A long line of guns, following fast upon their tracks, and crossing the fields at a gallop, came into action on the opposite slope.  In vain Imboden’s gunners, with their pieces well placed behind a swell of ground, strove to divert their attention from the retreating infantry, now climbing the slopes of the Henry Hill.  The Federal batteries, powerful in numbers, in discipline, and in materiel, plied their fire fast.  The shells fell in quick succession amongst the disordered ranks of the Southern regiments, and not all the efforts of their officers could stay their flight.

The day seemed lost.  Strong masses of Northern infantry were moving forward past the Stone House on the Warrenton turnpike.  Hampton’s Legion was retiring on the right.  Imboden’s battery, with but three rounds remaining for each piece, galloped back across the Henry Hill, and this commanding height, the key of the battle-ground, was abandoned to the enemy.  But help was at hand.  Jackson, like Bee and Bartow, had been ordered to the Stone Bridge.  Hearing the heavy fire to his left increasing in intensity, he had turned the head of his column towards the most pressing danger, and had sent a messenger to Bee to announce his coming.  As he pushed rapidly forward, part of the troops he intended to support swept by in disorder to the rear.  Imboden’s battery came dashing back, and that officer, meeting Jackson, expressed with a profanity which was evidently displeasing to the general his disgust at being left without support.  “I’ll support your battery,” was the brief reply; “unlimber right here.”

11.30 A.M.

At this moment appeared General Bee, approaching at full gallop, and he and Jackson met face to face.  The latter was cool and composed; Bee covered with dust and sweat, his sword in his hand, and his horse foaming.  “General,” he said, “they are beating us back!” “Then, sir, we will give them the bayonet;” the thin lips closed like a vice, and the First Brigade, pressing up the slope, formed into line on the eastern edge of the Henry Hill.

Jackson’s determined bearing inspired Bee with renewed confidence.  He turned bridle and galloped back to the ravine where his officers were attempting to reform their broken companies.  Riding into the midst of the throng, he pointed with his sword to the Virginia regiments, deployed in well-ordered array on the height above.  “Look!” he shouted, “there is Jackson standing like a stone wall!  Rally behind the Virginians!” The men took up the cry; and the happy augury of the expression, applied at a time when defeat seemed imminent and hearts were failing, was remembered when the danger had passed away.

The position which Jackson had occupied was the strongest that could be found.  He had not gone forward to the crest which looks down upon Young’s Branch, and commands the slopes by which the Federals were advancing.  From that crest extended a wide view, and a wide field of fire; but both flanks would have been exposed.  The Henry House was nothing more than a cottage; neither here nor elsewhere was there shelter for his riflemen, and they would have been exposed to the full force of the Federal artillery without power of reply.  But on the eastern edge of the hill, where he had chosen to deploy, ran a belt of young pines, affording excellent cover, which merged into a dense oak wood near the Sudley road.