In the woods on top of the plateau lay Thomas Jonathan Jackson and his men. Jackson was of English descent, and having been left an orphan at seven, he grew to manhood on a rough farm in Western Virginia, joined the army, fought in Mexico, and after teaching school was with Johnston at Harper’s Ferry. Jackson’s brigade was the first to get into position and check the advance of the Federals, the panic-stricken Southerners rallying upon his line. During the crisis, General Bee, rallying his men, shouted: “See; there is Jackson, standing like a stone wall. Rally on the Virginians.” Immediately afterwards General Bee was shot dead; but the nickname “Stonewall” stuck to Jackson, and became probably the most familiar nickname of the war. To the Confederate left stood Henry House. Built on a knoll, it commanded the whole field of action, and here McDowell deemed it important to plant a battery. To this ground two batteries were sent, and Ellsworth’s Zouaves ordered to support them. In making their way to the position the officers of the Zouaves mistook an Alabama regiment for a Northern one, and did not find out their mistake until they had exposed their men to a fire that wiped the regiment out of existence. Another and another regiment was sent to the support of the battery, and the battle raged its wildest around the knoll at Henry House. Keyes, on the right, after a successful charge was driven back, Sherman in the centre charged again and again up the hill, each charge only resulting in a heavier loss, and the batteries at Henry House were taken and retaken time and time again. As the afternoon grew older, confusion gradually settled on the Northern lines. Companies beaten back from the brow of the hill got mixed with companies charging up the hill; men lost their officers and officers their companies, until after a few hours’ fighting all was confusion, and the Northern army, victorious as it seemed a little earlier in the day, degenerated into a mob of struggling men, into which the South continued to pour a merciless fire. Just when the army had been reduced to this pitiable state of confusion, a body of close upon two thousand fresh men came hurrying across the fields to take part in the conflict. They were the last arrivals from Winchester, Johnston’s men, who hearing the roar of battle, stopped their train at the nearest point to the scene of action, and running as fast as legs could carry poured a volley into the Federals’ right. This proved to be the last straw. Raising the cry: “Here’s Johnston from the valley!” the army of the North broke and fled panic-stricken across Bull Run, along the turnpike to Centreville and on to Washington, to let the President and the people of the North know that an appalling disaster had befallen the Federal cause. General McDowell tried his utmost to stay the flight, but to no purpose. It was every man for himself, and never was rout more complete.