CHAPTER XIV. FREDERICKSBURG.

[Original]

T was with many forebodings and some outspoken prophecies of failure that many of the Union officers learned that they were to move at once upon Fredericksburg.

“It looks to me like a mad freak to send us out to assault such fortifications as are thrown up on the hills south and west of the town. It isn't right for a soldier to grumble, but when he sees a man perpetrating a piece of folly, that is going to cause a needless sacrifice of life, why, he can't help expressing himself as opposed to the scheme.”

The plaint of the captain found a ready echo in the hearts of his fellow officers, but a soldier must obey instructions unquestioningly.

Early morning hours came, the camp was astir, and all preparations were made for a speedy move upon the fortifications.

“Lee has thrown up forts for five miles will stand any attack that General Burnside can make. We are going to our death.”

A two o'clock breakfast, eaten in haste in the fog of early morning, was all that the men were allowed. The outlook was gloomy. The river must be crossed, but while Burnside was trying to lay pontoon bridges, the engineers were terribly harassed by the continuous fire of the rebel sharpshooters, who were using the houses skirting the river bank as places of refuge.


[Original]

General Burnside determined to try the effect of shelling the town. The men who were detailed to lay the pontoon bridges were falling at their posts by the rifles in the hands of a Mississippi detachment which was hidden securely in cellars, behind walls and fences, and in every corner where it was possible to conceal a man. Crack! crack! their rifles were heard, and many a boy in blue was tumbled into the water with a bullet in his brain, to be carried away by the current. It was a fruitless endeavor to keep on with the work, the loss of life was so great. The Federals had better luck at the lower bridges, being able to dislodge the sharpshooters from their rifle-pits.

“What are the prospects for crossing?” asked Sergeant Gregory of an officer who passed at that moment.

“We'll be over somewhere about doomsday, judging from the outlook. The three bridges we need the most can't be laid under the present regime. We've got to evict those sharpshooters from the houses along the river bank, for it's worse than murder to post our men there to be picked off in that cruel fashion—all to no purpose, for bridges can never be built when men are shot down as fast as they show their heads.”

The country was hilly, now and then dotted with clumps of trees, while barns, fences, and everything that was combustible, had been converted to use by the two armies, as each in turn had passed over the land. All was dreary and desolate. The sky was leaden-hued, save when a burst of flame from the cannonading would lighten it for a short space, and then it would die down, leaving it almost a pitchy blackness.

General Burnside's resolve to bombard the place had no power to oust the sharpshooters, even when tons of shells were thrown into its streets, setting fire to many of the buildings. When, after a brief rest, the engineers resumed the construction of the bridges, the same result followed—destruction of their numbers.

The town itself was almost impregnable, being completely encircled by hills, save on the river side. These heights were bristling with forts, entrenchments seamed them in every direction, and batteries were planted in such profusion that no opening presented itself for attack.

[Original]

How long this slaughter would have continued it is hard to tell, but a happy inspiration came to General Hunt, chief of artillery. He suggested that a body of men could make a dash for the river, cross in boats, and besiege the sharpshooters in the houses, driving them out, and taking possession.

The daring of the plan almost took away one's breath, but it seemed the only way to silence the enemy's murderous fire, and it was quickly put in execution. The pontoon boats lay at the river bank. A band of tried men was selected for the perilous undertaking, who at a sign, without a sound or word of command, rushed from their concealment, leaped into the boats, shot out from the shore, and were half across the stream before the Confederates realized their intention. Then came a shower of bullets from their rifles, rattling like hailstones about the heads of the brave men, who held boards up before them for protection, dodging the murderous fire as well as they could, while those who were rowing pulled with a will, and the boats were across the stream in swift time. A few were shot, falling into the river, but the largest number went over safely.

Reaching the shore, the regiments ran up the hills, and succeeded in forcing the sharpshooters from their lairs, capturing over a hundred of them, while the rest fled to the hills.

The way was now clear for the completion of the bridges. A pontoon bridge is a fine piece of ingenuity.

Heavy boats, perfectly flat, often twenty feet in length, are anchored at equal distances from each other, lengthwise of the current, and beams are placed upon them to unite them; then strong, thick planks are laid across the beams, thus making a steady, wide roadway, strong enough to endure the weight of horses, heavy pieces of artillery, and the tramp of thousands of men.

