Three years in the Sixth Corps

by George T. Stevens

On the morning of the 11th of December, we marched to a point about two miles below Fredericksburgh. The whole army was in motion. The ground had become hardened by frost, and a light coating of snow lay upon it. The wheels no longer sunk in the mire; but artillery rolled easily over the frozen ground.

The Right grand division, Sumner's, had already taken its position immediately in front and above the city of Fredericksburgh; the Center, Hooker's, and the Left division, Franklin's, now took position below the town.

As we descended from the heights of Stafford, into the valley of the Rappahannock, dense clouds of fog obscured the view of the opposite bank, and it was only at noon that we could distinguish objects on the farther side of the river. Engineers were hard at work laying pontoon bridges, being submitted to a brisk musketry fire from the rebel skirmishers, who at times charged upon them, killing and wounding several of the workmen, and greatly hindering the work. A few volleys from our batteries, which were brought forward presently, put these troublesome parties to flight, and the work went on. Still, during all the day, the enemy strove with artillery and infantry to prevent the laying of the bridge, but to no avail.

On the right, where the veteran Sumner commanded, the task of throwing the bridges across, was far more difficult than at the lower crossing. In the storehouses and dwellings along the banks of the river, swarms of rebel soldiers were concealed; and these, by pouring murderous volleys into the midst of the pontoniers, compelled them to desist from the attempt to finish their bridge. Determined no longer to be thwarted by these concealed foes, General Burnside, having previously notified the civil authorities of the town, that if the houses were used as covers for men who were shooting our soldiers, the town must suffer the consequences, ordered our batteries to concentrate their fire upon it and batter down the walls. Soon after noon, the bombardment commenced. One hundred and seventy cannon belched forth the huge iron missiles upon the devoted city. The roar of the artillery was terrific, and as the winds rolled away the huge columns of smoke, we saw that the city was on fire, the flames leaping to the skies. The spectacle was one of awful grandeur. The bursting bombs, shooting forth their flashing coruscations from the columns of smoke, the great tongues of flame from the burning buildings, leaping to the heavens, the clamor of the bursting shells and the shock of the artillery which shook the earth, made up one of the most terribly magnificent of scenes.

In the midst of all this direful tumult, and while the conflagration of the city drove the confederates out of their places of concealment, Sumner's forces succeeded in laying their bridge and crossing troops; not, however, until two brave regiments had crossed in boats and captured or dispersed the rebel sharpshooters, who had given so much trouble. Hooker also effected a crossing at the same time. We had now bridges across at three points; "Franklin's Crossing" being nearly two miles below the town.

The city of Fredericksburgh is upon the south bank of the Rappahannock river. Fronting the city, on the north side of the stream, rises a steep bluff—Stafford Heights—which approaches near the river above and opposite the town, and gradually recedes from it below. This was the side held by our army. Behind the town, on the south, the ground rises in several successive terraces until it reaches an elevation called "the mountain." Each terrace commands all below it, and the whole forms a position of unsurpassed advantages for defense. Here, between these high grounds, and stretching on either side of the river, is the valley of the Rappahannock—almost a level plain of six miles in length, and averaging two and a half miles in breadth, narrowing in front of the town to less than a mile, and spreading out, at the point where our lower bridges were thrown across, to at least three miles. On the crest of the heights, north of the river, were posted our batteries in great numbers. On the plain and on each of the terraces south of the river, the enemy was intrenched in most formidable positions.

The advance of the enemy fell back, as our forces crossed the river, leaving us in possession of the plain on both sides, and of the town. Night came on, and the spectacle was unutterably grand, as the sheets of fire burst from the mouths of the opposing batteries; but at length the roar of battle subsided, and except the firing of pickets, all was quiet. Franklin threw but a small force across the river; a strong picket line, well supported, holding a semi-circular tract of the plain. The Eighteenth and Thirty-first New York were the first of the Sixth corps to cross the bridge.

The Sixth corps returned to the heights and bivouacked for the night, leaving a few regiments to hold the plain in front of the bridge. It was the intention of the commanding general to press the enemy closely in front with the Right and Center grand divisions, while the Left division was to make a flank movement on the right of the enemy's line, seizing the road to Bowling Green, and rendering the rebel position untenable.

Before dawn on the following morning, we made our way again to the river. Thousands crowded upon the banks, or hurriedly dashed across the bridge. The rumble of wheels upon the frozen ground, the tramp of thousands of men, the neighing of innumerable horses, mingled with the roar of musketry. The sun rose in splendor, and the spires of the city, two miles to our right, shone brightly, for only the lower part of the town had been destroyed by the conflagration of the day before, and tens of thousands of muskets gleamed in the morning light. The broad plain, on the south bank, swarmed with the hosts of Franklin and Hooker. Musketry fire became more and more brisk, as our forces moved into position, but no general engagement came on. Shells from the rebel batteries came bursting in our midst, and in reply, our own guns on Stafford Heights sent their shells screaming over our heads, to burst in the midst of the rebel artillerists.

A fine stone mansion of large dimensions, situated on the south bank of the river, and a little below the bridge, was taken by the surgeons of our Second division, for a hospital. The position was exposed to the rebel fire, but it was the best that could be found. Just in front of it the gallant General Bayard, of the cavalry, was struck by a shell, and killed instantly. Others, some of whom had been previously been wounded, received fatal shots at the very doors of the house. The owner of this magnificent mansion still remained in it. He was an old secesh bachelor, very aristocratic in his notions, and highly incensed at the use his house was put to by the "hireling Yankees." But he was taken care of by a guard. His servants cooked for the wounded and our surgeons; his fine larder furnished us delicacies and his cellar rich old wines.