Hill’s staff, now lifted him to his feet, and with their aid he walked a few steps through the trees.  But hardly had they gained the road when the Federal batteries, along their whole front, opened a terrible fire of grape and canister.  The storm of bullets, tearing through the foliage, was fortunately directed too high, and the three young officers, laying the general down by the roadside, endeavoured to shield him by lying between him and the deadly hail.  The earth round them was torn up by the shot, covering them with dust; boughs fell from the trees, and fire flashed from the flints and gravel of the roadway.  Once Jackson attempted to rise; but Smith threw his arm over him, holding him down, and saying, “General, you must be still—­it will cost you your life to rise.”

After a few minutes, however, the enemy’s gunners, changing from canister to shell, mercifully increased their range; and again, as the Confederate infantry came hurrying to the front, their wounded leader, supported by strong arms, was lifted to his feet.  Anxious that the men should not recognise him, Jackson turned aside into the wood, and slowly and painfully dragged himself through the undergrowth.  As he passed along, General Fender, whose brigade was then pushing forward, asked Smith who it was that was wounded.  “A Confederate officer” was the reply; but as they came nearer Fender, despite the darkness, saw that it was Jackson.  Springing from his horse, he hurriedly expressed his regret, and added that his lines were so much disorganised by the enemy’s artillery that he feared it would be necessary to fall back.  “At this moment,” says an eye-witness, “the scene was a fearful one.  The air seemed to be alive with the shriek of shells and the whistling of bullets; horses riderless and mad with fright dashed in every direction; hundreds left the ranks and hurried to the rear, and the groans of the wounded and dying mingled with the wild shouts of others to be led again to the assault.  Almost fainting as he was from loss of blood, desperately wounded, and in the midst of this awful uproar, Jackson’s heart was unshaken.  The words of Fender seemed to rouse him to life.  Pushing aside those who supported him, he raised himself to his full height, and answered feebly, but distinctly enough to be heard above the din, ’You must hold your ground, General Fender; you must hold out to the last, sir.’”

His strength was now completely gone, and he asked to be allowed to lie down.  His staff-officers, however, refused assent.  The shells were still crashing through the forest, and a litter having been brought up by Captain Leigh, he was carried slowly towards Dowdall’s Tavern.  But before they were free of the tangled wood, one of the stretcher-bearers, struck by a shot in the arm, let go the handle.  Jackson fell violently to the ground on his wounded side.  His agony must have been intense, and for the first time he was heard to groan.