Harry rose to his feet and shook St. Clair and Langdon.

“Up, boys!” he said.  “The enemy will soon be here.  I can see their bayonets glittering on the hills.”

The Invincibles sprang to their feet almost as one man, and soon all the troops of Evans were up and humming like bees.  Food and coffee were served to them hastily, but, before the last cup was thrown down, a heavy crash came from one of the hills beyond Bull Run, and a shell, screaming over their heads, burst beyond them.  It was quickly followed by another, and then the round shot and shells came in dozens from batteries which had been posted well in the night.

The Southern batteries replied with all their might and the riflemen supported them, sending the bullets in sheets across Bull Run.  The battle flamed in fifteen minutes into extraordinary violence.  Harry had never before heard such a continuous and terrific thunder.  It seemed that the drums of his ears would be smashed in, but over his head he heard the continuous hissing and whirring of steel and lead.  The Northern riflemen were at work, too, and it was fortunate for the Invincibles that they were able to lie down, as they poured their fire into the bushes and woods on the opposite bank.

The volume of smoke was so great that they could no longer see the position of the enemy, but Harry believed that so much metal must do great damage.  Although he was a lieutenant he had snatched up a rifle dropped by some fallen soldier, and he loaded and fired it so often that the barrel grew hot to his hand.  Lying so near the river, most of the hostile fire went over the heads of the Invincibles, but now and then a shell or a cluster of bullets struck among them, and Harry heard groans.  But he quickly forgot these sounds as he watched the clouds of smoke and the blaze of fire on the other side of Bull Run.

“They are not trying to force the passage of the bridge!  Everything is for the best!” shouted Langdon.

“No, they dare not,” shouted St. Clair in reply.  “No column could live on that bridge in face of our fire.”

It seemed strange to Harry that the Northern troops made no attempt to cross.  Why did all this tremendous fire go on so long, and yet not a foe set foot upon the bridge?  It seemed to him that it had endured for hours.  The sun was rising higher and higher and the day was growing hotter and hotter.  It lay with the North to make the first movement to cross Bull Run, and yet no attempt was made.

Colonel Talbot came repeatedly along the line of the Invincibles, and Harry saw that he was growing uneasy.  Such a great volume of fire, without any effort to take advantage of it, made the veteran suspicious.  He knew that those old comrades of his on the other side of Bull Run would not waste their metal in a mere cannonade and long range rifle fire.  There must be something behind it.  Presently, with the consent of the commander, he drew the Invincibles back from the river, where they were permitted to cease firing, and to rest for a while on their arms.

But as they drew long breaths and tried to clear the smoke from their throats, a rumor ran down the lines.  The attack at the bridge was but a feint.  Only a minor portion of the hostile army was there.  The greater mass had gone on and had already crossed the river in face of the weak left flank of the Southern army.  Beauregard had been outwitted.  The Yankees were now in great force on his own side of Bull Run, and it would be a pitched battle, face to face.

The whole line of the Invincibles quivered with excitement, and then Harry saw that the rumor was true, or that their commander at least believed it to be so.  The firing stopped entirely and the bugles blew the retreat.  All the brigades gathered themselves up and, wild with anger and chagrin, slowly withdrew.

“Why are we retreating?” exclaimed Langdon, angrily.  “Not a Yankee set his foot on the bridge!  We’re not whipped!”

“No,” said Harry, “we’re not whipped, but if we don’t retreat we will be.  If fifteen or twenty thousand Yankees struck us on the flank while those fellows are still in front everything would go.”

These were young troops, who considered a retreat equivalent to a beating, and fierce murmurs ran along the line.  But the officers paid no attention, marching them steadily on, while the artillery rumbled by their side.  Both to right and left they heard the sound of firing, and they saw the smoke floating against both horizons, but they paid little attention to it.  They were wondering what was in store for them.

“Cheer up, you lads!” cried Colonel Talbot.  “You’ll get all the fighting you can stand, and it won’t be long in coming, either.”

They marched only half an hour and then the troops were drawn up on a hill, where the officers rapidly formed them into position.  It was none too soon.  A long blue line, bristling with cannon on either flank, appeared across the fields.  It was Burnside with the bulk of the Northern army moving down upon them.  Harry was standing beside Colonel Talbot, ready to carry his orders, and he heard the veteran say, between his teeth: 

“The Yankees have fooled us, and this is the great battle at last.”

