FREDERICKSBURG.
In the afternoon of the tenth, two hundred and fifty men of the
Twenty-seventh were detailed to picket along the Rappahannock
above Falmouth. During all the following night might be heard an
unusual rumbling of cars, bringing up subsistence from Acquia
Creek, and the rattling of ammunition wagons and pontoon trains,
slowly moving to their respective destinations. At half-past four,
on the morning of the eleventh, the Colonel passed around to the
officers’ quarters, giving orders to have their companies supplied
with three days’ rations, and fall in by half-past six, in light
marching order. Let us leave the scene of busy preparation in camp,
and for a few moments view the events transpiring on the river.
Three points had been carefully selected by General Burnside where
bridges were to be thrown across--one a short distance above the
Lacey House, another a few rods below the railroad bridge, and the
third about two miles below the city. Boat after boat is anchored
in its place; plank after plank is laid in quick succession, and
the river is well-nigh spanned by the trembling structure, when
suddenly two signal guns break on the still night air, and a sheet
of flame bursts from houses on the opposite bank, where hundreds
of sharp-shooters lie concealed. The defenceless bridge builders
are temporarily driven from their work, while the cannon from the
bluffs behind belch forth a defiant response to the rebel challenge.
To return to the Twenty-seventh. Promptly at half-past six the
regiment fell in and joined the rest of the brigade, a short
distance from camp. Silently, through woods and across fields,
we marched to the corps rendezvous, in a deep hollow near the
Phillips House, where General Sumner had his headquarters. On the
way we passed long lines of troops moving rapidly to the river, or
resting behind rows of musket stacks. Here we were to remain until
a crossing could be effected.
Meanwhile, the frequency of cannon discharges increases. Every
moment another adds its voice to the swelling volume, until from
twenty batteries, comprising more than a hundred guns, arranged
along the banks of the river, bursts a tempest of shot and shell
over the rebel city. This continues, with little cessation, until
noon. For three hours following, only occasionally a gun disturbs
the comparative quiet. Then the ball opens again with renewed
violence. A visit to the top of the hill, overlooking the city,
reveals columns of smoke, with now and then a flash of flame,
testifying to the effectiveness of the bombardment. At the river,
all attempts to complete the pontoon bridge had hitherto failed.
With particular interest we gazed upon a regiment of the corps, as,
tired, dusty, and powder smeared, it rejoined us after a protracted
effort at the bridge. History records but few parallels to the more
than heroic valor which crowned that day’s work. A trusty weapon
supports the soldier’s courage, but to stand, unarmed, the target
of unerring sharp-shooters, unable to respond to their attacks, and
in view of almost inevitable death, is the highest test of courage.
It became evident that the bridge could be completed only by
driving the sharp-shooters from the houses on the opposite side, by
a sudden dash across the river. This hazardous duty was intrusted
to the Seventh Michigan and detachments from several other
regiments, and nobly was it performed. The rebels were driven from
their hiding-places, the bridge touched the opposite shore, and the
first act in this fearful drama closed. This success was received
with universal joy, and all attention now concentrated in what the
future should unfold. General Howard’s division of the Second Corps
crossed over into the city, while Hancock’s and French’s bivouacked
for the night in a strip of woods near the Phillips House.
Early the next morning, December twelfth, we crossed into
Fredericksburg, over the bridge which had cost so much blood and
labor the preceding day. Evidences of the bombardment everywhere
presented themselves, in the houses perforated with shot and
shell, and in the miscellaneous rubbish which hindered our
progress through the street. Mattresses, pitchers, chairs, kitchen
utensils, and other furniture, scattered about in grotesque
confusion, testified that those who had passed the night in the
town had availed themselves of all the comforts within reach. We
moved down Water street, and halted at the first pontoon bridge,
a few rods below the railroad, where we encamped that day and
night. The Twenty-seventh spent the day in bridging gullies and
mud-holes with boards and planks from neighboring fences, so that
the artillery could pass. Company B was detailed to lay pontoons
across a stream uniting with the Rappahannock just below the town.
About the middle of the afternoon the rebel batteries attempted to
annoy the men engaged in these preparations, and for a time a very
brisk artillery duel was maintained between the opposing forces.
Sheltered as we were by the steep bank, the rebels could not obtain
accurate range, and most of the shells shrieked harmlessly over our
heads, and fell into the river or struck on the opposite side.
At length the eventful thirteenth arrived--a day full of scenes
and experiences which will never fade from the memory of those
who participated in them. Immediately after breakfast we were
marched up to Caroline street, the principal street of the town,
parallel with the river. Here the division was formed in line of
battle, and stacked arms, while arrangements were being completed
to storm the heights back of the city. Staff officers were riding
in hot haste to and fro, carrying orders, or disposing the forces,
and occasionally our division general, Hancock, rode slowly and
proudly up and down the line, surveying the ranks, his countenance
wearing an aspect of quiet and cool determination. At length the
sound of cannonading comes to our ears from below, indicating
that General Franklin has entered upon the task assigned him, of
seizing the railroad and turning the enemy’s flank. Like banks
of keys in a great organ, the rebel works rise behind the town,
and gradually the chorus of notes bursts forth directly in front
of us. The rebel shell crash among the houses or strike in the
street, while the batteries of the Second Corps, on the north bank
of the Rappahannock, send their shrieking replies over the city.
