General Hooker sat on the porch of the Chancellor House, his headquarters. On the east there was heavy firing where his men were attempting to carry out his orders to flank Lee's retreating army. Sickles' and Pleasanton's cavalry were already in pursuit. By some curious trick of the breeze or atmospheric conditions not a sound had reached him from the direction of his right wing. A staff officer suddenly turned his glasses to the west. "My God, here they come!" Before the astounded Commander could leap from the porch to his horse the flying stragglers of his shattered right were pouring into view--men, wagons, ambulances, in utter confusion. Hooker swung his old division under General Berry into line and shouted to his veterans: "Forward with the bayonet!" The sturdy division plowed its way through the receding blue waves of panic-stricken men and dashed into the face of the overwhelming hosts. Major Keenan, in command of the 8th Pennsylvania Cavalry, charged with his gallant five hundred into the face of almost certain death and held the grey lines in check until the artillery of the Third Corps was saved and turned on the advancing Confederates. He fell at the head of his men. The fighting now became a battle. It was no longer a rout. Ned saw a lone deaf man in blue standing bareheaded, fighting a whole army so intent on his work he hadn't noticed that his regiment had retreated and left him. Two men in grey raised their muskets and fired point blank at this man at the same instant. The unconscious hero fell. "I hit him!" cried one. "No, I hit him!" said the other. And they both rushed up and tenderly offered him help. A grey soldier came hurrying by taking two prisoners to the rear. A cannon ball from the rescued battery cut off his leg and he dropped beside Ned shouting hysterically: "Pick me up! Pick me up! Why don't you pick me up?" The blue prisoner looked back in terror at the battery and started to run. A grey soldier stopped them: "Here! Here! What'ell's the matter with you? Them's your own guns. What are ye tryin' to get away from 'em for?" Men were falling now at every step. Ned had advanced a hundred yards further when the boy on his right suddenly threw his hands over his head and his leg full to the ground, cut off by a cannon ball, Ned leaped to his side and caught him in his arms. A look of anguish swept his strong young face as he gasped: "My poor old mother! O my God, what'll she do now?" Ned tied his handkerchief around the mangled leg, twisted the knot, and stayed the blood gushing from the severed arteries, and rushed back to his desperate work. Four horses dashed by his side dragging through the woods a big gun to train on the battery that was plowing through their lines. A solid shot crashed straight through a horse's head, blinding Ned with blood and brains. He threw his hand to his face and buried it in the hot quivering mass, exclaiming: "My God, boys, my brains are out!"