The two forces looked at each other for a few moments.  Elsewhere great guns and rifles were already at work, but the sounds came distantly.  On the hill and in the fields there was silence, save for the steady tramp of the advancing Northern troops.  Then from the rear of the marching lines suddenly came a burst of martial music.  The Northern bands, by a queer inversion, were playing Dixie: 

“In Dixie’s land
I’ll take my stand,
To live and die for Dixie. 
Look away!  Look away! 
Down South in Dixie.”

Harry’s feet beat to the tune, the wild and thrilling air played for the first time to troops going into battle.

“We must answer that,” he said to St. Clair.

“Here comes the answer,” said St. Clair, and the Southern bands began to play “The Girl I Left Behind Me.”  The music entered Harry’s veins.  He could not look without a quiver upon the great mass of men bearing down upon them, but the strains of fife and drum put courage in him and told him to stand fast.  He saw the face of Colonel Talbot grow darker and darker, and he had enough experience himself to know that the odds were heavily against them.

The intense burning sun poured down a flood of light, lighting up the opposing ranks of blue and gray, and gleaming along swords and bayonets.  Nearer and nearer came the piercing notes of Dixie.

“They march well,” murmured Colonel Talbot, “and they will fight well, too.”

He did not know that McDowell himself, the Northern commander, was now before them, driving on his men, but he did know that the courage and skill of his old comrades were for the present in the ascendant.  Burnside was at the head of the division and it seemed long enough to wrap the whole Southern command in its folds and crush it.

Scattered rifle shots were heard on either flank, and the young Invincibles began to breathe heavily.  Millions of black specks danced before them in the hot sunshine, and their nervous ears magnified every sound tenfold.

“I wish that tune the Yankees are playing was ours,” said Tom Langdon.  “I think I could fight battles by it.”

“Then we’ll have to capture it,” said Harry.

Now the time for talking ceased.  The rifle fire on the flanks was rising to a steady rattle, and then came the heavy boom of the cannon on either side.  Once more the air was filled with the shriek of shells and the whistling of rifle bullets.  Men were falling fast, and through the rising clouds of smoke Harry saw the blue lines still coming on.  It seemed to him that they would be overwhelmed, trampled under foot, routed, but he heard Colonel Talbot shouting: 

“Steady, Invincibles!  Steady!”

And Lieutenant-Colonel St. Hilaire, walking up and down the lines, also uttered the same shout.  But the blue line never ceased coming.  Harry could see the faces dark with sweat and dust and powder still pressing on.  It was well for the Southerners that nearly all of them had been trained in the use of the rifle, and it was well for them, too, that most of their officers were men of skill and experience.  Recruits, they stood fast nevertheless and their rifles sent the bullets in an unceasing bitter hail straight into the advancing ranks of blue.  There was no sound from the bands now.  If they were playing somewhere in the rear no one heard.  The fire of the cannon and rifles was a steady roll, louder than thunder and more awful.

The Northern troops hesitated at last in face of such a resolute stand and such accurate firing.  Then they retreated a little and a shout of triumph came from the Southern lines, but the respite was only for a moment.  The men in blue came on again, walking over their dead and past their wounded.

“If they keep pressing in, and it looks as if they would, they will crush us,” murmured Colonel Talbot, but he did not let the Invincibles hear him say it.  He encouraged them with voice and example, and they bent forward somewhat to meet the second charge of the Northern army, which was now coming.  The smoke lifted a little and Harry saw the green fields and the white house of the Widow Henry standing almost in the middle of the battlefield, but unharmed.  Then his eyes came back to the hostile line, which, torn by shot and shell, had closed up, nevertheless, and was advancing again in overwhelming force.

Harry now had a sudden horrible fear that they would be trodden under foot.  He looked at St. Clair and saw that his face was ghastly.  Langdon had long since ceased to smile or utter words of happy philosophy.

