There was a sudden dying of the rifle fire. The Union skirmishers were
driven in, and they fell back on the main body which was silent, awaiting
the attack. Dick was no longer compelled to use the glasses. He saw
with unaided eye the great Southern columns marching forward with the
utmost confidence, heavy batteries advancing between the regiments,
ready at command to sweep the Northern ranks with shot and shell.

Dick shivered a little. He could not help it. They were face to face
with Jackson, and he was all that the heralds of fame had promised.
He had eye enough to see that the Southern force was much greater than
their own, and, led by such a man, how could they fail to win another
triumph? He looked around upon the army in blue, but he did not see any
sign of fear. Both the beaten and the unbeaten were ready for a new
battle.

There was a mighty crash from the hill and the Northern batteries poured
a stream of metal into the advancing ranks of their foe.

The Confederate advance staggered, but, recovering itself, came on again.
A tremendous cheer burst from the ranks of the lads in blue. Stonewall
Jackson with all his skill and fame was before them, but they meant to
stop him. Numbers were against them, and Banks, their leader, had been
defeated already by Jackson, but they meant to stop him, nevertheless.

The Southern guns replied. Posted along the slopes of Slaughter Mountain,
sinister of name, they sent a sheet of death upon the Union ranks.
But the regiments, the new and the old, stood firm. Those that had been
beaten before by Jackson were resolved not to be beaten again by him,
and the new regiments from the west, one or two of which had been at