Mud splashed up by the horses struck him in the face now and then, and stung like gunpowder, but he began to shout with joy when he saw that Ashby was holding back the Northern vanguard.
Ahead of him the Southern army was already rumbling over the bridge, while the swollen and unfordable waters of the Shenandoah raced beneath it.

But the Northern brigades pressed hard.

Harry did not know whether the rain helped them or hurt them, but at any rate it was terribly uncomfortable.

It poured on them in sheets and sheets and the earth seemed to be a huge quagmire.

He wondered how the men were able to keep their ammunition dry enough to fire, but that they did was evident from the crash that went on without ceasing.
"In thinking of war before I really knew it," said Harry, "I never thought much of weather." "Does sound commonplace, but it cuts a mighty big figure I can tell you.
If it hadn't rained so hard just before Waterloo Napoleon would have got up his big guns more easily, winning the battle, and perhaps changing the history of the world.