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.