“Open up and let the guns through!” some one suddenly cried, and a wild cheer of relief burst from the Invincibles as they made a path.  The valiant Bee and Bartow, rushing to the sound of the great firing, had come with nearly three thousand men and a whole battery.  Never were men more welcome.  They formed instantly along the Southern front, and the battery opened at once with all its guns, while the three thousand men sent a new fire into the Northern ranks.  Yet the Northern charge still came.  McDowell, Burnside, and the others were pressing it home, seeking to drive the Southern army from its hill, while they were yet able to bring forces largely superior to bear upon it.

The thunder and crash of the terrible conflict rolled over all the hills and fields for miles.  It told the other forces of either army that here was the center of the battle, and here was its crisis.  The sounds reached an extraordinary young-old man, bearded and awkward, often laughed at, but never to be laughed at again, one of the most wonderful soldiers the world has ever produced, and instantly gathering up his troops he rushed them toward the very heart of the combat.  Stonewall Jackson was about to receive his famous nickname.

Jackson’s burning eyes swept proudly over the ranks of his tall Virginians, who mourned every second they lost from the battle.  An officer retreating with his battery glanced at him, opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again without saying a word, and infused with new hope, turned his guns afresh toward the enemy.  Already men were feeling the magnetic current of energy and resolution that flowed from Jackson like water from a fountain.

A message from Colonel Talbot, which he was to deliver to Jackson himself, sent Harry to the rear.  He rode a borrowed horse and he galloped rapidly until he saw a long line of men marching forward at a swift but steady pace.  At their head rode a man on a sorrel horse.  His shoulders were stooped a little, and he leaned forward in the saddle, gazing intently at the vast bank of smoke and flame before him.  Harry noticed that the hands upon the bridle reins did not twitch nor did the horseman seem at all excited.  Only his burning eyes showed that every faculty was concentrated upon the task.  Harry was conscious even then that he was in the presence of General Jackson.

The boy delivered his message.  Jackson received it without comment, never taking his eyes from the battle, which was now raging so fiercely in front of them.  Behind came his great brigade of Virginians, the smoke and flame of the battle entering their blood and making their hearts pound fast as they moved forward with increasing speed.

Harry rode back with the young officers of his staff, and now they saw men dash out of the smoke and run toward them.  They cried that everything was lost.  The lip of Jackson curled in contempt.  The long line of his Virginians stopped the fugitives and drove them back to the battle.  It was evident to Harry, young as he was, that Jackson would be just in time.

Then they saw a battery galloping from that bank of smoke and flame, and, its officer swearing violently, exclaimed that he had been left without support.  The stern face and somber eyes of Jackson were turned upon him.

“Unlimber your guns at once,” he said.  “Here is your support.”

Then the valiant Bee himself came, covered with dust, his clothes torn by bullets, his horse in a white lather.  He, too, turned to that stern brown figure, as unflinching as death itself, and he cried that the enemy in overwhelming numbers were beating them back.

“Then,” said Jackson, “we’ll close up and give them the bayonet.”

His teeth shut down like a vise.  Again the electric current leaped forth and sparkled through the veins of Bee, who turned and rode back into the Southern throng, the Virginians following swiftly.  Then Jackson looked over the field with the eye and mind of genius, the eye that is able to see and the mind that is able to understand amid all the thunder and confusion and excitement of battle.

He saw a stretch of pines on the edge of the hill near the Henry house.  He quickly marched his troops among the trees, covering their front with six cannon, while the great horseman, Stuart, plumed and eager, formed his cavalry upon the left.  Harry felt instinctively that the battle was about to be restored for the time at least, and he turned back to Colonel Talbot and the Invincibles.  A shell burst near him.  A piece struck his horse in the chest, and Harry felt the animal quiver under him.  Then the horse uttered a terrible neighing cry, but Harry, alert and agile, sprang clear, and ran back to his own command.

