Close upon the footsteps of the foe, passing over the dead and wounded—for these the rebels were compelled to leave in their wake—followed the soldiers of the Union, till at length the enemy disappeared within a wood. Still the Federals pressed on, and gallantly threw themselves upon the cover; when suddenly, from out the gloom and shadow of the trees, was hurled a fearful volley of fire, that caused their undaunted front to waver, bend and break, and sent them, panic-stricken, many yards back. But, almost instantly closing up their shattered lines, they quickly recovered from this temporary confusion; and, though they could not attempt another advance, their ammunition being expended, those who were left to oppose the advancing masses of the enemy retreated in good order, very slowly, their ranks so thinned that, where brigades had been, scarcely regiments remained—little more than a brigade, where had been a whole victorious division. A contemporary account of the battle speaks as follows of the unexpected reverse, there and then encountered by the gallant patriots. “In ten minutes, the fortune of the day seemed to have changed; it was the rebels now who were advancing, pouring out of the woods in endless lines, sweeping through the corn-field from which their comrades had just fled. Hooker sent in his nearest brigade to meet them, but it could not do the work. He called for another. There was nothing close enough, unless he took it from his right. His right might be in danger if it was weakened, but his centre was already threatened with annihilation. Not hesitating one moment, he sent orders to Doubleday: ‘Give me your best brigade instantly.’ “The best brigade came down the hill to the right on a run, went through the timber in front swept by a storm of shot and bursting shell and crashing limbs, over the open field beyond and straight into the open corn-field, passing as they went the fragments of three brigades shattered by the rebel fire and streaming to the rear. They passed by Hooker, whose eyes lighted as he saw these veteran troops, led by a soldier whom he knew he could trust. ‘I think they will hold it,’ he said. “General Hartsuff took his troops very steadily, but, now that they were under fire, not hurriedly, up the hill from which the corn-field begins to descend, and formed them on the crest. Not a man who was not in full view—not one who bent before the storm. Firing at first in volleys, they fired then at will with wonderful rapidity and effect. The whole line crowned the hill and stood out darkly against the sky, but lighted and shrouded ever in flame and smoke. They were the Twelfth and Thirteenth Massachusetts and another regiment—old troops all of them.