! We'll
serve here. Thunder Run men, three of you, come here and help!"

They drew the howitzer in position, charged it, and fired. In a very few
moments after the horror of the shel