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1 [228] on the hill-tops they stood out in distinct relief against the faint blush of the morning sky, was the figure of Stonewall Jackson. In a quiet undertone the word “Forward!” had now fallen from his lips, was passed onward to his hosts, who arising from their short slumbers, chill and stiff with the cold night-damps, were advancing to battle.1 Ere the word was given, a despatch from Ewell announced that he too was ready; that early in the night he had reached a position two miles from the town, on Jackson's right, and that his pickets were yet one mile in advance.
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