“Bring out your men, gentlemen,” Stonewall Jackson famously said as he launched the 2nd Battle of Bull Run #OTD, with an ambush at Brawner's Farm in the gathering dusk. It’s become an indelible part of the Stonewall legend.

But here’s the thing: Most of his men weren’t there ...

As I posted earlier today, Stonewall’s flank march not only got him supplies at Manassas Station, it put him in position to pounce on the unsuspecting Union army. So he waited, with the Federal battle plan in his hands, until a long column plodded leisurely across his front ...

But when Jackson “brought out his men,” only 800 (in the vaunted Stonewall Brigade) of the 24,000 troops in the vicinity stepped forth. Most of his artillery was miles away. Not exactly the well-planned ambush by a famed stickler for details that History might have you believe.

There was another thing Stonewall hadn’t counted on: The Union troops on the road below him weren’t running. Despite being caught by surprise, despite the lines of Rebel troops advancing toward them, the Union fellows were standing fast.

And they wore these funny black hats ...

Some of these Midwesterners had had a rough time at First Bull Run, and were determined to redeem themselves here, at Brawner's Farm. As the Rebels marched towards them through the murky twilight, one Wisconsin soldier summed up the mood, muttering: “Come on God damn you.”

How to explain such courage? Look, I worked for the Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel once upon a time, and I saw a guy wade into a bar brawl in Waukesha and break it up just by yelling “Favre! FAVRE!” at the top of his lungs until the swinging stopped.

They make ‘em tough up there.

The brutal action at Brawner's Farm pitted the Stonewall Brigade vs. the Iron Brigade, in a stand-up fight in an open field. "Men standing at arm's length ... giving and taking, life for life, each resolute and determined, ceasing action only from sheer exhaustion,” as one wrote.

Another Union soldier said: “The affair seemed to us like a mixture of earthquake, volcano, thunderstorm and cyclone. Even now we can hear the . . . howls, growls, moans, screeches, screams and explosions. . . . It might have been a tune for demons to dance to."

The Iron Brigade’s commander, John Gibbon, wrote of the fighting, in which one out of three men fell dead or wounded: “Going over the ground the following year, I could plainly trace out the line of battle they had occupied by the half-buried bodies and the cartridge papers.”

When his aide’s horse was blown apart, spilling the aide on the ground and covering him with blood, the shaken man looked to Gibbon, who merely said: “That’s war, adjutant.” Soon, Abner Doubleday’s NY and Pennsylvania men came out of the bullpen to help hold the Union line.

Darkness prevented Stonewall from deploying the full weight of Rebel numbers. "In this fight there was no maneuvering and very little tactics," wrote Rebel Gen. William Taliaferro, who should know: He was hit three times. "It was a question of endurance, and both endured."

Stonewall achieved surprise, luring the Union into an assault the next day. But he couldn’t shove the Iron Brigade off the road. And that’s why, whenever I’m cruising America, I like to remind other motorists of one simple fact:

Those black-hatted fellows have the Right of Way.