It was less than half a mile across; and occasionally a rifle ball fell near us, but the distance was too great for them to be effective. I looked through the trees and examined the hill with my glass, but could see nothing save the ridge of fresh-turned earth. Along the side of the hill were our sharpshooters watching the works. I could see them crawling up behind trees and stumps, sometimes dragging themselves along the ground, sometimes on their hands and knees. Their shots were frequent, and sounded as though a sporting party were below us. It was hard to believe that they were shooting at men. It was wonderful, too, how soon the mind accustomed itself to these strange circumstances. After the first half hour we took no more notice of the rifle shots than though some boys were there at play. Behind those earthworks were cannon as well as men. We were completely within range, and they could have sent their shot and shell amongst us at any time. The night before no fires had been allowed, as they would indicate our position to the rebels; but they were now burning, and around one of them three or four of us gathered to dine. As we sat down upon a log, we heard distant sounds of cannon along the river. "There go the gunboats; the fight has begun; they are shelling the rascals out," said everybody. We had taken for granted all the time, and, indeed, up to the last minute, that the gunboats would dismantle the fort, and that all we should have to do would be to prevent the escape of the rebels. In this we were much mistaken. The cannonade lasted an hour, and then stopped. We hoped the fort was taken, but no such news came to gladden us.
In watching the earthworks, in talking and warming ourselves at the camp-fires, the afternoon wore away. Evening came, and it was determined to risk the fires. Again we sat down beside one for supper. It consisted of hard pilot-bread, raw pork and coffee. The coffee you probably would not recognize in New York. Boiled in an open kettle, and about the color of a brown stone front, it was nevertheless our greatest comfort, and the only warm thing we had. The pork was frozen, and the water in the canteens solid ice, so that we had to hold them over the fire when we wanted a drink. No one had plates or spoons, knives or forks, cups or saucers. We cut off the frozen pork with our pocket knives, and one tin cup, from which each took a drink in turn, served the coffee.
It grew darker; the camp-fires burned brightly, and no threatening shot or shell had come from the Fort. Our sharpshooters and sentinels were between us and the rebels; and it was determined that we might sleep. The men stacked their arms, and wrapped themselves in their blankets around the fires. This was my first night out. Hitherto my quarters had been in houses; I had not even passed a night in a tent. A life among the comforts of New York is not a good preparative for the field. I had looked forward to a tent at this season with some little anxiety, but I was now to begin without even that shelter. My water-proof blanket and buffalo skin were also on board the steamer, so that I had to trust to the better fortune of my friends for these. We managed to find four blankets, two of them were wet and frozen, and a buffalo skin. The snow was scraped away from the windward side of the fire, and the two frozen blankets were laid on the ground—a log was rolled up for a wind-break, and the buffalo spread over the blankets. On this four of us were stretched, and very close and straight we had to lie. It fared ill with the trappings of military life; handsome great-coats were ignominiously rolled up like horse-blankets, and my beautiful sabre (the gift of North Moore street friends), ordinarily stained by no speck of rust or drop of rain, was tossed out in the snow, with pistols and spy-glasses, used in camp with the same gentle treatment.
For a few minutes I kept awake; the rebels were but fifteen minutes distant, and if they chose to make a night attack their shells might burst among us at any moment. The snow-flakes began to fall faster and faster. I slipt my head under the blanket and fell asleep. I can imagine that you will say we were to be pitied; but never did I sleep more sweetly. Soon after midnight the sound of cannon roused us. The snow was three inches deep upon our blankets, yet we were comfortable, and surprised to find it lying there. The ground, however, had thawed beneath us; and when we rose, the snow crept in among our blankets and wet them. Lying down was out of the question; we bent down a couple of saplings and spread blankets over them, making a little shed. Under this we crept, after piling plenty of wood upon our fire. The soldier's invariable comfort—his pipe—was at hand, and thus we chatted, smoked and dozed till daylight.
III. THE ASSAULT.
The sun of Saturday rose bright and clear, and more than one asked if it were an omen for us, or for the foe. The morning passed as did the day before; but about noon, word came up that far down on our right the rebels had attempted to cut their way out. They were driven back, but the fight was bloody, and it was said we had lost five hundred men. We were warned to be watchful—it was thought they might re-attempt it near us. I have said we were in front of a large glen or ravine; on our right were numerous regiments, making a chain which stretched to the river. On our left was the Second Iowa. This was all that I had seen of our position, and consequently is all that I shall describe now, inasmuch as I am giving it to you precisely as it appeared to me. Soon a mounted orderly rode by, who told us that a large body of rebels were moving up opposite us. Our men were called together, and stood near their stacked arms. A little while and General Smith and his staff came up—they passed by in front of us, but said nothing. At the same time the sharpshooters along the glen were unusually active, and there were repeated shots by them. We thought they saw the rebels mustering behind the breastworks. Everything seemed to indicate a sally from the rebels, and that we were to drive them back as they had been driven back in the morning. The men took their arms, officers loosened their pistol holsters. I hooked up my cavalry sabre, unbuttoned my great coat so that I could quickly throw it off, and took my place beside the lieutenant-colonel with whom I was to act. Then there came a painful, unpleasant pause; we heard nothing—saw nothing—yet knew that something was coming; what that something was no one could tell. A messenger came from the general—we were to move to the left and support the Second Iowa. We supposed the rebels were crossing a little higher up, and that the gap between us and the Second was to be closed. The colonel gave the order "left face," "forward march," and the regiment passed along through the thick trees in a column of two abreast. But the Second were not where they had been in the morning; we marched on, but did not come to them. In a few moments we passed their camp fires—a few more, and we emerged on an open field.
At a glance, the real object of the movement was apparent. It came upon us in an instant, like the lifting of a curtain. The Fourteenth were hurrying down through the field. The Second, in a long line, were struggling up the opposite hill, where two glens met and formed a ridge. It was high and steep, slippery with mud and melted snow. At the top, the breastworks of the rebels flashed and smoked, whilst to the right and left, up either glen, cannon were thundering. The attempt seemed desperate. Down through the field we went, and began to climb the hill. At the very foot I found we were in the line of fire. Rifle balls hissed over us, and bleeding men lay upon the ground, or were dragging themselves down the hill. From the foot to the breastworks the Second Iowa left a long line of dead and wounded upon the ground. The sight of these was the most appalling part of the scene, and, for a moment, completely diverted my attention from the firing. A third of the way up we came under the fire of the batteries. The shot, and more especially the shell, came with the rushing, clashing of a locomotive on a railroad. You heard the boom of the cannon up the ravine—then the sound of the shell—and then felt it rushing at you. At the top of the hill the firearms sounded like bundles of immense powder crackers. They would go r-r-r-r-rap; then came the scattered shots, rap, rap—rap-rap, rap; then some more fired together, rrrrrrap. This resemblance was so striking that it impressed me at the moment.