While the bridge was being made, the enemy did not remain quiet, but dropped shells at various points along the river, which exploded, but happily did little injury.


[Original]

The smoke of the artillery, the flames bursting from the houses, and the struggling army of the Union exposed to a pitiless fire made a picture which was never effaced from Ralph's mind, and years after, when he saw the panorama of “The Battle of Gettysburg,” in Chicago, the memory of that day at Fredericksburg came back with vivid force. He was once more a stripling, in the midst of the noise and shock of battle, with comrades falling about him, torn and mangled out of all semblance of human beings, while he was miraculously preserved.

That night the Union forces rested on the ground, in the mud and frost, not far away from the pontoon bridge; and though they knew the morning would plunge them into further conflict, yet tired limbs and aching heads found the refreshing slumber which they needed. Early next morning, after a hasty breakfast, they were ready for any events which the day might bring forth.

A heavy fog hid the other shore, while the air was cold and raw. Long before the sun scattered the mists, cannonading began at the bridge, the main point of attack, but the firing became so severe that orders were issued for them to retire behind the bluffs.

At last the bridges were finished, and the army crossed to the other side of the river, under the continuous shells of the enemy. Now began a terrific struggle. General Franklin had advanced against the troops on the hill, but they had repulsed him, with much loss. General Meade's division was chosen to lead the attack. Down across the railroad they dashed, under heavy fire, their skirmishers having been sent forward, while the well-directed batteries hurled against the hills did some execution.

But the Confederates from their elevated positions poured destruction into their ranks, mowing them down. The Union forces were not daunted, but made an entering wedge between two rebel divisions, turned back their flanks, and captured prisoners and battle flags. Scaling the heights, they were met by the second line, which drove them back in confusion, and they were only saved from utter rout by General Birney, who threw his command in front of the enemy, who were pursuing them.

[Original]

The sounds of battle grew louder, and as the divisions of French and Hancock moved in columns through the town, the Confederate batteries burst upon them, but they charged across the open ground, to be met by a veritable sheet of flame, which swept into their faces, and literally consumed them. No bravery, no determination, could withstand that awful fire of the enemy, who had taken advantage of an ambush which nature had seemed to furnish them, from whence they sent forth their deadly aim.

[Original]

A road ran at the foot cf Marye's Hill, which had sunken so much as almost to be unobserved, at a little distance. This road was bounded at its outside edge by a stone wall, where were hidden two brigades of Confederates, who had sent forth this sheet of flame and death. Their numbers were so great, that every man at the wall was assisted by several behind him, who loaded muskets as fast as they could, and passed them to him, while he discharged them as rapidly, leaving only his head exposed for an instant, as he raised it to take aim.

In the face of these fearful odds, the Union soldiers were undismayed. No disorganization, no wavering in their ranks, but they kept on, only to meet certain death.

And now General Hancock, he whose presence was an inspiration, led the charge with 5,000 men, whose intrepid daring carried them within twenty yards of the fatal wall, only to be beaten back, leaving 2,000 dead to tell the tale of the slaughter at Marye's Hill.

General Burnside was beside him himself with rage. In the face of these defeats, he demanded that General Hooker make a bayonet charge, and those doomed men rushed forward, with a valor never surpassed, rallying again and again, until nearly half their number lay dead on the road, or torn with fearful wounds.

[Original]

The rebel artillery was not idle, but as the Federals retreated, sent shells after them, still plowing their numbers with deadly effect.

A heavy storm of rain came on in the night, and under cover of its inclemency, the Union troops withdrew to the north bank of the Rappahannock, although it had been General Burnside's determination to renew the assault the next day, and lead it in person. This was a step which needed a vast deal of dissuasion on the part of his generals ere he relinquished his mad attempt.

Mud was over the shoe-tops, and the rain was falling fast when the Union army received orders to evacuate the town, and no time was lost in obeying. The pontoon bridges carried them safely across from the scene of disaster, and left the army in a sorry plight.

Decimated in numbers, the dead alone counting 12,000, disappointed, hospitals full to overflowing, the dead to bury, the predictions of defeat had been bitterly realized. It is said that the brave and dashing General Meagher went into that battle with the Irish brigade, over 1,200 strong, and came out with a little over 200.

It was plain that the men had been sacrificed through incompetency and stubbornness. Murmurs and discontent were abundant, as the army prepared to settle down in its winter quarters.

[Original]