At last it came, the
heaven-piercing, hell-quivering, Rebel yell--the triumphant cry of the
Southern hunter in sight of his game!
Jackson, Longstreet and Early with sudden rush of tigers sprang at the
throats of the Union lines in front.
The men had scarcely gripped their guns to receive the assault when from
the rear rose the unearthly yell of the new army swooping down on their
unprotected flank.
It was too much for the raw recruits of the North. They had marched and
fought with dogged courage since two o'clock before day--without pause
for food or drink. It was now four in the afternoon and the blazing sun
of July was pouring its merciless rays down on their dust-covered and
smoke-grimed faces without mercy.
McDowell's right wing was crumpled like an eggshell between the combined
charges front and rear. It broke and rushed back in confusion on his
center. The whole army floundered a moment in tangled mass. In vain
their officers shouted themselves hoarse proclaiming their victory and
ordering them to rally.
Wild, hopeless, senseless, unreasoning panic had seized the Union army.
They threw down their guns in thousands and started at breakneck speed
for Washington. With every jump they cursed their idiotic commanders
for leading them blindfolded into the jaws of hell.
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