THE BATTLE OF FREDERICKSBURG—KEMPER'S
BRIGADE IN RESERVE—SPECTACULAR SCENE—BEHIND
MARYE'S HILL—SHARP-SHOOTING—AT
HOME—SAD LOSS
THE BATTLE OF FREDERICKSBURG
Longstreet was in command of the corps, and Gen. Geo. E. Pickett was the
division commander, having been assigned to the division in September.
The hills along the south side of the river on which Lee's army was
encamped are from a half to a mile back from the river, broad bottom
lands intervening between the river and hills. When the line of battle
was formed, Jackson's Corps was on the Confederate right, Longstreet on
the left, and Kemper's Brigade on Longstreet's right flank, and about
the center of the line of battle, which was some four miles long.
Jackson being on the right, no one was uneasy about that wing;
Longstreet on the left, with General Lee near him, all felt at ease, and
with Pickett's Division about the center, we were sure of success.
I don't know whether the Yankees knew Kemper's Brigade was in the center
or not; one thing certain, they did not attack this part of the line. I
for one was very glad of it, and I think I had company.
It had been rumored about camp for some time that the Yankees were about
to cross the river and give battle. On the morning of the 11th of
December the rumor proved true—the Yankees were preparing to cross now,
beyond a doubt. I remember when we were aroused early that morning by
the Yankee guns shelling the town, I exclaimed, "Poor old
Fredericksburg!" It was not a part of General Lee's plan to seriously
contest the crossing; only one brigade, Barksdale's Mississippians, who
occupied the river front, in and just below the town as pickets, made
any resistance. They, however, drove back several times the pontoon
bridge-builders before they succeeded in laying their bridges across the
river, which is here about 300 yards wide. It was not until the
afternoon of the 12th that the Yankee army had crossed over. On the
morning of the 13th of December, 1862, when the line of battle was
finally formed for the big fight, I remember General Kemper rode out in
front of each regiment of his brigade and spoke to the men, urging them
to do their duty, saying among other things, "If we can whip the enemy
here to-day, I tell you from what I know, the Confederacy is surely
established." But alas! he did not know. The enemy was badly whipped
that day, but the Confederacy failed.
As before said, the Yankees did not attack the center of the Confederate
lines, but tried both the right and left wings about the same time. The
morning of the 13th of December was very foggy along the river bottoms,
and it was some time after sun-up, perhaps nine or ten o'clock, before
the fog lifted and the battle commenced. Soon after the firing began on
the right and left, Kemper's Brigade was marched back off the line of
battle up on a hill, so as to be in position to give support wherever
needed. While lying down there a big shell from a Yankee gun across the
river was fired at the line. The big, long shell, "camp kettles," as
they were called, struck the ground near by, but did not explode—it just
tipped along through the chinquapin bushes like an old hare and then lay
still; no one went out to investigate—all were glad it did not burst,
and just "left it be." They did not throw any more over there; all were
glad of that, too, but did not let the Yanks know it; we just laid
still, and like Pete Vaughan's bear, "never said a word," nor made any
sign of approval or disapproval.
From where the brigade lay on this hill, the Yankee lines advancing on
Jackson's position could be plainly seen, but Jackson's men could not be
seen—only the smoke from their guns, the men being concealed in the
woods.
SPECTACULAR SCENE
This battle scene was a grand spectacle—more like some great panoramic
picture of a battle than anything I saw during the war. Ordinarily, very
little of a battle is seen by the troops engaged or in reserve, the
reserve forces being generally concealed as much as possible from the
enemy, and the troops engaged too busy to pay any attention to what is
going on except in their immediate front. Most of the fighting is done
in the woods.
Three times with triple lines of battle the Yankees advanced across the
open field to within musket range of Jackson's men, the artillery on
each side belching forth shot and shell, grape and canister the while,
and each time upon receiving a deadly fire, halted and then began to
waiver, give back, scatter and finally disappear over the rise in the
ground, out of sight and out of range, leaving many dead and wounded
behind.
