Another masterpiece of gallantry was presented nearer the town, at Marye's Heights, where General Meagher's Irish Brigade repeatedly charged the Rebel works, until at least two-thirds of his stalwart men strewed the ground, killed and wounded. Brigade after brigade was ordered to take these heights, and though their ranks were mown down like grass before the scythe, in the very mouth of Rebel guns the effort was again and again made. Midway up the Heights was a heavy stone wall, behind which lay the hosts of the enemy, who delivered their fire with scarcely any exposure, sweeping down our columns as they approached. This hillside was completely strewn with our dead and disabled, and at length our assailing ranks retired, compelled to abandon their futile and murderous attempts. But in the language of General Sumner, "they did all that men could do." This could be applied to all the troops engaged.
Night at length threw her sable mantle over the bloody field, covering in her sombre folds the stiffened corpses and mangled forms of not less than fifteen thousand dead and wounded, including the casualties of both armies.
Not one of all our dead fell more lamented than Major-General George D. Bayard, who was struck by a shrieking shell, dying early in the evening. He was only twenty-eight years of age, of prepossessing appearance and manners, with as brave a heart as ever bled for a weeping country, and a capacity of mind for military usefulness equal to any man in the service. Gradually he had arisen from one position of honor and responsibility to another, proving himself tried and true in each promotion, while his cavalry comrades especially were watching the developments of his growing power, with unabating enthusiasm. But "death loves a shining mark," and our hero, with his own blood, baptized the day which had been appointed for his nuptials. The recital of his early death brought tears to many eyes, and caused many a loving heart to bleed.
"Death lies on him like an untimely frost—
Upon the sweetest flower of all the field."
The night following this bloody conflict was horrible in the extreme. Every available spot or building in the city was sought for a hospital, to which the wounded were brought on stretchers by their companions. Now and then there came a poor fellow who was able to walk, supporting with one hand its bloody, mangled mate. At times two men might be seen approaching through the darkness, supporting between them their less fortunate comrade, whose bloody garments told that he had faced the foe. But many of our hospitals proved to be very unsafe refuges, into which Minié balls and broken shells would come rattling, and in some instances destroying the precious lives that had escaped—though not without suffering—the terrible and deadly shock of battle. Many of the wounded were taken across the river, and made perfectly safe and as comfortable as circumstances would permit. The Sanitary and Christian Commissions rendered very effective service, enshrining themselves in the memory of a grateful people. Their deeds of charity and mercy can never be forgotten. By their timely supplies and personal labors many lives were saved, and thousands of the wounded were comforted.
December 14.—The light of this holy Sabbath was hailed with gladness by many a poor soldier, who had suffered from the chill of the night alone upon the bloody field. The weather, however, is unusually clement for this season of the year. A little firing occurred this morning, but no general engagement resulted. This was greatly feared, for had General Lee advanced upon us, it is difficult to see how our men, though somewhat covered by the fire of our batteries from Falmouth Heights, could have recrossed the stream without fearful loss. But both armies spent most of the holy day in the sacred task of caring for the wounded and burying their dead. Monday was also spent mostly in the same employment, and in the night, so skilfully as to be unknown even to the Rebel pickets, our whole army was withdrawn to the north side of the river in perfect order and without loss. Our pontoons were then taken up.
General Burnside was not willing to remain totally idle, and, after some time had elapsed, he planned another grand movement, which, with more or less opposition from his subordinates, who did not confide in his judgment, he endeavored to execute. But he had just taken the first step in the programme when he was signaled to desist by a telegram from the President, who had been informed that the temper of the army was not favorable to a general move under its present commander.
With the battle of Fredericksburg terminated the campaign of 1862, and the two great armies established their winter quarters facing each other along the line of the Rappahannock. Our camps extend for several miles along the northern shore above and below Falmouth, and the enemy occupy the south bank above and below the Heights of Fredericksburg. Indeed, nearly the whole territory between the Rappahannock and the Defences of Washington, a dark, forsaken, wilderness region, with only here and there a plantation or a village, was soon converted into a vast camping ground, and became the most populous section of Virginia.
To avoid the distant transportation of forage, the greater portion of the cavalry is encamped near Belle Plain, where government transports land with supplies from Washington. The Harris Light has established its camp on the Belle Plain and Falmouth Turnpike, about four miles from the former place, and has named it "Bayard," in honor of our lamented commander, whose fall at Fredericksburg is still a subject of universal sorrow.
It is wonderful to witness how the forests are disappearing in and around our camps. From morning till night the chopmen's axes resound from camp to camp, echoing dolefully along the river-shore and far back into the dense, dark woods. Soon after the battle of Fredericksburg, as we had no quarters, and nothing but worn and torn shelter-tents, our only way to prevent freezing at night was to cut and heap together a large number of logs, which, though green, when fully ignited made a rousing fire. These fires, numerously built in rows throughout the streets of our camps, presented, especially at night, a most beautiful and lively scene. The few trees which still remained as shelters were generally lighted up by our fires into grand chandeliers, reflecting upon our white tents a weird light of gold and green, which might have furnished the pen of the romancer, and the pencil of the artist, their most interesting plots and designs.