[Illustration: 9153]
T was {144}with many forebodings and some outspoken prophecies of
failure that many of the Union officers learned that they were to move
at once upon Fredericksburg.
“It looks to me like a mad freak to send us out to assault such
fortifications as are thrown up on the hills south and west of the
town. It isn't right for a soldier to grumble, but when he sees a
man perpetrating a piece of folly, that is going to cause a needless
sacrifice of life, why, he can't help expressing himself as opposed to
the scheme.”
The plaint of the captain found a ready echo in the hearts of his fellow
officers, but a soldier must obey instructions unquestioningly.
Early morning hours came, the camp was astir, and all preparations were
made for a speedy move upon the fortifications.
“Lee has thrown up forts for five miles will stand any attack that
General Burnside can make. We are going to our death.”
A two o'clock breakfast, eaten in haste in the fog of early morning, was
all that the men were allowed. The outlook was gloomy. The river must
be crossed, but while Burnside was trying to lay pontoon bridges, the
engineers were terribly harassed by the continuous fire of the rebel
sharpshooters, who were using the houses skirting the river bank as
places of refuge.
{145}
[Illustration: 0154]
General Burnside determined to try the effect of shelling the town. The
men who were detailed to lay the pontoon bridges were falling at their
posts by the rifles in the hands of a Mississippi detachment which was
hidden securely in cellars, behind walls and fences, and in every corner
where it was possible to {146}conceal a man. Crack! crack! their rifles
were heard, and many a boy in blue was tumbled into the water with
a bullet in his brain, to be carried away by the current. It was a
fruitless endeavor to keep on with the work, the loss of life was so
great. The Federals had better luck at the lower bridges, being able to
dislodge the sharpshooters from their rifle-pits.
“What are the prospects for crossing?” asked Sergeant Gregory of an
officer who passed at that moment.
“We'll be over somewhere about doomsday, judging from the outlook. The
three bridges we need the most can't be laid under the present regime.
We've got to evict those sharpshooters from the houses along the river
bank, for it's worse than murder to post our men there to be picked off
in that cruel fashion--all to no purpose, for bridges can never be built
when men are shot down as fast as they show their heads.”
The country was hilly, now and then dotted with clumps of trees, while
barns, fences, and everything that was combustible, had been converted
to use by the two armies, as each in turn had passed over the land. All
was dreary and desolate. The sky was leaden-hued, save when a burst of
flame from the cannonading would lighten it for a short space, and then
it would die down, leaving it almost a pitchy blackness.
General Burnside's resolve to bombard the place had no power to oust the
sharpshooters, even when tons of shells were thrown into its streets,
setting fire to many of the buildings. When, after a brief rest, the
engineers resumed the construction of the bridges, the same result
followed--destruction of their numbers.
The town itself was almost impregnable, being completely encircled by
hills, save on the river side. These heights were bristling with forts,
entrenchments seamed them in every direction, and batteries were planted
in such profusion that no opening presented itself for attack. {147}
[Illustration: 0156]
How long this slaughter would have continued it is hard to tell,
{148}but a happy inspiration came to General Hunt, chief of artillery.
He suggested that a body of men could make a dash for the river, cross
in boats, and besiege the sharpshooters in the houses, driving them out,
and taking possession.
The daring of the plan almost took away one's breath, but it seemed the
only way to silence the enemy's murderous fire, and it was quickly put
in execution. The pontoon boats lay at the river bank. A band of tried
men was selected for the perilous undertaking, who at a sign, without a
sound or word of command, rushed from their concealment, leaped into the
boats, shot out from the shore, and were half across the stream before
the Confederates realized their intention. Then came a shower of bullets
from their rifles, rattling like hailstones about the heads of the
brave men, who held boards up before them for protection, dodging the
murderous fire as well as they could, while those who were rowing pulled
with a will, and the boats were across the stream in swift time. A few
were shot, falling into the river, but the largest number went over
safely.
Reaching the shore, the regiments ran up the hills, and succeeded in
forcing the sharpshooters from their lairs, capturing over a hundred of
them, while the rest fled to the hills.
The way was now clear for the completion of the bridges. A pontoon
bridge is a fine piece of ingenuity.
Heavy boats, perfectly flat, often twenty feet in length, are anchored
at equal distances from each other, lengthwise of the current, and beams
are placed upon them to unite them; then strong, thick planks are laid
across the beams, thus making a steady, wide roadway, strong enough to
endure the weight of horses, heavy pieces of artillery, and the tramp of
thousands of men.
While the bridge was being made, the enemy did not remain quiet, but
dropped shells at various points along the river, which exploded, but
happily did little injury.