On the other side of Bull Run was the Northern command of Tyler, which had been rebuffed so fiercely three days before.  It, too, heard the roar and crash of the battle, and sought a way across Bull Run, but for a time could find none.  An officer named Sherman, also destined for a mighty fame, saw a Confederate trooper riding across the river further down, and instantly the whole command charged at the ford.  It was defended by only two hundred Southern skirmishers whom they brushed out of the way.  They were across in a few minutes, and then they advanced on a run to swell McDowell’s army.  The forces on both sides were increasing and the battle was rising rapidly in volume.  But in the face of repeated and furious attacks the Southern troops held fast to the little plateau.  Young’s Branch flowed on one side of it and protected them in a measure; but only the indomitable spirit of Jackson and Evans, of Bee and Bartow, and others kept them in line against those charges which threatened to shiver them to pieces.

“Look!” cried Bee to some of his men who were wavering.  “Look at Jackson, standing there like a stone wall!”

The men ceased to waver and settled themselves anew for a fresh attack.

But in spite of everything the Northern army was gaining ground.  Sherman at the very head of the fresh forces that had crossed Bull Run hurled himself upon the Southern army, his main attack falling directly upon the Invincibles.  The young recruits reeled, but Colonel Talbot and Lieutenant-Colonel St. Hilaire still ran up and down the lines begging them to stand.  They took fresh breath and planted their feet deep once more.  Harry raised his rifle and took aim at a flitting figure in the smoke.  Then he dropped the muzzle.  Either it was reality or a powerful trick of the fancy.  It was his own cousin, Dick Mason, but the smoke closed in again, and he did not see the face.

The rush of Sherman was met and repelled.  Tie drew back only to come again, and along the whole line the battle closed in once more, fiercer and more deadly than ever.  Upon all the combatants beat the fierce sun of July, and clouds of dust rose to mingle with the smoke of cannon and rifles.

The advantage now lay distinctly with the Northern army, won by its clever passage of Bull Run and surprise.  But the courage and tenacity of the Southern troops averted defeat and rout in detail.  Jackson, in his strong position near the Henry house, in the cellars of which women were hiding, refused to give an inch of ground.  Beauregard, called by the cannon, arrived upon the field only an hour before noon, meeting on the way many fugitives, whom he and his officers drove back into the battle.  Hampton’s South Carolina Legion, which reached Richmond only that morning, came by train and landed directly upon the battlefield about noon.  In five minutes it was in the thick of the battle, and it alone stemmed a terrific rush of Sherman, when all others gave way.

Noon had passed and the heart of McDowell swelled with exultation.  The Northern troops were still gaining ground, and at many points the Southern line was crushed.  Some of the recruits in gray, their nerves shaken horribly, were beginning to run.  But fresh troops coming up met them and turned them back to the field.  Beauregard and Johnston, the two senior generals, both experienced and calm, were reforming their ranks, seizing new and strong positions, and hurrying up every portion of their force.  Johnston himself, after the first rally, hurried back for fresh regiments, while Jackson’s men not only held their ground but began to drive the Northern troops before them.

The Invincibles had fallen back somewhat, leaving many dead behind them.  Many more were wounded.  Harry had received two bullets through his clothing, and St. Clair was nicked on the wrist.  Colonel Talbot and Lieutenant-Colonel St. Hilaire were still unharmed, but a deep gloom had settled over the Invincibles.  They had not been beaten, but certainly they were not winning.  Their ranks were seamed and rent.  From the place where they now stood they could see the place where they formerly stood, but Northern troops occupied it now.  Tears ran down the faces of some of the youngest, streaking the dust and powder into hideous, grinning masks.

Harry threw himself upon the ground and lay there for a few moments, panting.  He choked with heat and thirst, and his heart seemed to have swollen so much within him that it would be a relief to have it burst.  His eyes burned with the dust and smoke, and all about him was a fearful reek.  He could see from where he lay most of the battlefield.  He saw the Northern batteries fire, move forward, and then fire again.  He saw the Northern infantry creeping up, ever creeping, and far behind he beheld the flags of fresh regiments coming to their aid.  The tears sprang to his eyes.  It seemed in very truth that all was lost.  In another part of the field the men in blue had seized the Robinson house, and from points near it their artillery was searching the Southern ranks.  A sudden grim humor seized the boy.

“Tom,” he shouted to Langdon, “what was that you said about sleeping in the White House at Washington with your boots on?”

“I said it,” Langdon shouted back, “but I guess it’s all off!  For God’s sake, Harry, give me a drink of water!  I’ll give anybody a million dollars and a half dozen states for a single drink!”

