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.