CHAPTER VIII.
HOW WE GOT A SHELLING.
"Pack up!" "Fall in!" All is stir and excitement in the camp. The bugles are blowing "boots and saddles" for the cavalry camped above us on the hill; we drummer-boys are beating the "long roll" and "assembly" for the regiment; mounted orderlies are galloping along the hillside with great yellow envelopes stuck in their belts; and the men fall out of their miserable winter-quarters, with shouts and cheers that make the hills about Falmouth ring again. For the winter is past; the sweet breath of spring comes balmily up from the south, and the whole army is on the move,—whither?
"Say, Captain, tell us where are we going?" But the captain doesn't know, nor even the colonel,—nobody knows. We are raw troops yet, and have not learned that soldiers never ask questions about orders.
So, fall in there, all together, and forward! And we ten little drummer-boys beat gayly enough "The Girl I left behind me," as the line sweeps over the hills, through the woods, and on down to the river's edge.
And soon here we are, on the Rappahannock, three miles below Fredericksburg. We can see, as we emerge from the woods, away over the river, the long line of earthworks thrown up by the enemy, and small dark specks moving about along the field, in the far, dim distance, which we know to be officers, or perhaps cavalry pickets. We can see, too, our own first division laying down the pontoon-bridge, on which, according to a rumor that is spreading among us, we are to cross the river and charge the enemy's works.
Here is an old army letter lying before me, written on my drum-head in lead pencil, in that stretch of meadow by the river, where I heard my first shell scream and shriek:—
"Near Rappahannock River, Apr. 28th.
"Dear Father,—We have moved to the river, and are just going into battle. I am well, and so are the boys.—Your affect. son,
"Harry."
But we do not go into battle this day, nor next day, nor at all at this point; for we are making only a "feint," though we do not know it now, to attract the attention of the enemy from the main movement of the army at Chancellorsville, some twenty-five or thirty miles farther up the river. The men are in good spirits and all ready for the fray; but as the day wears on without further developments, arms are stacked, and we begin to roam about the hills. Some are writing letters home, some sleeping, some even fishing in a little rivulet that runs by us, when, toward three o'clock in the afternoon, and all of a sudden, the enemy opens fire on us with a salute of three shells fired in rapid succession, not quite into our ranks, but a little to the left of us. And see! over there where the 'Forty-third lies, to our left, come three stretchers, and you can see deep crimson stains on the canvas as they go by us on a lively trot to the rear; for "the ball is opening, boys," and we are under fire for the first time.
I wish I could convey to my readers some faint idea of the noise made by a shell as it flies shrieking and screaming through the air, and of that peculiar whirring sound made by the pieces after the shell has burst overhead or by your side. So loud, high-pitched, shrill, and terrible is the sound, that one unaccustomed to it would think at first that the very heavens were being torn down about his ears!