A soldier handed him a canteen, and he drank from it.  The water was warm, but it was nectar, and when he handed it back, he said: 

“I don’t know you and you don’t know me, but if I could I’d give you a whole lake in return for this.  Harry, what are our chances?”

“I don’t know.  We’ve lost one battle, but we may have time to win another.  Jackson and those Virginians of his seem able to stand anything.  Up, boys, the battle is on us again!”

The charge swept almost to their feet, but it was driven back, and then came a momentary lull, not a cessation of the battle, but merely a sinking, as if the combatants were gathering themselves afresh for a new and greater effort.  It was two o’clock in the afternoon, and the fierce July sun was at its zenith, pouring its burning rays upon both armies, alike upon the living and upon the dead who were now so numerous.

The lull was most welcome to the men in gray.  Some fresh regiments sent by Johnston had come already, and they hoped for more, but whether they came or not, the army must stand.  The brigades were massed heavily around the Henry house with that of Jackson standing stern and indomitable, the strongest wall against the foe.  His fame and his spirit were spreading fast over the field.

The lull was brief, the whole Northern army, its lines reformed, swept forward in a half curve, and the Southern army sent forth a stream of shells and bullets to meet it.  The brigades of Jackson and Sherman, indomitable foes, met face to face and swept back and forth over the ground, which was littered with their fallen.  Everywhere the battle assumed a closer and fiercer phase.  Hampton, who had come just in time with his guns, went down wounded badly.  Beauregard himself was wounded slightly, and so was Jackson, hit in the hand.  Many distinguished officers were killed.

The whole Northern army was driven back four times, and it came a fifth time to be repulsed once more.  In the very height of the struggle Harry caught a glimpse in front of them of a long horizontal line of red, like a gleaming ribbon.

“It’s those Zouaves!” cried Langdon.  “Shoot their pants!”

He did not mean it as a jest.  The words just jumped out, and true to their meaning the Invincibles fired straight at that long line of red, and then reloading fired again.  The Zouaves were cut to pieces, the field was strewed with their brilliant uniforms.  A few officers tried to bring on the scattered remnants, but two regiments of regulars, sweeping in between and bearing down on the Invincibles, saved them from extermination.

The Invincibles would have suffered the fate they had dealt out to the Zouaves, but fresh regiments came to their help and the regulars were driven back.  Sherman and Jackson were still fighting face to face, and Sherman was unable to advance.  Howard hurled a fresh force on the men in gray.  Bee and Bartow, who had done such great deeds earlier in the day, were both killed.  A Northern force under Heintzelman, converging for a flank attack, was set upon and routed by the Southerners, who put them all to flight, captured three guns and took the Robinson house.

Fortune, nevertheless, still seemed to favor the North.  The Southerners had barely held their positions around the Henry house.  Most of their cannon were dismounted.  Hundreds had dropped from exhaustion.  Some had died from heat and excessive exertion.  The mortality among the officers was frightful.  There were few hopeful hearts in the Southern army.

It was now three o’clock in the afternoon and Beauregard, through his glasses, saw a great column of dust rising above the tops of the trees.  His experience told him that it must be made by marching troops, but what troops were they, Northern or Southern?  In an agony of suspense he appealed to the generals around him, but they could tell nothing.  He sent off aides at a gallop to see, but meanwhile he and his generals could only wait, while the column of dust grew broader and broader and higher and higher.  His heart sank like a plummet in a pool.  The cloud was on the Federal flank and everything indicated that it was the army of Patterson, marching from the Valley of Virginia.

Harry and his comrades had also seen the dust, and they regarded it anxiously.  They knew as well as any general present that their fate lay within that cloud.

“It’s coming fast, and it’s growing faster,” said Harry.  “I’ve got so used to the roar of this battle that it seems to me alien sounds are detached from it, and are heard easily.  I can hear the rumble of cannon wheels in that cloud.”

“Then tell us, Harry,” said Langdon, “is it a Northern rumble or a Southern rumble that you hear?”

Harry laughed.

“I’ll admit it’s a good deal of a fancy,” he said.

Arthur St. Clair suddenly leaped high in the air, and uttered at the very top of his voice the wild note of the famous rebel yell.

