On comes Jackson, pursuing the wreck of the First division. Some of
Schurz's regiments break before Devens has passed to the rear. Others
stand firm until the victorious Confederates are upon them with their
yell of triumph, then steadily fall back, turning and firing at
intervals; but nowhere a line which can for more than a brief space
retard such an onset.

Down the road towards Chancellorsville, through the woods, up every side
road and forest path, pours a stream of fugitives. Ambulances and oxen,
pack-mules and ammunition-wagons, officers' spare horses mounted by
runaway negro servants, every species of the impedimenta of camp-life,
commissary sergeants on all-too-slow mules, teamsters on still-harnessed
team-horses, quartermasters whose duties are not at the front, riderless
steeds, clerks with armfuls of official papers, non-combatants of all
kinds, mixed with frighted soldiers whom no sense of honor can arrest,
strive to find shelter from the murderous fire.

No organization is left in the Eleventh Corps but one brigade of
Steinwehr's division. Buschbeck has been speedily formed by a change of
front, before Devens and Schurz have left the field, in the line of
intrenchments built across the road at Dowdall's at the edge of the
clearing. No sooner in place than a scattering fire by the men is
opened upon friends and foes alike. Dilger's battery trains some of its
guns down the road. The reserve artillery is already in position at the
north of this line, and uses spherical case with rapidity. Howard and
his staff are in the thickest of the fray, endeavoring to stem the tide.
As well oppose resistance to an avalanche.

Buschbeck's line stubbornly holds on. An occasional squad, still
clinging to the colors of its regiment, joins itself to him, ashamed of