The Yankee officers on horseback could be seen riding hither and thither
among the men. One fellow on an iron-gray horse was particularly active
and conspicuous, seeming to be doing his utmost to urge his men forward,
but all to no purpose. They had run up against "Stonewall," and they had
no better success than their comrades, who about the same time were
butting up against a rock wall at the foot of Marye's Hill, on the
Confederate left. We could see the Yankee ambulances busy hauling the
wounded across the river and up the hills beyond, to the hospitals.
All the time we could hear the roar of the battle-tide to the left, as
well as see and hear it on the right. The booming of the cannon, the
bursting of the shells, and the long, deep, continuous roar of the
musketry, made a noise as if all nature was in convulsion.
"Then shook the hills with thunder riven,
Then rushed the steed to battle driven,
And louder than the bolts of heaven,
Far flashed the red artillery."
The big Yankee guns over the river punctuating the noise with frequent
loud and long sounding booms, followed by the screams of the big shells,
as they sped across the river, the reply of the Confederates' heavy
guns—all sounded like "pandemonium broke loose"—whatever that is—or like
the crash of worlds in the coming clash of the spheres, if ever God
Almighty lets loose the reins that hold them in their orbits. It has
been said that during this battle, General Lee remarked to some one,
"This is grand; it is well that it does not come often. We would become
too fond of such things."
BEHIND MARYE'S HILL
Soon after the Yankees got enough of Stonewall's men on the right, and
while the battle was still raging on the left, Kemper's Brigade was
called to "attention," and marched off in quick time to the left towards
Fredericksburg; going to support the troops on Marye's Hill, who had
borne the heat and burden of the day on that wing, passing Gen. R. E.
Lee on the road, standing by his war horse, "Traveler," with his staff
about him, on a high point from where he could "view the landscape
o'er," and a large part of the battlefield as well; I think, however,
General Lee was giving more attention to the battle than to the
landscape. A battery of heavy artillery was near by, engaged in a duel
with the Yankee guns across the river. The brigade did not halt to act
as a second in that duel, but hurried on down the telegraph road towards
Fredericksburg.
Just about the time the head of the column reached the foot of the long
hill, and filed to the left, a Yankee battery from somewhere, presumably
from across the river, commenced throwing shells right into the line,
exploding in the midst, and knocking men right and left. A few feet in
front I saw a shell explode and knock several men of Company H heels
over head. All were now moving at a run and soon got out of range of
this battery, crossing Hazel Run, and going in the rear of Marye's Hill,
lying down there until dark, expecting to be called into action at any
moment. But Generals Ransom and Cobb, with their gallant North
Carolinians and Georgians, stood like statues behind the rock wall—with
the now famous Washington Artillery, under Colonel Walton, behind them
on the crest of the hill—and repulsed with great slaughter the frequent
and desperate assaults made by the enemy in columns of whole divisions,
literally covering the ground with dead Yankees. Not during the war was
any piece of ground so thickly covered with dead men as this.
Some years ago I talked with a Yankee soldier who was in one of the
assaulting columns at this place, who described the situation there in
front of the Confederate lines as, "a hell on earth."
Six separate and distinct assaults the Yankees made with divisions
heavily massed, but all failed.
While the brigade lay just back of the hill, spent balls came over from
the front, dropping among the men, and now and then wounding some one—a
very uncomfortable position to be in, though not very dangerous; the
balls had hardly force enough to kill, yet they hit pretty hard. I
remember Captain Houston, of Company K, had the breath fairly knocked
out of him by being struck about the short ribs with a spent minie ball.
The surgeon made an examination and found the skin had not been broken,
only a severe bruise, whereupon he remarked, "It is only a furlough
wound." No enemy was in sight upon whom the fire could be returned; all
that could be done was to lay low, hug mother earth, and await events.
About sundown the firing ceased and the battle of Fredericksburg was
over, though no one knew it.
The Yankees had been beaten back at every point they assailed the
Confederate lines, but were not routed nor driven back across the river.
General Lee, standing on the defensive all this day, still stood
awaiting another attack, but none came.
