On both sides ammunition began to fail; the brushwood took fire, the ground became hot beneath the foot, and many wounded perished miserably in the flames.  Yet still, with the tangled abattis dividing the opposing lines, the fight went on; both sides struggling fiercely, the Federals with the advantage of position, the Confederates of numbers, for Hooker refused to reinforce his gallant troops.  At length the guns which Stuart had established on Hazel Grove, crossing their fire with those of McLaws and Anderson, gained the upper hand over the Union batteries.  The storm of shell, sweeping the Fairview plateau, took the breastworks in reverse; the Northern infantry, after five hours of such hot battle as few fields have witnessed, began sullenly to yield, and as Stuart, leading the last charge, leapt his horse over the parapet, the works were evacuated, and the tattered colours of the Confederates waved in triumph on the hill.

“The scene,” says a staff-officer, “can never be effaced from the minds of those that witnessed it.  The troops were pressing forward with all the ardour and enthusiasm of combat.  The white smoke of musketry fringed the front of battle, while the artillery on the hills in rear shook the earth with its thunder and filled the air with the wild shrieking of the shells that plunged into the masses of the retreating foe.  To add greater horror and sublimity to the scene, the Chancellorsville House and the woods surrounding it were wrapped in flames.  It was then that General Lee rode to the front of his advancing battalions.  His presence was the signal for one of those uncontrollable out-bursts of enthusiasm which none can appreciate who have not witnessed them.

“The fierce soldiers, with their faces blackened with the smoke of battle, the wounded, crawling with feeble limbs from the fury of the devouring flames, all seemed possessed of a common impulse.  One long, unbroken cheer, in which the feeble cry of those who lay helpless on the earth blended with the strong voices of those who still fought, hailed the presence of the victorious chief.

“His first care was for the wounded of both armies, and he was among the foremost at the burning mansion, where some of them lay.  But at that moment, when the transports of his troops were drowning the roar of battle with acclamations, a note was brought to him from General Jackson.  It was handed to him as he sat on his horse near the Chancellorsville House, and unable to open it with his gauntleted hands, he passed it to me with directions to read it to him.  I shall never forget the look of pain and anguish that passed over his face as he listened.  In a voice broken with emotion he bade me say to General Jackson that the victory was his.  I do not know how others may regard this incident, but for myself, as I gave expression to the thoughts of his exalted mind, I forgot the genius that won the day in my reverence for the generosity that refused its glory.”