{149}
[Illustration: 0158]
The smoke of the artillery, the flames bursting from the houses, and the
struggling army of the Union exposed to a pitiless fire made a picture
which was never effaced from Ralph's mind, and {150}years after, when he
saw the panorama of “The Battle of Gettysburg,” in Chicago, the memory
of that day at Fredericksburg came back with vivid force. He was once
more a stripling, in the midst of the noise and shock of battle, with
comrades falling about him, torn and mangled out of all semblance of
human beings, while he was miraculously preserved.
That night the Union forces rested on the ground, in the mud and frost,
not far away from the pontoon bridge; and though they knew the morning
would plunge them into further conflict, yet tired limbs and aching
heads found the refreshing slumber which they needed. Early next
morning, after a hasty breakfast, they were ready for any events which
the day might bring forth.
A heavy fog hid the other shore, while the air was cold and raw. Long
before the sun scattered the mists, cannonading began at the bridge, the
main point of attack, but the firing became so severe that orders were
issued for them to retire behind the bluffs.
At last the bridges were finished, and the army crossed to the other
side of the river, under the continuous shells of the enemy. Now began
a terrific struggle. General Franklin had advanced against the troops
on the hill, but they had repulsed him, with much loss. General Meade's
division was chosen to lead the attack. Down across the railroad they
dashed, under heavy fire, their skirmishers having been sent forward,
while the well-directed batteries hurled against the hills did some
execution.
But the Confederates from their elevated positions poured destruction
into their ranks, mowing them down. The Union forces were not daunted,
but made an entering wedge between two rebel divisions, turned back
their flanks, and captured prisoners and battle flags. Scaling the
heights, they were met by the second line, which drove them back in
confusion, and they were only saved from utter rout by General Birney,
who threw his command in front of the enemy, who were pursuing them.
[Illustration: 0160]
The sounds of battle grew louder, and as the divisions of French
{151}and Hancock moved in columns through the town, the Confederate
batteries burst upon them, but they charged across the open ground, to
be met by a veritable sheet of flame, which swept into their faces, and
literally consumed them. No bravery, no determination, could withstand
that awful fire of the enemy, who {152}had taken advantage of an ambush
which nature had seemed to furnish them, from whence they sent forth
their deadly aim.
[Illustration: 0161]
A road ran at the foot cf Marye's Hill, which had sunken so much as
almost to be unobserved, at a little distance. This road was bounded
at its outside edge by a stone wall, where were hidden two brigades of
Confederates, who had sent forth this {152}sheet of flame and death.
Their numbers were so great, that every man at the wall was assisted by
several behind him, who loaded muskets as fast as they could, and passed
them to him, while he discharged them as rapidly, leaving only his head
exposed for an instant, as he raised it to take aim.
In the face of these fearful odds, the Union soldiers were undismayed.
No disorganization, no wavering in their ranks, but they kept on, only
to meet certain death.
And now General Hancock, he whose presence was an inspiration, led the
charge with 5,000 men, whose intrepid daring carried them within twenty
yards of the fatal wall, only to be beaten back, leaving 2,000 dead to
tell the tale of the slaughter at Marye's Hill.
General Burnside was beside him himself with rage. In the face of these
defeats, he demanded that General Hooker make a bayonet charge, and
those doomed men rushed forward, with a valor never surpassed, rallying
again and again, until nearly half their number lay dead on the road, or
torn with fearful wounds.
[Illustration: 0162]
The rebel artillery was not idle, but as the Federals retreated, sent
shells after them, still plowing their numbers with deadly effect.
A heavy storm of rain came on in the night, and under cover of
its inclemency, the Union troops withdrew to the north bank of the
Rappahannock, although it had been General Burnside's determination
{154}to renew the assault the next day, and lead it in person. This
was a step which needed a vast deal of dissuasion on the part of his
generals ere he relinquished his mad attempt.
Mud was over the shoe-tops, and the rain was falling fast when the
Union army received orders to evacuate the town, and no time was lost in
obeying. The pontoon bridges carried them safely across from the scene
of disaster, and left the army in a sorry plight.
Decimated in numbers, the dead alone counting 12,000, disappointed,
hospitals full to overflowing, the dead to bury, the predictions of
defeat had been bitterly realized. It is said that the {155}brave and
dashing General Meagher went into that battle with the Irish brigade,
over 1,200 strong, and came out with a little over 200.
It was plain that the men had been sacrificed through incompetency and
stubbornness. Murmurs and discontent were abundant, as the army prepared
to settle down in its winter quarters.
[Illustration: 0164]