The Story of the Thirty-second Regiment, Massachusetts Infantry / Whence it came; where it went; what it saw, and what it did

by Francis J. Parker

To us, three-quarters of a mile away, the delay finally became irksome and the Colonel and Major, moved by curiosity, rode down to the river. The Rappahannock here lies deep between its banks and they rode to the edge of the bluff, peering over, up and down the stream, to see what might be seen. The firing for the time had ceased, and all seemed quiet except the crackling flames of the burning buildings. The gunners of the two-gun battery close by were chatting, leaning lazily against the gun-carriages. Below, the river, waiting the turn of the tide to flood, was still and smooth. Opposite, the warehouses, thrusting their unhandsome walls down to the line of tidal mud, seemed utterly deserted; two or three of them were yet burning, a few were badly battered, but on the whole the storm of shot and shell had done wonderfully little harm.

A rifle ball, passing between the two officers, singing as it went, reminded them that everything was not as peaceful as it seemed, and they turned away just as the battery joined the renewed bombardment to cover the forlorn hope in their boat crossing.

That night we bivouacked in a neighboring wood, where we remained also the next day and night, while Franklin on one side of us, and Sumner on the other, were crossing and deploying their commands below and in the town, covered for the greater part of the day by a dense fog which allowed neither the enemy nor us to see much of the movements.

General Burnside would seem to have had an idea that he could push his army across the river, attack Lee’s army and win the heights, before Jackson, from his position eighteen miles below, could come to aid his chief. This possibly might have been done by flanking, if he had been content to cross the Rappahannock where Franklin, at 9 o’clock on the 11th, had succeeded in establishing his bridges; but before the upper pontoon bridges could be laid, the rebel right wing, under Jackson, had effected its junction with the lines of Longstreet, and Lee’s army was again united.

December 13th, 1862,—the day of the battle of Fredericksburg,—opened clear and bright, except that over the lowlands bordering the river was stretched a veil of vapor which laid there until 9 o’clock. The grand divisions of Sumner and Franklin were over the river and ready for battle—Sumner in the streets of Fredericksburg, which ran parallel to the river, and Franklin in the open plain below the town. Our (Hooker’s) grand division yet occupied the heights on the eastern side of the Rappahannock, from which—except for the fog—could be seen the slightly undulating plain, which was to be Franklin’s field of battle, but from which the greater part of Sumner’s field was hidden by the town itself.

The letter A may be used to demonstrate the topography of the battle. The left limb of that letter may represent the line of higher land occupied by the Confederates, the right limb the line of the Rappahannock river, and the cross-bar the course of a sunken creek which separated the lines of Sumner’s troops from those of Franklin, but which offered no advantage to our troops, and no impediment to the fire of either of the combatants. Below the cross-bar of the A, the space between the limbs may have averaged two-thirds of a mile in width, over which Franklin’s men must advance to the attack, almost constantly exposed to the fire from the batteries of the rebels, and for at least half the way to that from the rifles of their infantry. Within the triangle—the upper portion of the A—was included the city of Fredericksburg and Sumner’s aceldama, and here the lines of the enemy were strengthened by earthworks on the summit of the heights, (not fifty feet above the level of the plain), and by stone walls and rifle pits along their base. Here the space between the foremost rebel line, and the nearest blocks of houses in the town was nowhere two thousand feet, and within this narrow space, under the fire of a mile of batteries, and at least ten thousand rifles, the Union lines must be formed for the attack.

What we saw of Franklin’s battle was what happened before noon, and after 9 o’clock,—at which latter hour the fog disappeared, revealing to us and to the enemy the advancing line of Meade’s division, to us a moving strip of blue on the dun-colored plain. We saw it halt, covered no doubt by some undulation of the land, while a battery on the left was silenced by the Union guns—then the line moved on, fringed sometimes with the smoke of its own volleys, at other times with the silver-like sheen of the rifle barrels. We saw the smoke of the rebel rifles burst from the woods that covered the first rise of ground—saw Meade’s line disappear in the woods, followed by at least one other line,—then our bugles called “attention! forward!” and we saw no more of Franklin’s fight.

Early in the morning two of Hooker’s divisions had been sent to strengthen Franklin, and now two others, Humphrey’s and Griffins’ (ours) were ordered to the support of Sumner. A new boat-bridge had been laid, crossing the river at the lower part of the town, just below the naked piers of what had been and is now the railroad bridge, and just above the outlet of a small stream. The two divisions were massed on the hill-side near this bridge—an attractive mark for the rebel cannoneers, who however, having food for powder close at hand, spared to us only occasionally a shell. The crossing must have occupied an hour. Down the steep hill-side and the steeper bank; over the river and toiling up the western side; with many waits and hitches—the serpent-like column moved tediously along. Once up the bank, and the rifle balls whistled about us and our casualties began; but we wound our way, bearing a little to the left, through the lower portion of the town, where the buildings were detached and open lots were frequent, availing ourselves of such cover as could be used, until in a vacant hollow each regiment as it came up was halted to leave its knapsacks and blankets. These were bestowed in heaps, and the men and boys of the drum-corps were left to guard them. Here too, by order of the Colonel, the field and staff officers dismounted, leaving their horses in charge of servants. Then in fighting trim we moved forward past the last buildings, out upon the field of battle. Here was still between us and the enemy a swell of land, six or eight feet in its greatest height, affording some slight protection, and we trailed our arms to conceal our presence from the enemy.

The confusing roar of the battle was all about us. Our own batteries of heavy guns from Stafford Heights were firing over us—a few of our field pieces were in action near by. The rebel guns all along their line were actively at work—their shells exploded all around us, or crashed into the walls of neighboring buildings, dropping fragments at every crash; whatever room there might have been in the atmosphere for other noise, was filled by the rattle of musketry and the shouts of men.

No words can fully convey to a reader’s mind the confusion which exists when one is near enough to see and know the details of battle. One reads with interest in the reports of the generals, the letters of newspaper correspondents, or in the later histories constructed from those sources, a clear story of what was done; of formations and movements as if they were those of the parade; of attack and repulse—so graphically and carefully described as to leave clear pictures in one’s mind. But it may be doubted whether one who was actively engaged, and in the thick of the fight, can correctly describe that which occurred about him, or tell with any degree of accuracy the order of events or the time consumed.