I have often thought how presumptuous it was in Burnside to attack Lee
and Jackson in their chosen position; although his forces greatly
outnumbered theirs, yet he stood no earthly chance of driving the
Confederates from their position. General Burnside used no strategy or
tactics in this battle; he just hurled his massed forces against Lee's
lines.
"On to Richmond" was the clamor at the North, and Burnside had to do
something. He got soundly whipped, for a fact.
SHARP-SHOOTING
At dark the brigade went around the hill to the left and relieved the
troops who had been fighting all day. The Eleventh Regiment was placed
in a cut in the road on the outskirts of the town, just to the left of
the stone wall, remaining here that night, and the next day,
sharp-shooting with the Yankees posted in the houses of the town. If a
head was raised above the bank for half a minute, "sip" would come a
minie ball, the Confederates returning the fire, giving the Yankees
tit-for-tat—shot for shot.
It was fun for some of Company C to place a hat or cap on a ramrod,
raise it slowly above the bank, and as soon as the Yankee ball whizzed
by, rise up and fire at the door or window from whence the puff of smoke
came. Some of them would raise a hand above the bank and say, "Look,
boys, I am going to get a furlough wound," but they would hold it there
only a second, lest it be struck sure enough. I saw here one of the men
fire upon two Yankees, one on the back of the other, who let his charge
drop at the crack of the gun. I have often regretted not preventing this
shot. It was a case of one comrade helping a sick or wounded friend.
Then we looked upon them as deadly enemies, and they were, too;
revengeful, vindictive, and cruel.
All that day and the next, the 14th and 15th, the two armies lay still,
only engaging in sharp-shooting and picket-firing along some parts of
the line. On the night of the 15th, the Yankees, like the Arab, folded
their tents and quietly stole away in the night, re-crossing the river
on their pontoon bridges, which they drew ashore on the north bank, and
again all was quiet along the banks of the Rappahannock; "no sound save
the rush of the river." But many a soldier was "off duty forever."
In the battle of Fredericksburg the Yankees admitted the loss of between
twelve and fifteen thousand men killed, wounded and captured, while the
Confederate loss was comparatively light.
The brigade, on the 16th, marched back a mile or two south of
Fredericksburg, camping in the woods near Guinea Station, on the
Richmond, Fredericksburg & Potomac Railroad, where big snowball battles
were fought, regiment pitted against regiment, the field officers on
horseback taking part, and getting well pelted too.
While in camp near Fredericksburg, John Lane, a young soldier of Company
C, died. He had been sick only a few days. One evening we had orders to
be ready to march at sun-up the next morning. I got up that morning
quite early to look after him and get him in the ambulance. I first went
to where he was sleeping to enquire how he was. I found him lying
between two of his sleeping comrades, stark and cold in death, his
bed-fellows being unaware that he had passed away while they slept.
Blood-stains on his lips told that he had died of hemorrhage. We
remained in the vicinity of Fredericksburg until the latter part of
February, 1863. Just before the brigade moved from here, an order came
to detail one officer from each regiment to go home for supplies of
shoes, socks, and clothing for the men. Maj. Kirk Otey, who was in
command of the regiment, very kindly gave me this detail without
solicitation on my part. Of course, I was delighted to go home, and be
with the loved ones, but this great pleasure ended very sadly indeed. A
terrible stroke fell on my wife and myself in the death of our little
boy, Dixie, who was then nearly eighteen months old. We had gone from my
father's, where my wife made her home during the war, to her father's,
Capt. William Cocke, when our little boy was taken with a severe spell
of acute indigestion, which threw him into convulsions, caused
congestion of the brain, and in spite of all that loving hearts and
hands and medical skill could do, he died in a few days. We laid him to
rest in the old family graveyard at Shady Grove with sad, sad hearts.
The day after he was buried I had to leave home for the army, the time
of my detail having expired, and the rules of war being inexorable, I
had to go. My wife was inconsolable. It was with a sad and heavy heart I
left her in care of those I knew full well would do all for her that
human love and sympathy could do. Duty called me hence and I had to
obey.