102. CII.
FROM THE HILLS OF THE MASSAPONNAX.
The region around the hospitable old town of Fredericksburg
is charming in the spring and summer. Even when I saw it
first, at the end of fall, it was beautiful and attractive.
Come with me, worthy reader, and instead of giving you an
“official account” of how the great battle was fought, I will
point out to you some features of the landscape.
We are standing on the long wooded crest which sweeps from
the Rappahannock above, in front of the old town, and sinks into
the plain near Hamilton's Crossing. In front of us is an extensive
“bottom,” traversed by a run, very deep, and with precipitons
banks. Behind these banks the Federal infantry are
going to take refuge from the Southern shot and shell. Beyond
flows the river, and upon its southern bank you see the white
spires and old-fashioned houses of Fredericksburg, soon to be
torn by cannon-balls. Look now to the left. Yonder is Marye's
Hill, which the Irish Brigade is going to charge with reckless
gallantry, strewing the ground with their dead, as the merciless
canister is hurled upon them; and below the hill, the low stone
wall where Barksdale will re-form his line when the enemy cross;
and Generals Cobb and Cooke will fall at the same moment—one
of them killed, and the other dangerously wounded.
Along the crest, from Marye's Hill eastward, you see the embattled
lines of Longstreet, flanked with cannon. On his
right, extending to Hamilton's Crossing, is the corps of Jackson,
bristling with artillery, posted upon every hillock, especially
above the crossing, where the battalions of Walker wait, ready
to sweep the plain, when General Franklin rushes forward to
turn Lee's right and drive him back.
Still further to the right you see the extensive plain which
stretches along the Massaponnax, emptying below into the Rappahannock.
The level roads are skirted by deep ditches and
long rows of beautiful cedars. In those ditches the Federal
sharpshooters are going to crouch, within one hundred yards of
the muzzles of our cannon, and pick off the cannoneers in spite
of all the canister which sweeps above them, tearing through
the cedars.
In the woods beyond, Stuart's cavalry will be drawn up, ready
to take part in the battle, if the Southern flank is turned; and
in the great field on Jackson's right, Stuart will mass his artillery,
and—debarred from charging with his horsemen by the
yawning ditches—show, by the stubborn, daring, and invincible
handling of his pieces, that, if he were not the most famous of
all cavalry commanders, he would be one of the greatest of
artillerists.
One feature of the landscape we have not yet noted—the
heights beyond the river yonder. That house upon the hill,
where the banner of the stars and stripes is rippling in the wind,
is “Chatham”—and some Federal general has taken it for his
head-quarters. Those blue specks upon the northern bank are
“Yankee pickets.” See that blue horseman riding along the
crest—it is an officer reconnoitring.
On the 11th of December—was it not?—the great struggle
began.
At daylight, the Federal pioneers, as busy as beavers, were
heard putting together the pontoons, in the fog, opposite the
town; and, in spite of a rapid fire from Barksdale's brave
Mississippians, who held the town, the bridges were built, and a
column was thrown across.
Barksdale retreated, fighting from street to street; and soon
the thunder of artillery began. Shot and shell raked the streets
of the town, tearing down the chimneys and riddling the
houses; but Barksdale held his ground—and it was not until an
overpowering force of infantry assailed him that he doggedly
retired behind the stone wall beneath Marye's Hill.
All day the unfortunate town was heavily bombarded. More
than one hundred guns was fired every minute.
As night descended, the glare of burning houses, set on fire by
shell, lit up the landscape; and the sullen roar of an occasional
gun seemed to indicate that the ire of the assailants was not
sated.
That bitter December night the roads were full of women,
many of them with bare feet, who carried in their arms their
infants. They had hastily fled, and, in the corners of fences, or
beneath the bleak winter trees, shivered till morning.
When the sun rose, the Federal army was drawn up upon the
southern bank.
General Lee had made no movement to prevent them from
crossing.
