The attack must be made, and Hooker--whose courage no one could question--still trying to prevent it, crossed the river himself, went to Burnside and remonstrated.
Men who were present have told vivid stories of that scene at the Phillips House.

Hooker, his face covered with dust and sweat, galloping up, leaping from his horse, and rushing to Burnside; the commander-in-chief striding up and down, looking toward Marye's Hill, enveloped in smoke, and repeating to himself, as if he were scarcely conscious of what he was saying: "That height must be taken! That height must be taken! We must take it!" He turned to Hooker with the same words, "That height must be taken to-day," repeating it over and over again, changing the words perhaps, but not the sense.

The gallant but unfortunate man had not wanted to be commander-in-chief, foreseeing his own inadequacy, and now in his agony at seeing so many of his men fall in vain he was scarcely responsible.
Hooker, his heart full of despair, but resolved to obey, galloped back and prepared for the last desperate charge up Marye's Hill.

The advancing mists in the east were showing that the short winter day would soon draw to a close.

He planted his batteries and opened a heavy fire, intending to batter down the stone wall.