It was a frightful scene, more terrible by far than the horrors of the battle-field. Broken regiments, without leaders, filled the road, the open fields, and skirted the fences, in one wild panic. Army wagons, sutler’s teams and artillery caissons rushed together, running each other down, and leaving the wrecks upon the road. Hacks were crushed between heavy wagon wheels and their occupants flung to the ground. Horses, wild with fright and maddened with wounds, galloped fiercely through the crowd, rearing and plunging when the worn-out fugitives attempted to seize them and save themselves from the destruction that was threatened at every step. Wounded men, who had found strength to stagger off the battle-field, fell by the wayside, begging piteously to be taken up. Now and then a kind fellow would mount a wounded soldier behind him, and give the horse he had caught a double load; most of the poor fellows were brought forward in this way. Sometimes a wounded man would be picked up by two passing companions, and carried tenderly forward—for the sweet impulses of humanity were not all lost in that wild retreat. Then came the artillery—for much was saved—thundering through the panic-stricken crowd, crushing everything as it went, dragged recklessly along by horses wild as the men that urged them on. Rifles, bayonets, pistols, blankets, haversacks and knapsacks were flung singly or in heaps along the way. Devoured by intense thirst, black with powder, famished and halting, these stricken men plunged into the fields, searching for water. If a muddy pool presented itself, they staggered to its brink with a pitiful laugh, and lying down on their faces, drank greedily, then arose with tears in their eyes, thanking God for the great luxury. As they passed by the few houses on the road, women—God bless them!—would come out, some with curt, but genuine hospitality, others with tears streaming down their cheeks, and gave drink and food to the wounded men as they halted by. Those who fell upon the wayside were taken in and tended kindly till the next day. Boys came from the wells, bearing pailsful of water, which their little sisters distributed to the jaded men in their own tin cups. But this panic, like all others, was of brief duration. When the fugitives reached Centreville, they found Blenker’s brigade stretched across the road ready to guard the retreat. Some of the fugitives rallied and formed into line, but they had flung away their arms, and the highway from Stone Bridge to Centreville was literally covered with these cast-off weapons and munitions of war, hurled from the army wagons by reckless teamsters. In places the road was blocked up by the wagons themselves, from which the drivers had cut their teams loose and fled on the relieved horses.