were streaming to the rear.  The Federals were thronging forward, and it seemed that the exhausted defenders must inevitably give way before the successive blows of superior numbers.  The troops were losing confidence.  Yet no thought of defeat crossed Jackson’s mind.  “General,” said an officer, riding hastily towards him, “the day is going against us.”  “If you think so, sir,” was the quiet reply, “you had better not say anything about it.”  And although affairs seemed desperate, in reality the crisis of the battle had already passed.  McDowell had but two brigades remaining in reserve, and one of these—­of Tyler’s division—­was still beyond Bull Run.  His troops were thoroughly exhausted; they had been marching and fighting since midnight; the day was intensely hot; they had encountered fierce resistance; their rifled batteries had been silenced, and the Confederate reinforcements were coming up.  Two of Bonham’s regiments had taken post on Jackson’s right, and a heavy force was approaching on the left.  Kirby Smith’s brigade, of the Army of the Shenandoah, coming up by train, had reached Manassas Junction while the battle was in progress.  It was immediately ordered to the field, and had been already instructed by Johnston to turn the enemy’s right.

But before the weight of Smith’s 1900 bayonets could be thrown into the scale, the Federals made a vigorous effort to carry the Henry Hill.  Those portions of the Confederate line which stood on the open ground gave way before them.  Some of the guns, ordered to take up a position from which they could cover the retreat, were limbering up; and with the exception of the belt of pines, the plateau was abandoned to the hostile infantry, who were beginning to press forward at every point.  The Federal engineers were already clearing away the abattis from the Stone Bridge, in order to give passage to Tyler’s third brigade and a battery of artillery; “and all were certain,” says McDowell, “that the day was ours.”

2.45 P.M.

Jackson’s men were lying beneath the crest of the plateau.  Only one of his regiments—­the 33rd—­had as yet been engaged in the open, and his guns in front still held their own.  Riding to the centre of his line, where the 2nd and 4th Virginia were stationed, he gave orders for a counterstroke.  “Reserve your fire till they come within fifty yards, then fire and give them the bayonet; and when you charge, yell like furies!” Right well did the hot Virginian blood respond.  Inactive from the stroke of noon till three o’clock, with the crash and cries of battle in their ears, and the shells ploughing gaps in their recumbent ranks, the men were chafing under the stern discipline which held them back from the conflict they longed to join.  The Federals swept on, extending from the right and left, cheering as they came, and following the flying batteries in the ardour of success.  Suddenly, a long grey line sprang from the ground in their very faces; a rolling volley threw them back in confusion; and then,