Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 30.
Reverend J. William Jones, Ed.

[114] firing and asked: ‘What are you firing at? Are you trying to kill all my men in front of you? There are no Yankees here.’ The officer in charge gave the command to cease firing. The firing having ceased I returned to my guns, thinking I had quieted the line. Jackson had in the meantime crossed to the left of the road, getting out of the line of fire of the two right regiments, the Seventh North Carolina and the Thirty-seventh North Carolina, and had nearly reached my guns, keeping on the edge of the woods, when Major John Barry, commanding the Eighteenth North Carolina, on the left of the road, for some reason, I know not what, ordered the Eighteenth North Carolina to fire. The Twenty-eighth North Carolina at once joined in the firing. It was this volley from the Eighteenth North Carolina that wounded Jackson. I say so for the reason that he was in front of the right of that regiment, which rested on the pike. But censure not this gallant regiment, who would have laid down their lives for their beloved commander! Remember, we had been fighting for hours, when this new line deployed through a dense forest, and knowing nothing of Jackson's movements, believed they were firing upon the foe. My men informed me at once that General Jackson was wounded, just in the edge of the woods, and that one of my men, John Webb, had the General's little sorrel. A moment or two more, and the Federals opened upon us at least twenty, some say forty, guns, with shell, canister and solid shot, a most terrific fire, carrying a besom of destruction which seemed to sweep the very rocks from the old pike. We, on our side, became quiet, the Yankees slowed down and soon ceased firing. I then replaced my poles and righted up my guns, except one caisson, and seeing Crutchfield's guns moving up, I withdrew some 150 or 200 yards to the rear and halted, sending back Dick Perkins with a pair of horses for the disabled caisson. As I halted, Major Rogers came up, wounded, was taken from his horse and placed in the ambulance. Then came up Colonel Crutchfield (an intimate friend of mine and schoolmate), and recognizing me, said: ‘Captain, please assist me to dismount.’ I asked: ‘How are you wounded, Colonel?’ He replied: ‘My thigh is broken.’, I had him taken off and placed in the ambulance. Just as I turned to my horse a litter came up, borne by four men, several others following. Knowing that Jackson had been wounded, I asked: ‘Whom have you there?’ The General in his laconic style spoke up, ‘Tell him it is an officer.’ At once recognizing his voice, I said: ‘Hold the ’