“Look at the flags aloft in that cloud of dust!  It’s the Star and Bars!  God bless the Bonnie Blue Flag!  They are our own men coming, and coming in time!”

Now the battle flags appeared clearly through the dust, and the great rebel yell, swelling and triumphant, swept the whole Southern line.  It was the remainder of Johnston’s Army of the Shenandoah.  It had slipped away from Patterson, and all through the burning day it had been marching steadily toward the battlefield, drummed on by the thudding guns.  Johnston, the silent and alert, was himself with them now, and aflame with zeal they were advancing on the run straight for the heart of the Northern army.

Kirby Smith, one of Harry’s own Kentucky generals, was in the very van of the relieving force.  A man after Stonewall Jackson’s own soul, he rushed forward with the leading regiments and they hurled themselves bodily upon the Northern flank.

The impact was terrible.  Smith fell wounded, but his men rushed on and the men behind also threw themselves into the battle.  Almost at the same instant Jubal Early, who had made a circuit with a strong force, hurled it upon the side of the Northern army.  The brave troops in blue were exhausted by so many hours of fierce fighting and fierce heat.  Their whole line broke and began to fall back.  The Southern generals around the Henry house saw it and exulted.  Swift orders were sent and the bugles blew the charge for the men who had stood so many long and bitter hours on the defense.

“Now, Invincibles, now!” cried Colonel Leonidas Talbot.  “Charge home, just once, my boys, and the victory is ours!”

Covered with dust and grime, worn and bleeding with many wounds, but every heart beating triumphantly, what was left of the Invincibles rose up and followed their leader.  Harry was conscious of a flame almost in his face and of whirling clouds of smoke and dust.  Then the entire Southern army burst upon the confused Northern force and shattered it so completely that it fell to pieces.

The bravest battle ever fought by men, who, with few exceptions, had not smelled the powder of war before, was lost and won.

As the Southern cannon and rifles beat upon them, the Northern army, save for the regulars and the cavalry, dissolved.  The generals could not stem the flood.  They rushed forward in confused masses, seeking only to save themselves.  Whole regiments dashed into the fords of Bull Run and emerged dripping on the other side.  A bridge was covered with spectators come out from Washington to see the victory, many of them bringing with them baskets of lunch.  Some were Members of Congress, but all joined in the panic and flight, carrying to the capital many untrue stories of disaster.

A huge mass of fleeing men emerged upon the Warrenton turnpike, throwing away their weapons and ammunition that they might run the faster.  It was panic pure and simple, but panic for the day only.  For hours they had fought as bravely as the veterans of twenty battles, but now, with weakened nerves, they thought that an overwhelming force was upon them.  Every shell that the Southern guns sent among them urged them to greater speed.  The cavalry and little force of regulars covered the rear, and with firm and unbroken ranks retreated slowly, ready to face the enemy if he tried pursuit.

But the men in gray made no real pursuit.  They were so worn that they could not follow, and they yet scarcely believed in the magnitude of their own victory, snatched from the very jaws of defeat.  Twenty-eight Northern cannon and ten flags were in their hands, but thousands of dead and wounded lay upon the field, and night was at hand again, close and hot.

Harry turned back to the little plateau where those that were left of the Invincibles were already kindling their cooking fires.  He looked for his two comrades and recognized them both under their masks of dust and powder.

“Are you hurt, Tom?” he said to Langdon.

“No, and I’m going to sleep in the White House at Washington after all.”

“And you, Arthur?”

“There’s a red line across my wrist, where a bullet passed, but it’s nothing.  Listen, what do you think of that, boys?”

A Southern band had gathered in the edge of the wood and was playing a wild thrilling air, the words of which meant nothing, but the tune everything: 

“In Dixie’s land
I’ll take my stand,
To live and die for Dixie. 
Look away!  Look away! 
Look away down South in Dixie.”

“So we have taken their tune from them and made it ours!” St. Clair exclaimed jubilantly.  “After all, it really belonged to us!  We’ll play it through the streets of Washington.”

But Colonel Leonidas Talbot, who stood close by, raised his hand warningly.

“Boys,” he said, “this is only the beginning.”