“Attention!” rings out loud and long above the din. Every man is in
his place, his musket at a shoulder. “Right face!” “Right shoulder
shift arms!” follow in quick succession. At this moment General
Hancock rides up to the Twenty-seventh, and leaning forward in
his saddle, with his right arm upraised, briefly addresses them:
“You are the only Connecticut regiment in my division. Bring
no dishonor upon the State you represent.” The order is given,
“Forward! March!” reëchoed by commanders of brigades, regiments,
and companies, and we move in quick time down the street to the
railroad.
While the column is moving on, let us briefly survey the position
of the battle-field. Fredericksburg is situated in a large
amphitheatre, admirably adapted for defence. Directly in the rear
of the town is a smooth field with a slightly ascending grade,
extending back a little less than half a mile to the telegraph
road, which is flanked by a stone wall, beyond which rises a ridge
somewhat abruptly from a hundred to a hundred and fifty feet high.
This range of high ground extends as far as Hazel Run, a little
stream emptying into the Rappahannock just below the lower edge of
the town, and in the other direction bends toward the river, which
it very nearly touches just above Falmouth, about a mile above
Fredericksburg. Rebel batteries were strongly posted along this
eminence, so that a front and enfilading fire could be secured upon
any force advancing across the level plateau. General Longstreet
was in command of these lines of fortifications, while Stonewall
Jackson commanded the rebel right, opposite General Franklin, the
whole under the supreme direction of General Lee. Bearing in mind
that the task before us was to capture these formidable heights,
let us return to the storming column.
Sheltered in a measure by the houses, it passes down Caroline
street with little interruption; but as soon as we arrived at the
railroad dépôt, several rebel guns, trained upon the spot with
fatal accuracy, welcome us to the encounter. Very near this point
fell Captain Schweizer, the first of the long list of casualties
which at nightfall told how fearfully the conflict had decimated
the ranks of the Twenty-seventh. Several were knocked down, one of
whom, leaping up, exclaimed earnestly, “I’ll have pay for that!”
then springing to his place, rushed on to death, for no one ever
saw or heard of him afterward. The division now advanced at a
double-quick into the open field; then, after resting a few moments
on the ground, at the order, “Charge!” moved by the left flank
with fixed bayonets, passing French’s division, which had been
obliged to fall back. A second brief rest, then on again, while
shot and shell plow the ground in front, burst over our heads, or
make fearful gaps in the line. Yet on we rush. The wounded are
left where they fall. Not a word is spoken, not a gun fired. As we
approach nearer the rebel lines, all the elements of destruction
ingenuity can devise or position afford, are concentrated upon
the narrow space. From rows of rifle-pits, protected by a heavy
stone wall, bursts a continuous roll of musketry; from neighboring
houses flashes the deadly fire of sharp-shooters, while batteries
posted on the heights behind strong field-works, and supported
by infantry, sweep the field with shot and shell and grape and
canister. Enfilading batteries on the right and left of the rebel
semicircle pour in their swift discharges, and behind us, the
batteries of the Second Corps, on the other side of the river,
shell the enemy’s works with little effect at the distance of
nearly three thousand yards, but with so much danger to the
storming party, that General Couch orders them to cease firing.
The line now begins to waver, and, with some disorder, presses
forward to a brick house, from which a brisk musketry fire is kept
up in the direction of the stone wall. At this time the various
regiments became mingled together, and, unfortunately, at the order
to deploy into line to renew the charge, the Twenty-seventh, in
consequence of the confusion, separated into several fragments,
advancing to the right and left of the house. The time for a
sudden dash had passed, and unable longer to stem the avalanche
of fire, which seemed to gather intensity as we proceeded, the
charge was continued only as far as a board fence, all full of
bullet holes and torn with shot, less than a hundred yards from the
famous stone wall, as estimated by an officer of the regiment who
afterward visited the spot under flag of truce. With the exception
of a partially successful attempt to approach still nearer the
rebel rifle-pits, the men remained at this point the rest of
the afternoon, loading their guns on the ground, then rising
sufficiently to deliver their fire.
The rebel musketry continued with almost uninterrupted violence
until night overshadowed the scene, never entirely ceasing in our
front. At times it surged off to another part of the line, with
only a scattering fire opposite our position; then rolled back
again with redoubled power, the peculiar rattling of separate
discharges being fused into one prolonged sound. Lines of rebel
troops could be seen marching along the ridge, and running down
to aid their comrades in the rifle-pits below. But for a weary
two hours no reënforcement advanced to the support of the Union
forces. At one time appearances seemed to indicate that the rebels
were about to charge upon our feeble line, but a few well-directed
volleys admonished them to remain behind their stone walls.
