They formed instantly along the Southern front, and the battery opened at once with all its guns, while the three thousand men sent a new fire into the Northern ranks.

Yet the Northern charge still came.

McDowell, Burnside, and the others were pressing it home, seeking to drive the Southern army from its hill, while they were yet able to bring forces largely superior to bear upon it.
The thunder and crash of the terrible conflict rolled over all the hills and fields for miles.

It told the other forces of either army that here was the center of the battle, and here was its crisis.
The sounds reached an extraordinary young-old man, bearded and awkward, often laughed at, but never to be laughed at again, one of the most wonderful soldiers the world has ever produced, and instantly gathering up his troops he rushed them toward the very heart of the combat.
Stonewall Jackson was about to receive his famous nickname.
Jackson's burning eyes swept proudly over the ranks of his tall Virginians, who mourned every second they lost from the battle.

An officer retreating with his battery glanced at him, opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again without saying a word, and infused with new hope, turned his guns afresh toward the enemy.