But Harry felt excitement, and much of it. In front of Jackson in a
great line of battle, a mile and a half long, they were moving forward,
still in perfect array. But there was something wanting in that huge
army. It was the lack of a great animating spirit. There was no
flaming flag, like the soul of Jackson, to wave in the front of a fiery
rush that could not be stopped.

The blue mass hesitated and stopped. Out of it came three Pennsylvania
brigades led by Meade, who was to be the Meade of Gettysburg, and less
than five thousand strong they advanced against Jackson. Harry was
amazed. Could it be possible that they did not know that Jackson with
his full force was there?

The Pennsylvanians charged gallantly. The young General Pelham, who had
been sent forward with two pieces of artillery, opened on them fiercely,
but the heavy batteries covering the advance of the Pennsylvanians drove
Pelham out of action, although he held the whole force at bay for half
an hour. In his retreat he lost one of his own guns, and then Franklin
brought up more batteries to protect the further advance of Meade and
the Pennsylvanians. The batteries across the river helped them also,
never ceasing to send a rain of steel over their troops upon the
Southern army.

But Jackson's men still lay close in the woods and behind their
breastworks. Nearly all that rain of steel flew over their heads.
A shower of twigs and boughs fell on them, but so long as they stayed
close the great artillery fire created terror rather than damage.
The men were panting with eagerness, but not one was allowed to pull
trigger, nor was a cannon fired.