The Union artillery had thus far accomplished comparatively little,
owing to its distance from the rebel works, and to the absence
of all favorable positions where guns could be posted, on the
Fredericksburg side of the river. Late in the afternoon, however,
several guns took position in the upper streets of the city.
The battle-field shook with their combined discharge. Meanwhile
Hancock’s division had been mostly withdrawn, to give place to the
other division of the Second Corps. But many of the Twenty-seventh
and other regiments remained at their posts, their safety being
still more endangered if they attempted to leave the field.
At three o’clock in the afternoon, Howard’s division advanced to
the attack, to be hurled back before the overwhelming fire of
the rebels. Only a brief time is now left before darkness will
cover the scene. A final, desperate effort must be made to take
the heights. Supported by the batteries in the streets, a fresh
division advances into the field. How splendidly they charge! with
what a perfect line! We can look into the faces of the men as they
come on. Nothing apparently can withstand their onset. They come
steadily to within a few paces of where we lie. Then bursts forth
from the rebel works an iron tempest which had scarcely a parallel
even on that day. Showers of bullets went whistling by or struck
the ground in every direction, while pieces of shell, bits of old
iron, grape and canister, rained down with a dull sound as they
hit the earth. Arrested in its course, the line wavers, fires a
few volleys, then scatters like chaff. It was now about dusk, and
many of the Twenty-seventh who had remained on the field after the
withdrawal of our division, retired into the city. At the edge of
the plateau, where a battery was stationed, mounted officers were
endeavoring to rally into some sort of order the shattered remnants
of the division, whose magnificent charge we have just described.
The aspect of Fredericksburg that night cannot be adequately
described. Lines of troops were under arms in the streets, ready to
meet the enemy should they attempt to follow up their advantage and
drive the army across the river. Crowds of soldiers, all excited
by the events of the day, moved rapidly along the sidewalks.
Processions of stretcher bearers tenderly conveyed their mangled
freight to the hospitals. The eloquent red flag waved from almost
every house, suggesting that the surgeons were diligently at work,
while the glare of candles from the windows added to the wildness
of the scene without.
The next day was the Sabbath, bright and clear overhead, but
inexpressibly sad to us; for one third of the three hundred and
seventy-five who followed the colors of the Twenty-seventh into
battle, lay dead on the field, or wounded in the hospital. That
forenoon was spent in cleaning our guns, in anticipation of further
fighting. The Connecticut Brigade, under General Harland, was
drawn up in line of battle on the main street, under orders to be
ready at any moment to charge up the heights. As will subsequently
appear, they were spared this perilous duty. Occasionally a
resident of the town came timidly forth from his hiding-place, or
a family, loaded down with bundles of household effects, slowly
wended their way across the pontoon bridge, to escape the terrors
surrounding them. A disagreeable uncertainty hung over every moment
of the day, and when we awoke on the morning of the fifteenth,
nothing had transpired to diminish our suspense. It was plain that
something must be done, and that very soon. Delay only added to the
difficulties of the situation. The army must fight, or evacuate the
city. Every few minutes during the day we were ordered to fall in.
The expectation was universal that we were again to be led to the
attack. Hour after hour processions of ambulances moved across the
pontoon bridge, and up the opposite bank, so that by evening the
town was nearly empty of the wounded. General Burnside rode by and
received a hearty welcome. Evidently a movement of some kind was
soon to be made. A short time after dark the division was ordered
under arms, and all, except the Twenty-seventh Connecticut, marched
down Water street toward the railway bridge. Our little band stood
waiting thus during the evening, in momentary expectation of being
led out to support the pickets. At length orders were received to
advance a few hundred yards below the railroad. As we arrived, the
rest of the brigade silently arose from the ground where they had
been sleeping, and like spectres vanished in the darkness. Here we
remained until near midnight, obtaining what sleep was possible,
then noiselessly fell in, and without a word spoken above a
whisper, retired rapidly down the street to the pontoon bridge. The
streets were as silent as death. A few soldiers were preparing to
loosen the moorings which held the pontoons to the banks. After a
brief halt, the Twenty-seventh, carrying a few boxes of ammunition,
re-crossed the river by the same bridge on which they had entered
the city four days before. On the road to Falmouth we met General
Hancock, who asked, “What regiment is this?” and being informed,
the Twenty-seventh Connecticut, expressed his great satisfaction
with the conduct of the regiment in the events of the last few
days. After losing our way in the darkness, and experiencing a
heavy rain-storm, we arrived at our old camp ground on the morning
of the sixteenth.
All unconscious of the night’s events, the rebels threw a few
shells into the town, and meeting no response, crept cautiously
down from their fortifications, expecting to find our forces
concealed under the banks of the river. But no pickets challenged
their advance: the Union army had slipped from their grasp, the
pontoons were up, and thus was accomplished one of the most skilful
movements recorded in military history.